Birthdays and Anniversaries

It's dad's birthday, and the other day, I had a dream or a stark thought that it also marks forty years since his mom died. My grandmother. I never know how to approach that, whether to acknowledge it and of course, I am sure he thinks about it. How can he not?

Forty years seems so long and it's a blink, really. I mean, I've been in DC for sixteen years. And there are days when I'm floored I've been here this long. Take nothing for granted. There are no guarantees and no promises of things remaining the same.

With that sentiment, I'm off to Chicago to celebrate a friend and colleague's wedding.

May 22, 1994: Advice to those Graduating from High School, Twenty Years Later

I don't remember very much about the morning of my high school graduation. I am sure I journaled it. I remember it was sunny, and I remember what I was wearing. I remember my speech and Sister J and I remember saying hello and goodbye to some of the girls after. And that was it.

I think we place so much primacy on this date at 18 because life is a little predictable before that. I mean, anything can happen. But you grow up and go to school and then turn 18 and then you can make your own decisions, carve your own path. Before that, freedom of choice is a bit limited.

I think about all of the milestones I've hit in the last two decades, with children being the one I've missed. But I've graduated from college, and then grad school. I moved to DC. I got married. I bought a house. I have traveled to Europe and Africa. I traveled to California and Texas and New York and many states in between. I got a job, and have had this one for nearly 15 years. I have three beautiful nephews on my side and two nephews (soon to be three) and a nice on the other side. I've made friends, lost some, experienced tragedy and 9/11 and lost family members, like my grandfather. But life truly began for me after May 22.

That doesn't mean that life is always smooth sailing after graduation. It isn't. No, it surely is not. Friends are always difficult, relationships are fraught with good times or bad.  You struggle with jealousy and envy and resentment and the comparison trap is fragile. You realize that the world competes heartier than it does in your high school or even your college. You realize that there is always someone more brilliant and brighter and more striking than you. Your realize you can be insulted in the most profound way, in that your essence and spark are questioned. And you doubt yourself all over again, so that teenage insecurity is laughable. You question your life goals and second guess your decisions, and you wonder "what if" beginning with the first grown up choice you make regarding college. You cry tears of betrayal and loss and frustration and fear and you experience all of those same high school emotions, magnified. You question your faith and the principles you thought grounded you.

You also experience wonder, astonishment, and happiness unlike anything else you have ever experienced. You marvel that you can build a life for yourself, you make more wonderful friends than you could have ever dreamed, and of course you may fall in love, if you are lucky. You  experience the joy of new family members, the beauty of places you have only dreamed of yourself. You open yourself up to new  and ridiculous and crazy and remarkable things, and you know that your life is unwritten. And you realize you have more resiliency, more strength, more fortitude, more grace, and more perseverance than you ever thought possible.

It makes me wonder where the next twenty years will lead. I think the pace of change slows, but if I am lucky enough to get another two decades with good health and family, I will continue to appreciate things. I mean, I hope I will still have wonderful opportunities and pleasures and adventures.

I knew that May 22, 1994 was only just the beginning. But now, as I start to move into the middle ages of my life, I truly know how much of a beginning that was. So if you are still counting down those days to high school graduation, well, it will come quickly. Life goes by too quickly. So savor every day.

Napa

Napa was lovely this year, as always. After a 6am wake-up call, we immediately headed from SFO to Bottega, per our traditional meal (the seafood brodetto, of course). We had dinner on Friday night at Archetype, which was delicious despite our absolute tiredness. Bacon encrusted halibut, yum.

Saturday we went to the Oxbow Market, a first for me. Seafood tacos from C Casa were pricey but delicious. Crab tacos? Yes, please. Then we had a wine tasting at Franciscan, which was elaborate but very nice. Dinner at Bouchon? Chicken, a simple greens salad with goat cheese, and that chocolate dessert complete with Cline wines made for another nice meal. Sunday? We had a lovely wine and cheese pairing at St. Supery with Lou. And then lunch at Gott's Roadside with a stop to hang out at Mondavi. But frankly, I was tired of wine by then. The horror! Afterwards, we made our way to the scenic Marriott at SFO and were ready to call it.

A good weekend with good friends and their little guy. Some teasing, sure. And too much indulgence. Napa is always a little taste of heaven and sunshine and the work stuff is just stuff. Until next time...

