Category Archives: Family and Friends

Inspiration from family and friends

Sofia DeMay: Giving back to kids in Haiti and on a global level

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You give but little when you give of your possessions. It is when you give of yourself that you truly give.
– Kahlil Gibran, Lebanese-American artist, poet, and writer

Selling Girl Scout cookies, at age 11.

Selling Girl Scout cookies, at age 11.

Throughout her young life, Sofia DeMay, 17, has always been involved in community service. Guided by her desire to give back to the community, through her years as a Girl Scout, Sofia has packed and delivered groceries for the elderly, cooked for the Harrison House at Children’s Hospital in Oakland, and gone Christmas caroling, among other activities. I’ve known Sofia since David and I became good friends with her parents, Raissa and Mike, about five years ago. Sofia babysat our kids when they were younger, and I’ve watched her grow up to be an articulate, conscientious, intelligent, and beautiful person inside and out. When Raissa told me about her impending trip to Haiti back in February, I knew I wanted to hear about her experiences when she got back.

Opening hearts, opening doors
As a senior this past year at St. Mary’s College High School in Berkeley, Sofia was drawn to a program affiliated with her school and founded by parent alumna Margaret Trost. In January 2000, Trost went to Haiti on a service trip, volunteering at an orphanage and hospice founded by Mother Teresa. She met Father Gerard Jean-Juste, a Haitian priest who wanted to establish a food program to serve the children of Port-au-Prince. Inspired, Trost returned to the U.S. and began raising money for his cause. As the fundraising took off, she founded the What If Foundation (616 The Alameda, Berkeley, CA 94707, 510.528.1100), which helps support Father Jean-Juste’s food, after-school, and summer education programs. As one of St. Mary’s students who helped put together care packages for Haitian kids under the What If Foundation, Sofia was curious about Haiti. “I had heard about it, but I had never actually learned about it,” she said.

Sofia with a new Haitian friend.

Sofia with a new Haitian friend.

Every year, a group of St. Mary’s students raise funds to go to Haiti for a week and work in Father Jean-Juste’s programs. Sofia knew that Haiti had staged a successful slave rebellion, but her perception of the small island nation was largely informed by negative media coverage – poverty, diseases such as AIDS, political unrest, and violence. On the list of countries that the U.S. State Department has issued a travel warning, Haiti was a place Sofia never considered a destination. “I didn’t know it [visiting the country] was something you could do, but I was interested in traveling to a place like that to figure things out for myself,” she said. More importantly, she added, “I was really into building a relationship with kids in another country; that’s what really drew me to it.”

As part of their orientation on cultural awareness, Sofia and nine of her fellow classmates read numerous articles and two books – former Haitian President Jean-Bertrand Aristide’s Eyes of the Heart: Seeking a Path for the Poor in the Age of Globalization and Trost’s On That Day, Everybody Ate: One Woman’s Story of Hope and Possibility in Haiti. After four months of preparation, Sofia and her classmates arrived in Haiti in early March. The philosophy and world religion teachers who chaperone the student groups were accompanied by a translator and a driver. Armed guards watched over them at the places in which they stayed.

A typical street in Haiti (photo by Sofia).

A typical street in Haiti (photo by Sofia DeMay).

Real-world education
On the second day of their trip, Sofia and her classmates met with a local historian who presented the history of her country to them, which included its one-sided relationships within the international community. Sofia was “shocked” upon learning about, for instance, the U.S. embargo and intervention in Haiti. “I realized that what everyone said about Haiti was really wrong and so skewed by the media,” she said. History, she came to see, was written by people in power. “It didn’t hit home until that moment,” she added.

Later in the week, Sofia and her classmates participated in a Q&A with a group of Haitian students and their translator, which exposed the differences between the two countries’ school systems. In the U.S., especially for seniors applying for college – which Sofia and her classmates were in the midst of at the time – students are very competitive and always trying to get head. Haitian students, however, consider education a great privilege because the majority of kids don’t have the financial means to go to school. Students interact within a “brotherhood” or “sisterhood,” helping one another to ensure success for all.

