Bullying - Just some thoughts...

                We hear quite a bit in the news these days about ‘bullying.’ Personally, I hate the thought of kids going off to school and worrying about standing at their bus stop, riding their bus, their classroom, their lunchtime, gym class, well, you get my drift… I wish everyone could just be nice. I wish ‘bullying’ didn’t exist. With every ounce of sincerity that I can muster, I ask: why can’t everyone just get along?

            But the answer isn’t that simple. Everyone can’t just get along, well, because they can’t! Nature isn’t really created that way. No matter where you look throughout the vast world around us, something or someone is always trying to be in control of something or someone else - from plants or animals to humans. But, as they often say, “What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger.” Right? Well, sometimes it makes us stronger. Occasionally it weakens us; but usually it makes us smarter, and maybe that’s strength in and of itself. Anyway, the outcome of all of that behavior can range anywhere from magnificent to devastating, and sometimes even miraculous!

            I was born in 1961 (that makes me 51, just to save you from doing the math). When I think back to my own elementary school years in the late 60’s and early 70’s, bullying was all around us, alive and well. On a popularity scale, from grades K-6, I was probably at an average of about a 65%. I had friends, but wasn’t particularly ‘popular.’ I received invitations, attended birthday parties, usually had someone to hang around with in the neighborhood; but overall, my friends and I were just a bit above average. With this group of kids, (mostly girls – boys seemed to like the girls with a higher average in those years) if we flew under the radar and didn’t get in anyone’s direct way, we could maintain a pretty good life and have a lot of juvenile fun.

            Of course, staying off of bullys’ radars wasn’t always possible. Sometimes (usually) an older kid would get the notion we were somehow responsible for something bad that happened in their own life. They’d think they could lord something over us, and threaten to beat us up. And of course we believed it. Even though I had a stay-at-home mom, even though I had three older siblings, even though we ate dinner together as a family every single night, I wouldn’t have/couldn’t have told them about what was happening to me. Why? Well, I worried that my parents might make the situation worse. I worried that if they called the school or called a kid’s parents that the problem might escalate. I felt 100% sure I should handle things on my own, and I usually did. Was that the right thing to do? I have no idea. As an adult and parent of two, I know that’s not the life I wanted for my own kids…

Then I went to Junior High (cue intense music). My neighborhood friends and I lived about three miles from school, so we took a bus every single day. That turned out to be quite an education. The ‘cool’ kids all hung out in the back, smoking. If you got on late, sometimes you had to stand, but there was a line in that bus you did NOT want to cross – you did NOT want to stand or sit anywhere past that back bus door. Sometimes in the winter, just to be funny, someone ripped the hat from your head. Everyone passed it to the back of the bus, and someone would throw it out the window, giving you one of two choices. A) Go home without your hat (my mother wasn’t a big fan of “choice A”) … or B) Get off the bus way too early and retrieve the hat from the slush puddle it was likely soaking in. (Oh, and then of course walk the rest of the way to school or home.) Suffice to say I learned to remove my head ware prior to boarding.

            In Junior High I was so thrilled to start Band class. Sure, we’d had Band in fifth and sixth grades, but it was just a once-a-week sort of thing. Now I’d get to play every single day. At least it sounded like a great idea – till I actually got there. Two older boys in my section (I was the only girl who played trumpet) took it upon themselves to degrade (almost) every female that walked through the band room door. Since I sat so close to the action (lucky me) I was often their main target. I was called a dog, a mutt, they barked at me, they whispered, they shouted. Wow! It’s sort of painful to put that into print, but it’s true. You may be wondering where the director was…? Well, he was usually working with another section, or concentrating on the music, or… Well, he was also fairly elderly, and I now have to wonder if he was simply counting the days till his retirement. Once in a while he’d hear the two menaces say something and reprimand them, but one thing was certain – I either needed to endure this heckling and find a way through it, or quit band. And I wasn’t going to quit!

