I am a graduate of the baby... pre... something.
Our Lamaze teacher does not hate me. I think the first week, she was frustrated that we had to re-jigger the calendar due to a storm. She turned out to be lovely and the experience was so enlightening and informative.
I have to admit that I've been very frustrated with New York City and it's "Big snowstorms." I've been expecting the fluffy white snow of my youth and instead have had to settle for this frozen rain that beats down on you from an extreme angle like it's attacking you. This isn't snow. It's an ice storm. And I'm sorry, but 8 inches does not a blizzard make.
However... today!
Today from my perch on the 17th floor of this big glass building, from the windows of a network-not-to-be-named-but-that-is-a-direct-competitor-of-HBO-and-their-big-monstrous-black-cube-on-42nd-Street... I'm watching snow! Real snow! big puffy white snow floating down. This is a snow storm! The Hudson River blanketed. 10 inches in a few hours!
THIS, NEW YORK, IS SNOW!
It's fitting. I've been thinking of home a great deal. Home where I grew up. Maybe it's part of nesting, part of figuring out what it is I want for my son, my family. Could we end up out west one day?
Yes.
Will it be soon?
Who knows.
Can I teach my son those same "homespun" Western values here while he is also exposed to the richest spectrum of culture, art, food and opportunity?
Yes.
Will he have an appreciation of small town/small city life while growing up in the biggest little city in the world?
Yes.
Will he understand that he is part of a whole? Will I be able to impart in him an understanding that if you are stronger, you have a responsibility to protect the weak, not exploit them? Will I be able to teach him to seek out those with less and help them how he can?
Who knows.
Will be able to survive the first really nasty dirty diaper?
I hope so.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
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Friday, February 12, 2010
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Three Cups of Tea
I just finished Three Cups of Tea by Greg Mortenson and David Oliver Relin. Mortenson's work building schools in Pakistan and Afghanistan is inspiring and heroic. The book is the first of two chronicling his journey from a wayward, altitude sick climber at the foot of K2 into a force of nature - working alone to raise money to build a single school in one of the poorest regions in the world, and eventually into the creator and director of the Central Asia Institute which has as of 2009, established 130 schools in Pakistan and Afghanistan, which provide (or have provided) education to over 51,000 students, with an emphasis on girls’ education.
Jumping headlong into fatherhood, I have questioned the kind of world in which we are bringing a child. A world in which ignorance and hate are rewarded by talking heads; where the less you seem to know the more you are lauded as a "front runner" for a presidential run... for the presidency... of the United States... all of it. I watch my television screen aghast that there are people who so readily believe any blatant lie told them despite the mountains of evidence to the contrary. I wonder how, in an educated society such as ours, we've lost the ability to see the forest for the trees. We are so deeply entrenched in our beliefs and it is stunting our growth mentally and psychologically and we have been overrun by a small group of very very very loud, hate spewing, xenophobic ideologues.
And I am bringing a child into this.
But Mortenson's story gives me hope. One person can make a difference. One person can reach into the abyss of ignorance and fear - fear of "the other"- and change the entire world.
Mortenson was nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize and lost to President Obama. This was a grave mistake. President Obama had not accomplished much to deserve the accolade in his first year, as he himself noted. Greg Mortenson went quietly about his business of taking on religious fundamentalists a world away without firing a single shot. He has empowered the people of the tribal regions of Afghanistan and Pakistan - people we only see on the evening news programs as "terrorists" and "the enemy" - and made them allies of us all.
He builds schools and he is changing an entire generation.
Having finished Three Cups of Tea, my hopes for my child remain the same, but my fears have abated. I know that deep down, the concerns of a parent in New York are the same as the concerns of a parent in St. Louis, or Salt Lake City or San Diego, are the same concerns as a parent in Paris, or Moscow, or Kaampen... or the Korphe village in Pakistan or the Wakhan Corridor in Afghanistan.
If you don't think one person can change the world, read this book. If you don't think people halfway around the world have the same concerns, the same hopes, the same dreams for their children... read this book. If you are a living, breathing human being on this planet... read this book.
Jumping headlong into fatherhood, I have questioned the kind of world in which we are bringing a child. A world in which ignorance and hate are rewarded by talking heads; where the less you seem to know the more you are lauded as a "front runner" for a presidential run... for the presidency... of the United States... all of it. I watch my television screen aghast that there are people who so readily believe any blatant lie told them despite the mountains of evidence to the contrary. I wonder how, in an educated society such as ours, we've lost the ability to see the forest for the trees. We are so deeply entrenched in our beliefs and it is stunting our growth mentally and psychologically and we have been overrun by a small group of very very very loud, hate spewing, xenophobic ideologues.
And I am bringing a child into this.
But Mortenson's story gives me hope. One person can make a difference. One person can reach into the abyss of ignorance and fear - fear of "the other"- and change the entire world.
Mortenson was nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize and lost to President Obama. This was a grave mistake. President Obama had not accomplished much to deserve the accolade in his first year, as he himself noted. Greg Mortenson went quietly about his business of taking on religious fundamentalists a world away without firing a single shot. He has empowered the people of the tribal regions of Afghanistan and Pakistan - people we only see on the evening news programs as "terrorists" and "the enemy" - and made them allies of us all.
He builds schools and he is changing an entire generation.
Having finished Three Cups of Tea, my hopes for my child remain the same, but my fears have abated. I know that deep down, the concerns of a parent in New York are the same as the concerns of a parent in St. Louis, or Salt Lake City or San Diego, are the same concerns as a parent in Paris, or Moscow, or Kaampen... or the Korphe village in Pakistan or the Wakhan Corridor in Afghanistan.
If you don't think one person can change the world, read this book. If you don't think people halfway around the world have the same concerns, the same hopes, the same dreams for their children... read this book. If you are a living, breathing human being on this planet... read this book.
Monday, February 8, 2010
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Under attack
Month eight.
It has occurred to me that my wife's body is now under attack. She's been a trooper and has not complained at all throughout her entire pregnancy, but lately she's been feeling it. The boy is just big enough that when he kicks, we can see limbs. When he rolls around, he moves organs. When he stretches, he pushes her diaphragm and compresses her lungs and she finds herself unable to catch her breath.
All of this is painful when he's riding high.
So we play him music, we do our BabyPlus, and he moves down a little.
Then when Angie gets dressed to go to work, she says, "Can I officially stay home when my shirts sit high? He's so low, that my shirt looks like a belly shirt."
This is the first time she's complained. I think she's ready for him to be out and in the world.
It has occurred to me that my wife's body is now under attack. She's been a trooper and has not complained at all throughout her entire pregnancy, but lately she's been feeling it. The boy is just big enough that when he kicks, we can see limbs. When he rolls around, he moves organs. When he stretches, he pushes her diaphragm and compresses her lungs and she finds herself unable to catch her breath.
All of this is painful when he's riding high.
So we play him music, we do our BabyPlus, and he moves down a little.
Then when Angie gets dressed to go to work, she says, "Can I officially stay home when my shirts sit high? He's so low, that my shirt looks like a belly shirt."
This is the first time she's complained. I think she's ready for him to be out and in the world.
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