Sofia getting a Haitian drum lesson.

Sofia getting a Haitian drum lesson.

“It was such a moving moment because I would never have thought of that or would have imagined kids back home doing that,” Sofia said. “It was as if they were bound together somehow; they owed it to one another to share the little that they had.” Sofia also noted that the students understood that the enemy isn’t each other; it’s the system and the exam itself. In addition to the prohibitive expense of going to school, the university examination is so difficult that only 1 percent of the population goes on to higher education. With the current government favoring the elite and the gap widening between rich and poor, school, not surprisingly, is not encouraged for the masses.

Life-altering moments
After participating in the after-school program, Sofia and her classmates helped serve meals for the food program, which is run in a huge tent. As the children congregated, the tent filled with their laughter. When it was time to serve, however, Sofia noted that the entire atmosphere changed. The kids ate just as quickly as the food was being served, with many returning to the line, still hungry. The older kids were making sure their younger siblings had enough to eat. Despite the program’s best efforts, there is never enough food to feed all of the kids. “Four of us broke down crying,” Sofia related. “We’ve never experienced that kind of desperation before. At home I can walk into my house and get as much food as I want, whereas these little kids here can’t even get one meal. It put my life into perspective.”

Closing prayer with the kids at Sakala - solidarity.

Closing prayer with the kids at Sakala – solidarity.

Toward the end of their week, Sofia and her classmates visited another after-school program, Sakala, located in Cité Soleil, an impoverished and crowded commune located in the Port-au-Prince metropolitan area. The school, which is walled in, was a different world altogether and a safe haven for the kids, who were happily playing basketball, soccer, and ping-pong in the courtyard. After helping set up a water filter for the school, Sofia and her classmates joined in the sports activities. At the end of the day, despite the language barrier, they banded together and created a mural with handprints. When they ran out of paint, the kids pressed their palms together with the other kids and, smiling, said to one another: “Now you have color! Now you have color!”

Sharing paint for a mural.

Sharing paint for a mural.

“It was such a moving moment because I would never have thought of that or would have imagined kids back home doing that,” Sofia said. “I wrote in my journal that night that I finally felt a purpose in my life. I felt like I was actually making a difference.” Daniel Tileas, who runs Sakala, explained to Sofia and her classmates that the kids don’t care about money; rather, they value knowing that people care about them. “That moment just made me realize that there’s actually something you can do with your life that will fulfill you and that you can truly make a difference,” she said.

A Changing world view
Her experience in Haiti made Sofia question her life and wonder how we as a global society can allow hunger in fourth-world countries to exist. “Coming home, I was so much more aware of things,” she said. Sofia made “little changes” to her lifestyle: She scaled back going out to eat and driving a car, and instead of spending money she had earned, she donated it to the What If Foundation. Whenever the opportunity presented itself, she talked about her trip, with the goal of enlightening her classmates and friends about “cultural consciousness.” At her grandfather’s birthday party in late March, she told one of her grandmother’s friends about Haiti. This friend, who had recently inherited a large sum of money, was so moved by Sofia’s experiences that she donated the entire inheritance to the What If Foundation to help build a school in Haiti.

Sofia and her mother, Raissa, and her grandparents.

Sofia and her mother, Raissa, and her maternal grandparents.

The moment Sofia came home, she knew she would return to Haiti, where she felt she could create more of an impact there than she thought she could at home. She made good on her vow to herself, going back with another group of students – including four returning classmates from her March trip – the last week in July, and further enriching her Haitian experience.

Sofia at her high school graduation, with her parents and brother, Nic.

Sofia at her high school graduation, with her parents and brother, Nic.

Sofia always knew that her career path would involve being able to give back. “I never realized that I could do it on a global scale,” she said, with wonder in her voice, until her trip to Haiti. Sofia, now a freshman at the University of California, Los Angeles, is majoring in Global Studies. “After going to Haiti, I realized there’s so much I don’t know and that we’re either not taught or dictated by the people who write the history books,” she said. As a result, she plans on traveling to other parts of the world and conducting her own research. When I asked what she might do with her career, she brought up a program that builds sanitation systems in the poor areas of Haiti, which combines her love for Haiti, giving back, and biology and ecology, her favorite school subjects. She imagines spearheading a similar type of program after graduation.