            I wish I had a really awesome story to tell about how I drove those two idiots to their knees. But I don’t - not really - I just rode the wave directly through it. Since I realized that the two criticized so many people, I didn’t take it entirely personally. They always say, “Living well is the best revenge.” It was funny because for being such a “dog,” such a “mutt,” I actually learned to play a pretty strong trumpet. When it was time to break into ensembles for contests, they usually wanted me to play with them. Go figure. By not quitting, and by practicing, I grew as a musician. When we got to Band in high school, one of those two was actually far beneath me in the chairs order. Then I was really glad I hadn’t quit. In fact, I stayed with Band all through high school, did some solo’ing, and moved all the way to first chair. What’s the old saying? “He who laughs last, laughs best”…? Something like that. I’ve often wondered if now, as dads themselves, if they think back on those days and regret the way they acted. Do they have a little girl that they love, who some “boy” is now calling a dog? Hmmm… Interesting thought…

            So what am I trying to say? Well, I just don’t think that bully’ing is new. I think we all (no matter how old we are) have our own stories to tell. In some ways the world is worse – the internet speeds up the gossip train – that’s very true. But in other ways I think that the world is actually much more accepting now than it used to be. People are quicker to take stands, speak up, and defend. The best feeling is to rise above those things and those petty people, actually show them that they couldn’t get to us. Though it’s good for kids to know that parents are there for them, and that if something is really serious they can help us, I still think that some of the hardest work needs to be done by ourselves. Others won’t be there for us when we move on in life to college, career, organizations, or whatever life hands us. We have to listen early on and figure out how to play it all out in our own lives. If I’ve learned one thing it’s that bullies exist long after high school – in small numbers, they’re everywhere, all the time. I believe they’re in the minority, but definitely present.

            Yes, I believe I was bullied. Yes, I hated it, but also believe that those experiences made me stronger. As they were growing up, I shared some of these stories with my own kids, and I warned them early on, “If I EVER find out that you called someone a…“  But they were pretty nice kids – I think these experiences of mine made them stronger, better individuals, too. As a parent, I did a lot of talking with my kids. I think that’s a good thing… maybe that’s a great place to start in all of this.        

So, I’ve been doing all the talking. Let me know what you think.

Gettin' Together

When I was a young mom, Oh, 20-ish years ago, and my son and daughter (three years apart) were so little, I wondered how life would unfold as they got older, if they'd bond someday, if they'd like each other. When I was a young-ish mom, about 15 years ago, and I had pre-teens in my house, I saw exactly how life was unfolding and I wondered sometimes how we'd make it through all of the sibling squabbles: "Why do I hafta  ___ when he/she doesn't hafta ___???" Traditional questions like that. About ten years ago, (as a now-seasoned veteran mother figure), when my oldest was preparing for college and my youngest was in the heat of high school, I saw some serious bonding happening between the kids. He'd already been through a lot of what the teen years had to offer, and had done very well. Along with lots of fun and good friends, occasional friend dilemmas, peer pressures and challenges also presented. It made me so happy to know that sometimes Megan would ask Tony for advice, and that he would be kind, and offer it willingly.

Fast forward a few years. In January of 2009, Tony and his wife (Lesleigh) said "I do." In December of the same year, Megan and her husband (Joe) also walked down the aisle. Shortly after Megan's wedding - just a couple of weeks - Joe got a good job offer that would end up taking the kids out to the Philadelphia area. I had thought that when she went off to the University of Minnesota in Minneapolis that she was far away (five hours), but this was more like 15 hours... (Yikes!) Saying good-bye was hard to do, but we knew they had to go. They've done really well, and have now been transferred up to Connecticut, which is where they presently live.

When Tony and Lesleigh are out on tour, they always stop in and stay with Megan & Joe for a day or two. It does my heart good to know that all four of my favorite youngsters are together occasionally. Last year, on Easter Sunday, when it was just Todd and me sitting in church by ourselves, at one time it might have made me sad. But knowing that the four kids were celebrating Easter together changed any thought of sad into glad. They travelled to New York City for the day, worshipped at St. Patrick's Cathedral (where our whole family had spent time together in the past), and shared an Easter dinner of reuben sandwiches in a local pub. It made me feel very good inside. And today, since Tony travelled out to Massachusetts for the Helping Hands Winter Outing, I found out that Megan & Joe are going to drive up from Connecticut and see him for a few hours before he has to fly home tomorrow.