High School, Two Decades Hence

Next week marks my 20 year anniversary of graduating from high school.

That used to seem like such a long time. When you're a senior, that is longer than you have been alive. And the four years after high school seem unimaginable.

I'm glad I'm divorced from that time of my life, and I really have no real strong desire to go back if there's a reunion. There is a curiosity, but of course, that both killed the cat and Facebook ate it. So there's that.

So funny because I know from FB that two girls from elementary school are visiting DC right now. They could only be a few blocks away.

Those days seem like a lifetime ago, and truly they are. The disaster of prom, the baccalaureate mass, my speech, taking a few pictures. I was so shocked when I started college and so many people, especially my roommate, peppered their dorm rooms with pictures of friends from high school. I panicked because I really had nothing. So I stuck some up, to cover it up and not appear too weird.

It took about 18 months until I really felt in a groove post-HS. Those days are so tough, and whatever small amounts of happiness exist are so fleeting. But for so many, it's a happy time.

High school graduation seems less like an accomplishment to me than a given. Of course, everyone graduates. High school is a much larger milestone.

But nevertheless, I will be thinking about those days in May 1994 quite a bit over the next week. I'll think about the 18 year old that I was, how ready I was to break out of Michigan, how naive I was to think that graduation was a cure all and life would really begin again in August. And how I already would have regrets, about college and my social life and how I wanted to fit in. When I really should have just treated being myself as vindication for survival.

So if any 18 year old reads these words, know that this is just one day, and one stop, and one milestone. It's not everything. It's a pause to remember that so much more is to come in life, and disappointments at prom and at 18 are not everything. It's not what movies and TV shows build up to be. But it's something to celebrate, because you have survived this far. That is happiness.

Grays

I think I found a gray hair today.

My hair can get a tinge of blondish reddish sometimes in the summer. But this was a pale, white one.

Ugh.

I don't dwell on the fact that I'm only 22 months away from 40, or that next week will mark twenty years since I've graduated from high school. Or I've had this job for 15 years. Or that my parents are in their late 60s. I mean, I still feel the way I did when I was 24.

I'm going to interview a kid that was basically born in 1992. I was sixteen then. Gah.

I search for new lines on my face and crow's feet, and lines on my hands. And wrinkles. And it's hard to relate to people who don't remember the years I was in high school, or even college. Or who were born nearly into the Clinton presidency. And I've yet to contemplate becoming someone's mother.

I will fight to keep my natural brown hair for as long as I can. But I won't fight forever.  I can't fight Mother Nature. I guess it beats the alternative.

When You Aren't a Mother

Mother's Day is always difficult for me, like it is for many. I'm lucky and blessed and grateful that I have a wonderful mother, and I was lucky enough to see her last weekend. But we're separated by so many miles and it's rare when I can be with her on Mother's Day. And I know she is sad about that, too.

But there's another reason. And it's a selfish one, maybe. Because so many mourn their mothers or have dealt with relationships with their mom fraught with drama and difficulty. But me...I yearn to be a mom. And it's not for any particular reason...but it is what it is. And in a way, I'm glad I can isolate myself from Mother's Day. Motherhood is sooo celebrated, as it should be. It is almost glorified and exalted much more today than it was when I was young, at least as far as I can recall. And there are Facebook posts with proud mamas and their babies, throwback posts and adoring husbands just loving on their wives. And family members, too.

I think sometimes we're overly sensitized, and we tiptoe around offending people. And I don't mean to call for a boycott on everything Mother's Day just to avoid hurting someone's feelings. It's only one day, and it's a Hallmark Holiday anyway. But all day, wow...I have to block it out. And I think we all could do a little more to realize that for many reasons, this day is hurtful for many. Those missing their moms because of death or distance, those mourning a baby lost before the baby was even born or prematurely, those who yearn to be a mama but aren't because they haven't met the right man or have health issues or anxiety or doubt. And those who offered their baby for adoption and still miss them desperately. And as proud as mamas should be, and as much as they love and sacrifice for their families, they should also have compassion for those women who so desperately would trade places.