Telling Haiti’s story
Sofia talks about Haiti with emotions and descriptions at once vivid and immediate, as if she has just come back. At the end of her first trip, Tileas told Sofia and her classmates that if there is one thing they could do to give back it would be to “tell Haiti’s story.” For Sofia, it has become second nature because, as she said, “Haiti has become such a big part of me.”

Sofia and her family in India, December 2012.

Sofia and her family in India, December 2012.

Book spine haiku, volume 6

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No one travels
Along this way but I,
This autumn evening.
– Matsuo Basho, Japanese poet

It’s time for another edition of book spine haiku. For volume 6, I present three haikus, the first one from my poet friend Laurel Kallenbach and the following two from me. Enjoy your literary Monday!

Laurel's book spine haiku.

Laurel’s book spine haiku.

My book spine haiku offering.

My book spine haiku offering.

My second book spine haiku.

My second book spine haiku.

A retro dress with a vintage electric blue handbag from the Brooklyn Flea Market. Normally a sundress, but in the fall, throw on a thick cardigan and boots, and you've transitioned from summer to fall.

A retro dress with a vintage electric blue handbag from the Brooklyn Flea Market. Normally a sundress, but in the fall, throw on a thick cardigan and boots, and you’ve transitioned from summer to fall.

In God We Trust band (NYC) and Sundance rings.

In God We Trust band (NYC) and Sundance rings.

Against a bright retro print, Votl Designs earrings (Jenny K, El Cerrito, CA), Sundance cuff, and vintage traveling sewing kit in the shape of a walnut (Treasury, Washington, DC).

Against a bright retro print, Votl Designs earrings (Jenny K, El Cerrito, CA), Sundance cuff, and vintage traveling sewing kit in the shape of a walnut (Treasury, Washington, DC).

Celebrating Larry Itliong’s 100th birthday, with an excerpt

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I don’t see why I should bow my head when I could hold it high, or place it in the hands of my enemies when I can defeat them.
– Jose Rizal, Filipino nationalist, writer, and revolutionary

Larry Itliong, circa 1960s.

Larry Itliong, circa 1960s.

In honor of Filipino American labor leader Larry Itliong, who was born today, 100 years ago, in San Nicolas, Pangasinan, the Philippines, I present another excerpt from my novel-in-progress, A Village in the Fields, which is about the Great Delano Grape Strikes, in which Itliong was the leader for the Filipino farm workers. Following my last excerpt, we find our protagonist, Fausto Empleo, as a boy, with his first experience of America on his home soil, in his hometown of San Esteban, Ilocos Sur, the Philippines:

Although his father worked him hard, Fausto never missed school. When Miss Arnold presented him with a map of the world for his geography lesson, he was stunned to see how small the islands were compared to other countries, how vast the oceans were, and how big the world was. He learned about American history, and George Washington and Abraham Lincoln. By the end of his first year, before he turned eight, he could read and write a little in English, and add and subtract. He was looking forward to mastering English and learning the industrial skills she was teaching the older boys.

But one Sunday after mass when he came home, Miss Arnold was at the door, talking to his mother, who had stayed home sick. He wondered why she was not at church. She rested her hand on his shoulder, and then withdrew it, her touch so fleeting he thought he had dreamed it up.

“I’ve come to say goodbye, Fausto,” she said.

“Miss Arnold is needed at home,” his mother said. “Her father is very ill.”

Miss Arnold patted a handkerchief across her moist upper lip. “Your father was right about one thing: In the end, our families need us and we need them.”

Fausto wanted to strike the door. He didn’t want his father to be right. He didn’t want Miss Arnold to admit it. But he held his arms down, digging his fists into his thighs. “Are you coming back?”