For those of you young moms and dads who wonder if their kids will ever stop fighting, who wonder if they'll ever get along... well, I don't know who will or who won't. Everyone's situations are different. BUT I CAN say that it is possible for siblings to love each other and want to spend time together. 

And from a mother's perspective, I can't think of anything nicer... If Todd and I can't personally be there, then I'm thrilled that they're together. Down the road, when Todd & I are long gone, they'll be looking to each other for holiday plans and trips here and there.  No one knows us like our immediate families. Sometimes that's a good thing, and sometimes, well, not so much. But when it's good, it's very very good.

Have a fun get-together, guys!

Katie Kolberg Memmel is the author of "Five Fingers, Ten Toes - A Mother's Story of Raising a Child Born with a Limb Difference."  For more information, go to her website at: www.katiekolbergmemmel.com 

What creates a bond???

Back in 2002, I was hired as the new "Small Groups Director" at my church, Ascension Lutheran  in Waukesha, Wis. Shortly after receiving the exciting news that they wanted me for the job, I found myself learning, growing, and brainstorming for ideas of how to start brand new and interesting small groups within the church. As I sat across the desk from my very wise and sage pastor/mentor, Pastor Frank, I offered up a heart-felt suggestion...

Me: (clears throat) Pastor, how about starting a group for people who are retired?

Him: (a pause... a slight nod... and then...) Kate, my dear child... (JUST KIDDING! He never said 'my dear child...' I added this for dramatic emphasis - to make him seem even wiser and sage-lier (is that a word? If it wasn't, I say it is now) )  Allow me to begin again. "Kate," he said... and then he went on to advise me that although that was a fine idea, and we certainly could start a group for retired people - maybe even WOULD start that group, an even better plan might be to offer group ideas centering around people's common interests, regardless of their ages or statuses.

I gave his words much thought and the conversation took shape, his advice proving to be solid (of course, it always is.). Many groups have sprung up at Ascension, all centering around their main common goal (the love of God) while participants also focus on their human common interests: reading, biking, parenting, crafts of many kinds, Bible studies, and the list goes on.

Fast forward to yesterday. Though we're still on winter break from our Creative Writing class through WCTC, some members of our class decided to meet for lunch. Six of us, all women, converged on the Panera Bread in Delafield, Wis. Our ages ranged from one in her mid-thirties, to ... well, I'm not really sure ... Suffice to say a couple of decades. With some of us in long-term marriages, and some divorced, one with young children, and a couple in vacated nests, some with grandchildren (newborn to college graduates), our perspectives were broad. I could tell that we disagree on some pretty major life topics ('ye old religion & politics bit) ... but you know what? The lunch was so much fun!!!

What bonds people together? Well, sometimes it is the huge topics like religion and politics! Sometimes 'age' does bond people for whatever reason. Sometimes it is the fact that we're married or divorced. Sometimes it's having children, or the complete opposite - having none - that makes people feel tight. But in this case, in our class's case, it's the 'love of writing.'

Without saying too much, without betraying any class confidences, I can honestly say from my own perspective, when we (as writers, whether old or new) sit around the writing/sharing table and pass out our week's writing... when we have enough faith in each other's opinions and honesty to share our poetry (whether light-hearted or devastating), our children's stories (whether obvious or deep), fiction stories (womens' fiction, adventure, romance or fantasy), or our own non-fiction life stories (a mother's story of raising a child born with a limb difference), we're taking a huge gamble. What if this week's writing isn't any good? What if I think it's funny, but nobody laughs? What if my thoughts aren't as well-accepted as I think they will be? What if... what if... what if...???

What if I'm reading my deepest heart-felt work and my voice cracks and I can't even finish...? I separated this thought from the italicized 'rest' because this wasn't just a fear, or a thought I had. As I wrote my book, "Five Fingers, Ten Toes..." I did take some of my most heart-felt work to this group, and my voice DID crack. I couldn't even finish... And do you know what happened? The woman next to me began to read FOR me - she found my voice when I couldn't finish. I felt silly - ridiculous - horrified with myself that I'd let my tears out in class that day. But you know what? I don't think that one of them felt I was silly or ridiculous or felt horrified that I'd let my emotions show. On the contrary... I think that regardless of my life's circumstances, they knew I was being genuine... and our bond deepened on that day. Writing had brought us together, compassion deepened our friendship.