Visitors

The parents' visiting always goes by much too fast. This year, it was over in a blink. From picking them up, to Big Board, to taking Friday off and visiting the Library of Congress and hearing George Will and Union Market and dinner on the deck with salmon. To the block party, grilling outdoors and hours in the street. To church on Sunday and gardening to crabcakes for dinner and watching the Amazing Race. It's so funny how quickly time goes. I didn't really even have time to anticipate it as much, because then, in a way, it's harder afterwards.

And I'm going to look forward to Michigan in June. A week with the nephews! I don't know how many opportunities we have to do things like this going forward. So I will always treasure that time.

Book Review: The Smartest Kids in the World

For book club, I just finished "The Smartest Kids in the World" by Amanda Ripley. She surveys the education systems in Finland, South Korea, and Poland through the eyes of three exchange students, offering her observations on what makes these countries' education systems more successful than our own. Rigor is a concept they all emphasize, as opposed to the moon bounce of shifting standards found in the United States. This is a time when our federalist approach fails us, at times, as seen in the debate about Common Core. I don't know much about this, though I know that the debate extends to places like Indiana which has "rebranded" it, so to speak.

I've long known about the success of Finland, which has outperformed American children for decades. I think their culture of excellence is particularly when it comes to training teachers. We used to joke all of the time in college that "ElEd" was the easy major, particularly popular amongst Holy Cross exchange students who could not hack it in more difficult majors. I don't mean to suggest that so many of my teacher friends are not bright. Quite the contrary: many of them are very talented and great at what they do. But the profession is disserved that so many go into teaching without the proper training and vetting. I can't believe that someone can teach math in junior or senior high without a Math major, for example. Or specialties can be taught by someone without the proper training.

Ripley addresses canards like diversity that the left uses to demonstrate that poor, minority kids can't succeed. Schools with mixes of immigrant population do just fine in Finland, where kids are expected to learn. No excuses. You don't pass the tests, you don't succeed. End of story. I was also impressed that she didn't seem to bring her personal agenda, like squelching NCLB or testing or charters. The BASIS school, which has one in DC, is an example of a successful charter that probably doesn't have a lily white, middle class student body. But its PISA scores are off the charts. She contrasts that with the $30K private DC school that sucks in math and has a struggling football program. I do think she has a point about sports, but that is so ingrained in our culture now.

I wonder if any of the students she profiled will go into teaching? I'd be curious.

The Beating in Detroit

It's been a few weeks now since the awful beating of white motorist Steve Utash in Detroit. Charlie LeDuff ponders the same questions we all have about it:

Sadly, the talk after the attack on Mr. Utash wasn’t about a man who stopped to do the right thing. It wasn’t about Ms. Hughes, the gun-toting angel of mercy who saw no color except the red of his blood. It wasn’t about the use of justifiable force or the value of carrying a sidearm.

Instead white people asked: Where were the old-school civil rights advocates who usually spoke out against such beatings? Where was Reverend Al? Why did it take Jesse Jackson almost two weeks to say something? Not that any of them really wanted famous civil rights leaders coming to town and marching around. What they seemed to be demanding was an admission from black leaders that blacks harbor racial hatred, too.

Thank God at least one woman stopped to help him. But coupled with that awful shooting of the convenience store owner near where my brother used to live, and you wonder where God was in any of this.  You see him later in the generosity of strangers who have contributed to funds to support these families. But something is terribly wrong that this occurs at all in society, and that society allows many of the perpetrators to escape without punishment. I hope they can catch the murderers in the convenience store case and that that more arrests are made in the beating of Mr. Utash. At a minimum, I hope the limited consciences of these individuals gnaw at them and they live daily with the guilt and shame of being soulless. And the families begin to heal.

Detroit's Comeback?

Reports the WSJ: 

Mr. Orr's plan will free up more than $100 million annually for revitalization. New police chief James Craig has already implemented new IT systems that have contributed to a 14% year-over-year decline in homicides. More than 3,200 streetlights have been replaced, with about 50,000 new installations planned by the end of 2015. New mayor Mike Duggan and the city council have formed a land bank to clear blight and intend to cut property tax bills by 5% to 20% this year.

Bankruptcy is also renewing public confidence and helping spur business investment, which is critical to expanding growth from the booming downtown out. Racial tensions have receded.

Of course, the Obama Administration is going to try to take credit because they've waved millions in the city's face. But true credit goes to Governor Snyder, first, and Kevyn Orr. They've teamed up to start Detroit back on the (long) road to recovery.