“I’ll miss the planting season. It’s almost here, isn’t it?” she said, as if she didn’t hear him. “It’s my favorite time—accordians and guitars, singing, dancing in the mud. Such a lovely tradition, such a lovely people.” She fastened her gaze on Fausto. “I’m going home for good, but I hope to see you again. Perhaps you can come visit me in Kansas City when you’re all grown up.”

Fausto’s father emerged from the shadows and stood in the doorway. “There is no reason for him to leave San Esteban,” he said.

Miss Arnold’s eyes did not waver from Fausto. “With an education, you can do anything. I grew up on a farm, and look where I’ve been in my life! Remember Lincoln, where he came from and what he became. You can become anything you want.”

His mother coughed into the sleeve of her kamisa. “We can never imagine sending Fausto to the States, Miss Arnold. It is too dear a price for us,” she murmured.

Miss Arnold’s cheeks reddened. “Please excuse me for my indiscretion. I should leave now and pack. I’ve accumulated so many things in my eighteen years here!”

“Have you not seen your father in eighteen years?” His father’s voice was sharp.

Miss Arnold stood still for a moment. “No,” she whispered, blinking hard.

His father bowed his head. “Miss Arnold, we are sorry for your loss.”

“Pa, her father is not lost yet,” Fausto said. It was bad luck to talk about someone as if he or she had already passed away.

“It is a loss,” Miss Arnold said. She stuffed her handkerchief beneath her sleeve and tugged on the stiff cuff of her suit jacket. “Thank you all for your kindness.”

Fausto stood in her way. “What will become of our lessons?”

“Fausto!” His mother pinched his arm.

“Let Miss Arnold go,” his father said.

“Josefa Zamora will be taking my place,” Miss Arnold said. “She told me she will try to open up the schoolhouse on Sunday afternoons for you.”

Fausto didn’t know what else to say. Time would not stop. He stepped aside.

“I have fond memories of my stay here,” Miss Arnold said to Fausto’s mother and father. She knelt in front of him and gathered him in her arms. He smelled lavender in her hair. It made him think of the bars of soap at the schoolhouse for her students to wash their hands. She touched his cheek. “I shall miss you the most, my little spark of light—so full of promise. Remember, you can do more. You have it in you.”

She stood up, sucking the air around him, and hurried away. Fausto ran after her, but he stopped at the gate. He watched her leave, watched her arms swing by her side, her feet, in their brown, button-up boots, march—as they always did—across the dirt road. Then she was gone, swallowed by the bagbagotot bushes, the bend in the road.

“No more,” his father said in Ilocano. He clamped his hand on Fausto’s shoulder. “School made you worthless in the fields. I was going to stop it, but she did it for me.”

Fausto locked his knees, dug his feet in the earth. “If I finish seventh grade, I can teach school, too,” he insisted. “Just like Josefa Zamora.”

His father snorted. “Teaching is for teachers.”

Fausto wanted to bolt after Miss Arnold. She was still somewhere down that road. He imagined him next to her, ignoring the blisters on his feet from his shoes, wanting to keep pace with her boots. “I can become a teacher,” he said.

His father spun him around and turned his hands over. “See?” With his leathery finger he pushed the calluses in Fausto’s skin. “You are meant to work the land.”

He let go and strode into the house. His mother followed, trudging up the stairs. His lelang, quiet as a house lizard, emerged from behind the door.

Fausto turned to her. “Lelang Purificacion, are you with Pa?”

Her face was full of hard lines and sorrow. “Your father has his reasons, Fausto. You are too young to understand. There is so much you must learn.”

“I was learning!” he said. “You are all against me. Now I am alone.”

“Alone?” She stared at him as if he’d spoken in a foreign tongue. “You will never be alone, Fausto. You will always be with us.”

He shook his head and ran out of the yard, covering several hundred meters before realizing he’d gone in the opposite direction of Miss Arnold. Each breath scalded his lungs. His legs were giving out, his toes wet with popped blisters. He fell to the side of the road, crashing into a thatch of cogon grass. Its sharp-pointed leaves pricked his face. He rolled over and pawed at his ears, his lelang‘s words burrowing like a tick.