So was my pastor right? I think so. When we take a chance, when we explore our interests, when we put ourselves out there whether we're discussing our reading, or biking on trails, or studying the Bible, or writing what's in our hearts and minds... others in our group are doing the same. And when we open up a little (whether planned or completely unexpected) and let others see who we are, sometimes we discover that we're not all that bad or 'abnormal' after all.  In fact, it's possible that those experiences help us grow and maybe even become better people.

Who knows!? We might actually have something worth saying after all.

Have wonderful Thursdays!  (oh, and PS: Now that I know myself (and my waterworks potential) so well, sometimes now - for the class - I stick to comedy)

Katie

Three "Ch" words...

Good morning! How did it get to be Thursday already? I had a list of 'things to do' this week that stretched a mile long, and I'm maybe only a quarter mile of the way down the list. Funny how some weeks are like that - most weeks actually - where we need to roll 'to do' lists into the following days and weeks to come. (sigh) An ongoing issue over here - especially in matters such as laundry and cleaning.

Anyway, this morning, as I glanced through my Facebook feed, I saw three words that got me to thinking: Choice, Chance, and Change. For me, over the past few years, these three words have reformed my life. I'm not being silly or cliche' here - choice, chance and change have become something of a new train of thought for me... a brand new, blessed train of thought.

In my last blog post, I explained that because of some wonderful familial transitions that occurred in 2009, my then-present way of life was about to require some fine-tuning and adjusting. I made the choice to take a chance and attempt some change in my day-to-day living. As I mentioned, I signed up for a class.

When I made the choice to attend the Creative Writing course at WCTC, I never dreamed that I'd ever end up writing a book. Though I'd often kept journals through my life, I never thought I had "it" in me to actually write a book - a whole book - cover to cover. I've always lived my life as sort of a dreamer - the kind of person who sees the big picture, but has no idea whatsoever how to accomplish getting "there." As I sat thru the class sessions and our teacher suggested writing assignments such as, "Describe a person in your life in full detail," or "Describe a time in your life that you had a brush with the law..." I would sit at my computer and write about people I loved, or didn't love, or people who were comical or who had broken my heart. I found my mind wandering day and night - sometimes right through usually-enjoyable television shows I was trying to watch - coming up with new and interesting scenarios for my assignments.

When an internet friend (a blog for another time) suggested I write a book I laughed at her. "Good one! Ya, sure, uh huh, someday..."  But the more assignments we received, the more I realized that all of the snipets of life I was already writing about WERE a story. OUR story. MY story. They were becoming chapters of - well - of something I wasn't completely aware of yet. But suddenly I felt determined to find out. Could I focus long-term? Could I build our story from the ground up? Would it make sense to anyone but me?

There was only one way to find out...

I took a chance. I rolled up my sleeves and got busy. The ideas our teacher weekly fed us now became a new mission for me. I would take the suggestions and start writing chapters of my real life. I had a story I'd lived for (at that time) more than 24 years. It was full of everything life offers - love, fury, passion, fear, happiness, worry, and deep joy. As I sat here typing there were days I smiled, really laughed at some of the silly experiences we'd lived. And of course there were days that the exact opposite happened. With a full box of tissues, I'd sit and stare out the window, tears streaming down my cheeks. I searched for just the right words to tell the tale of what the deepest part of my soul was feeling at that unsure moment of my life's time.

The book took shape, and as many of you know, (and have already read) I took a huge chance and put it out there for the world to see. I self-published "Five Fingers, Ten Toes - A Mother's Story of Raising a Child Born With a Limb Difference." I didn't just take a chance, I feel I personally took a HUGE personal chance. This wasn't just some dreamed-up work of fiction I was attempting to share. This was // This IS my life. This IS my husband's life. This IS my son's, my daughter's life. What if people are critical??? What if they're judgmental??? What if they don't like it??? What if they no longer like - well - me or us???