Author pose.

Author pose.

Three-plus decades of fashion, fun, and friendship

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To reminisce with my old friends, a chance to share some memories and play our songs again.
– Ricky Nelson, American actor, musician, singer-songwriter

Susan's graduation day, June 1986. Timeless cotton dresses.

Susan’s graduation day, June 1986. Timeless cotton dresses. Number 1 song at the time: Madonna’s “Live to Tell.”

After getting together for dinner this past Sunday evening with my college roommates, Susan Rusconi and Susie Merrill, I thought it would be fun to stroll down memory lane with a pictorial tribute to 31 years of fashion, fun, and friendship. We met in the fall of 1982 at the University of California at Davis. Mostly everyone on the second floor of the Struve II dorm were transfer students from two-year community colleges, except for Susan, who was a freshman. Susie lived across from my dorm room, and Susan lived with her roommate Reeva a few doors down. After our dorm year, Susie, Susan, and Betsy, my dorm roommate, and I moved into an apartment on Adams Street. We were roommates for two years in our two-bedroom apartment. After Betsy graduated, got married, and moved back to her hometown of San Diego, Susie and I remained – we both worked on campus – while Susan finished up her senior year, and we replaced Betsy with a graduate student roommate.

July 1986: A 100-plus day in Davis on campus, saying goodbye as we clean out the apartment and move on to the next phase of our lives. Timeless tanks and shorts. Blue is one of our favorite colors.

July 1986: A 100-plus day in Davis on campus, saying goodbye before we move on to the next phase of our lives. Timeless tanks and shorts. Blue is one of our favorite colors. Number 1 song at the time: Peter Gabriel’s “Sledgehammer.”

After Susan graduated, Susie went to Yale for graduate school in epidemiology, I did two years of volunteer work in Alaska and San Francisco for the Jesuit Volunteer Corp. and then attended the creative writing program at Syracuse University, and Susan plunged into the burgeoning world of high-tech in Silicon Valley and eventually got her MBA from Santa Clara University. Through the years, we have kept our friendship alive and gotten together, thanks to all three of us living in the San Francisco Bay Area. Here is to 31 years and more of friendship, with a fun look at fashion and hairstyles of the 1980s, 1990s, up to the present.

July 1986: Cookies and cream drinks, TGIFriday in Sacramento, and another photo with a waiter. Our line to waiters: "You have expressive hands." It works every time for a reaction. Pastels, blues, florals. and stripes.

July 1986: Cookies and cream drinks, TGIFriday in Sacramento, and another photo with a waiter. Our line to waiters: “You have expressive hands.” It works every time for a reaction. Pastels, blues, florals. and stripes. Popular song in July: Genesis’s “Invisible Touch.”

Summer 1987 at Susie's parents' home in Santa Rosa.

Summer 1987 at Susie’s parents’ home in Santa Rosa. Whitney Houston’s “I Wanna Dance with Somebody (Who Loves Me)” was a top hit at this time.

Christmas 1987: Jewel-tone or colorful sweaters. My uni: cardigans, soft blouses, and floral skirts.

Christmas 1987: Jewel-tone or colorful sweaters. My uni: cardigans, soft blouses, and floral skirts. George Michaels’ “Faith” is top of the charts.

Circa 1990 at El Torito with our token waiter.

Circa 1990 at El Torito with our token waiter.

Summer 1990: Belts, bold prints, and fun masks. Wilson Philips' "Hold On" was hot in June.

Summer 1990 in San Francisco: Belts, bold prints, and fun masks. Wilson Philips’ “Hold On” was hot in June.

October 1991: Bridesmaids' dresses are shimmery burgundy, earrings and dresses by Susie, seamstress extraordinaire. Mariah Carey's "Emotions" was the hit song of the month, although I don't recall it.

October 1991 in San Francisco: Bridesmaids’ dresses are shimmery burgundy, earrings and dresses by Susie, seamstress extraordinaire.

1992: Graduate school sweatshirts. My weekend uni in XL. Whitney Houston's "I Will Always Love You" was tops.

1992 in San Francisco: Graduate school sweatshirts. My weekend uni in XL. Whitney Houston’s “I Will Always Love You” was tops.

Reprisal at Susie's parents' porch, 1993: pastels and scarves.

Reprisal at Susie’s parents’ porch, 1993: pastels and scarves.

A tradition of Christmas high tea at the Palace Hotel in San Francisco, 1996. More scarves, blue, and black.

A tradition of Christmas high tea at the Palace Hotel in San Francisco, 1996. More scarves, blue, and black.

September 1998: Simple yet elegant navy bridesmaid dresses.

September 1998: Simple yet elegant navy bridesmaid dresses by Susie.

October 2001, Palace Hotel high tea birthday celebration for Susie: Black and blue wardrobe again!

October 2001, Palace Hotel high tea birthday celebration for Susie: Black and blue wardrobe again against a beautiful autumn bouquet.

October 2013: The secret to staying young at heart: family, friends, and lots of love and joy to share.

October 2013: The secret to staying young at heart: family, friends, and boundless love and joy to share.

October 2013: Ageless!

October 2013: Timeless and ageless, thanks to 31 years of friendship. Here’s to the next half….

 Nurture your friendships and be thankful.

Finding joy in a working weekend

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Don’t let pain keep you out of the garden.
– Welwyn Wilton Katz, Canadian author

Enjoying a Friday evening event at the Corte Madera Anthropologie store with a good friend, good wine, and good sweets.

Enjoying a Friday evening event at the Corte Madera Anthropologie store with a good friend, good wine, and good sweets.

Last Monday, I had no idea that I would be working that following weekend, making it the seventh weekend in a row. For the second Friday in a row, late in the afternoon, I received an e-mail from a client containing extensive comments to a white paper draft, warranting a major revision. To say that I was disappointed was a major understatement. I didn’t want to sink into despair, though I could feel myself get pulled down as if by quicksand. I was going to an event Friday evening and I had dinner plans on Sunday evening. My fear was that another working weekend was going to keep me from enjoying the company of friends. I was bound and determined not to let that happen.

So here’s what I did. I made a short list of what I absolutely had to get done by Monday morning: a minor revision, a major revision, and a first draft of a short paper. I decided to give myself the entire Friday evening off. Saturday morning I would start with the minor revision and work my way through the major revision, the most difficult of the tasks. And then Sunday I would write the draft and celebrate with my planned dinner. Having a plan helped to make what seemed insurmountable achievable.

Designer Corey Lynn Calter plays hostess.

Designer Corey Lynn Calter plays hostess.

Given what I had ahead of me, it was difficult at first for me to shake the work from my shoulders when I quit work Friday afternoon. When my friend Raissa and my daughter, Isabella, and I headed over to Corte Madera for the opening of the petite shop within the clothing store Anthropologie, I was still thinking about those comments. Once we leisurely walked around the outdoor shopping mall and sat and talked before the event started, I became more relaxed. And then, of course, once we walked into one of my favorite stores, worries about work stayed outside the door.

L.A.-based designer Corey Lynn Calter was on hand to open the new shop, which featured her line of clothes. She poured wine and champagne and chatted with the customers. She was amiable and very down to earth. I was able to spend time talking with Amy, from corporate headquarters in Philadelphia, who was one of the liaisons for a consumer group they headed up a few years ago. Amy was the liaison for the women from the western region of the country, which included me. I’ve been lucky enough to see her at some of the events in the San Francisco store since the group disbanded. It was great to see her and the store, given that I’d been away for a while, too busy with work. Instead of me working once we got home, we had a nightcap with our friends, which further relaxed me and prepared me for the work ahead.

A beautiful, quiet autumn moment (photo by David).

A beautiful, quiet autumn moment (photo by David).

Saturday was torturous, but I plowed through. When you get through a tough project or hurdle or problem, you feel a great sense of accomplishment. I persevered. By the evening, I was able to treat myself to working on a chapter of my novel for a couple of hours. In the morning, I was rewarded with a beautiful backyard scene of the morning sun streaking through the magnolia tree leaves. It was a moment that reminded me that there is beauty and joy when you least expect it, when you aren’t looking for it. And when you receive this gift, you accept it with gratitude and wear it like a cozy sweater.