With the positive and encouraging words of each member of my family, I decided it was a chance I needed to take. My goodness... if I bared my soul to someone and they no longer liked me because of it, was that even someone I wanted or needed in my life? If I shared my deepest self and told people how hard some of my experiences had been, that I'd cried and paced and resented and wondered and felt deep pride and ... well, you know... would they judge me?  On the other hand, by taking this chance, what if the soul-baring prompted something else? What if other people who were struggling with similar issues that I'd endured felt a camaraderie? Not just with me, but with each other... what if my crying and pacing and resenting and wondering were emotions that others had faced in their own lives? What if by my sharing our story, other people might actually benefit???

Choices to take chances have created big changes in my recent life. And I must say, that the personal therapy that I have reaped by telling my story has been one of the hugest blessings in my life. The experiences we go through can really help people. Never doubt that. I've met so many wonderful families recently who have all been bonding together over their similarities - the world seems to be shrinking (in really excellent ways!) God bless the internet and its FABulous functions, like bonding families of children with limb differences to each other - letting each and every one of them know that they are not alone in their crying and pacing and resenting and wondering. God bless others who have reached out and by their own choices and the fact that they took chances, are making amazing changes... The Lucky Fin Project, Living One Handed, Helping Hands, Hands Down, My Special Hand, and so many others.

Writing this book was the right thing to do... come what may... and for sharing with those who are interested the fact - the FACT - that in a million and one ways, life can be so so wonderful for our children. Do not doubt that.

Find your own ways of making choices, taking the personal chances and make the changes in the worlds that surround each of you every single day.

God Bless us, every one!

Katie

Hello and Happiest of New Years!

My son, Tony, suggested several months ago that I should start a blog. As with most good suggestions, I put it off. But now that we're well into 2013, I've decided to "grab the bull by the horns" and do just that. (For the record, in the writing class that I attend, these sorts of cliche' and over-used phrases - like "grab the bull by the horns" - are highly frowned upon, so I think that for THIS blogging purpose, I'll use them!)  ;)

Writing is something I've always enjoyed. As a teen and young adult, I faithfully journaled. Sometimes my chosen topics seemed inane, like what I ate for dinner that night. And sometimes I'd bare my soul to my journal's pages, admitting my current broken heart or unlikely-to-happen plans for the future. I never really considered myself particularly (again, in class, not big into the adverbs, but I like them anyway!) gifted at authoring. But you know what? Now that I'm firmly footed into middle age (51 years old as of last August) I find that I'm surprising myself.

Back in 2009, after a many-years hiatus, I started taking a writing class. My son got married in January of that year, and my daughter's (Megan's) wedding was scheduled for December. With two weddings in one year, there was a great deal going on in our family's life. (But not a lot for me directly.) Life was changing, no doubt. My traditional role of stay-at-home mom was really no longer needed, and technically hadn't been needed for quite some time. It was time for me to figure out what would be next - for me, this time. I skimmed through the mailer that our local tech school sends out (Waukesha County Technical College), and found a simple non-credit class called, "Creative Writing for Publication." Hmmmm, sounds like a good place to start... I figured that if my daughter needed help with her wedding planning, I could easily miss a class session without penalty, but if she didn't need my help, my time (and my mind) would be well occupied.

How strange it seemed, walking into the school on my first day. I had no idea who my teacher would be, or what the other students might be like. Since I was already 48 years old, I assumed most people would be much younger. As I wound my way through the hallways, scouting for my classroom, kids sat on the floors, some working on homework, some chatting quietly on cell phones. I wonder what they're thinking. Do they know I'm in my 40's? Don't make eye contact - you have the right to be here. Focus, focus... I repeated to myself in my head (sometimes a scary place to be).

But when I finally found my classroom, I took a deep breath, pulled the door open and entered. All my fears subsided. The writing class was going to be a safe environment, I could tell. The few students that were already seated welcomed me with a warm "Hello." Most of the dozen (or so) women who eventually joined us, appeared to be older than me - not that it mattered in the least. It just goes to show that what I'd envisioned was so inaccurate. Our teacher (or was she a facilitator of sorts?) proved to be kind, soft spoken, always looking for the good in our writing while still offering solid ideas for improvement.

After 30 years, for my first time back as a student, who could ask for more than that?

I've grown a lot as a writer and a person since those early gone-back-to-school days of three years ago. I hope to share much of  what I've learned right here, in "Katie's View." 

I'm so glad you joined me.

WELCOME

Welcome to my new blog! I'm excited to share my thoughts with you!