With the tough project out of the way, I found energy to write the draft of the short paper on Sunday. I finished it in time for my family and me to head down to Los Altos and have a fall dinner with my college roommates, Susie, and Susan and her family, who hosted. We were also celebrating Susie’s October birthday. We have known each other since 1982 – 31 years! Good friends, good food and wine, good conversation. It doesn’t get any better than that.

31-year college friendship from UC Davis: Susie, Susan, and me.

31-year college friendship from UC Davis: Susie, Susan, and me. Timeless and ageless!

We got home a little late, but I’m fully relaxed and ready to start the week. Spending time with friends helped me find the joy in the working weekend. A working weekend with a happy ending on a late Sunday evening, right? Well, I flipped on my laptop when we got home and there was an e-mail waiting for me: An internal disagreement ensued between the person who approved of my draft and the person who wrote the extensive editorial comments, and the end result was for me to leave the draft as is and consider it final from the client’s end. A wasted Saturday? Lost energy being too proactive and working right away on the revision? I breathed deeply and told myself: This is another one of those character-building moments.

Driving home Sunday night: the new East Bay span of the Bay Bridge. Beautiful.

Driving home Sunday night: the new East Bay span of the Bay Bridge. Beautiful.

October is Anti-bullying Month: positively no bullying allowed

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I will fight bullying forever because my son will be eleven forever.
– Kirk Smalley, father of Ty Smalley, spokesperson for Stand for the Silent, an educational platform on anti-bullying

The documentary Bully was released in the U.S. in late March 2012. When it came out, David and I talked about going to see the film. As usual, many of the films that we wanted to watch came to theaters and went to DVD, including this film, and we forgot about it. I had an opportunity to see it after Jacob’s middle school PTSA screened it following our monthly meeting last night. I did not realize that October is Anti-Bullying Month. All kids at Jacob’s school will be seeing the film in one of their classes this month and will participate in a discussion about recognizing and standing up to bullying. It’s a good start to educating and making kids aware of this terrible behavior.

Giving your kids lots of hugs and lots of love gives them security and self-esteem.

Giving your kids lots of hugs and lots of love gives them security and sows seeds of self-esteem.

The few negative reviews of the documentary focused on the fact that director Lee Hirsch did not interview either the bullies or their parents. Perhaps this was due to the bullies and their parents not wanting to be filmed. At any rate, such an angle would certainly fill up a sequel, and maybe that’s not a bad thing. I didn’t realize that Jacob would be seeing the documentary in school; I brought both Jacob and Isabella to watch it. Given that we are dealing with bullying in Isabella’s school, albeit a different kind of bullying, I wanted them to see what other kids – the victims – were facing.

On the way home, we talked about not being a bully, seeking family and friends out when being bullied, and also standing up to bullies and not look the other way. I couldn’t help but tell them two stories from my childhood. In my farming hometown of Terra Bella, in the Central Valley of California, there was a girl in my class named Rosie B. She lived around the block from us. Her older parents were poor and reminded me, years later, of the Joads and the Okies from Steinbeck’s Grapes of Wrath. Rosie was slow, so people took her to be stupid. Her face looked disfigured, her mouth was pronounced with a big set of buck teeth. As you can guess, she was picked on, and as I look back, I can’t think of anyone with whom she hung out.

Isabella gives Bailey a hug on Bailey's last day before she died of old age, January 2011.

Nurture nurturing: Isabella gives Bailey a lot of TLC on Bailey’s last day before she died of old age, January 2011.

After lunchtime one day, our class was excused from the cafeteria to have recess on the playground, Rosie fell down the small flight of stairs. The kids never stopped pouring out of the cafeteria. It was a stampede. When she finally got up, she was scarred with a permanent limp. This was 1972. No lawsuit was filed; her parents had no voice. Teachers came upon the scene and I’m sure the principal was notified, but nothing ever happened. I don’t recall if our grade level was lectured or not. I was not part of the stampede, but I was the guilty silent who looked the other way. I ran into Rosie as an adult, when I was home from college, and she eagerly talked to me about how everything was okay now, as if seeing me, a childhood classmate, had compelled her to tell me she had survived. I remembered feeling relieved that she seemed to have turned out okay despite the bullying, but I failed to apologize to her face.

The other story was about Ross M. I met him at a church youth group when I was in either fifth or sixth grade. He was a pudgy boy who giggled a lot, chattered nonstop, and exhibited effeminate mannerisms, which at the time I did not associate with possibly being gay because I didn’t know what gay was back then in our rural community. We tolerated him, but nobody was ever mean to him. I didn’t stay in the youth group and so lost touch with Ross because he went to a different school in the next town over of Porterville. When I was a freshman at one of the high schools in Porterville, I was surprised to see Ross  – only I didn’t recognize him at first. He had slimmed down. He had also stopped laughing and smiling. He didn’t talk much, if at all, and I don’t know if he even had any friends. He was like a ghost, showing up for class and slipping out, unnoticed. I never reached out to him because he seemed like a stranger to me and he never gave any indication of recognition when he was near me. I never saw him again after graduation. It was only when I attended my 25th high school reunion that I noticed his picture among other pictures on a table with candles, memorializing classmates who were no longer with us. When I asked a good friend of mine from high school what had happened, she confirmed what I suspected: He had committed suicide. I don’t know when this happened, after high school, later in life. But one thing I suspect: He was likely bullied in elementary and middle schools.

Happiness is being loved and hugged a lot.

Happiness is being loved in a touchy-feely way.

My kids were quiet in the car as I concluded my stories. Of course, there is always a moral to an Enrado mom story for my kids. I told them not to look away when they know something is wrong, when they know someone is being bullied. They needed to stand up. I reminded them of the damage that bullying does. One of the kids in the documentary, Alex Libby, told his mother, when she found out about the extent of his being bullied, that if these kids who stabbed him with their pencils, pushed and punched him around, choked him, and smacked his head weren’t his “friends,” then what friends did he have? A heartbreaking thing for a mother to hear. Jacob piped up, “I would have been his friend.” And Isabella seconded the sentiment. Hearing them defend him made my heart sing. Nevertheless, I was worried about whatever happened to Alex because his path seemed destined to resemble Ty Smalley’s very sad ending, which was shown in the documentary. Thankfully, the documentary itself was, as Alex’s mother said in an interview months after it came out, a “gift.” The family took a financial hit moving from Sioux City, Iowa, to Edmond, Oklahoma. But now he has real friends and is a spokesman for anti-bullying. A much-needed happy epilogue!

After the screening, our middle school principal and parents talked about this complex social issue, ill, if you will. We talked about what we as parents could do. Here is my list: Raise empathetic children who understand justice and injustice. Teach them how to stand up for others. Be engaged in their daily lives and know what’s going on in their daily lives. Love them by the boatloads and let them know that you have their back.

Contemplation time while walking Rex.

Contemplation time while walking Rex.

As I was walking our dog Rex one morning several weeks ago, I had posed this question to myself: What would be the one thing I could give to my children so that they are successful in life? A fully paid for college education? An appreciation for higher learning? I shook my head. I was equating success with a profession, a college degree, doors opening, financial security. No. I would give my children self-confidence. A child who believes in him or herself will blossom into an adult who stands up for him or herself. Hurtful words will, as I told Isabella on our walk to school yesterday morning, “roll off her back like water on a duck.” He won’t allow himself to stay stuck in a job that he doesn’t like. She won’t allow herself to be in an abusive relationship. Neither will waste away their time in a coma in a dead-end life. A person with a healthy self-esteem will seek the light and surround themselves with similar people. And they will be empathetic. When they see someone bullied, they will feel bullied themselves and know it is not right – and then make it right.

Exude self-confidence and build self-confidence in your children.

Exude self-confidence and build self-confidence in your children.