Laurel Massé

So simple even a child

By the time I was standing up in school to recite the Pledge of Allegiance, the straight-arm salute had been dropped, the hand-over-the-heart had been substituted, and the Pledge already included the words "under God" that were added in 1954. As a child, I did not give it much thought. I thought more about horses, and why the teacher was always so mean, and how much time was left before I could go home and read my book.

But I was also thinking about politics - in a little kid sort of way, of course -  and I had ideas. A platform of sorts, or a manifesto, that was something like this:

1. Sometimes it's the grownup who is wrong, and so the child shouldn't always be the one who has to apologize.
2.No hitting. No making fun. No being mean, and no leaving other people out. Some people can catch a ball, some people can spell big words (I got my first concussion in second grade, courtesy of a baseball. Guess which group I was in). But everybody belongs, even when they are different.
3. Share, and be fair. The person who gets to cut the cake into slices chooses last.
4. Stop worrying so much about the Communists. All we have to do is really be what we say we are, the land of the free, the home of the brave, one nation under God, the best country on earth, and then everyone will want to be like us and to be our friends. Even the Communists.

Simple. Now let's have cookies and milk!

It still seems simple, and I don't see much reason to change it. For grownup, read powerful, any kind of powerful. For child, read deprived of power. For Communists, read the name of the current ideological foe, the perceived, or invented, threat, i.e. [your fear inserted here]. The rest is pretty straightforward, I think. But then, I also think Jesus' words are pretty straightforward. Love. Share. Take care of each other. Rejoice when the lost are found.

And, well, hey, kids! Let's try that. Because I don't think we really have, not as a nation, not lately.

There is one more plank in my platform. Parents who promise a pony for good grades should, when excellent report cards are forthcoming, deliver the pony as promised.

I am Laurel Massé, and I approve this message.

Gabby's gold

Gabby Douglas just added to Olympics - and American - history. At sixteen years of age, competing in the Olympic Games for the first time, she has won two gold medals in women's gymnastics, one as a member of the American team in the team championship event, and one for individual all-round best. She is the first African-American gymnast to win the individual gold.

When interviewed by the news media, she said this about her win:

“You just have to not be afraid and go out there and just dominate,” Douglas said afterward, a stuffed Olympic mascot under one arm, a bouquet of flowers in one hand and an Olympic gold medal around her neck. “You have to go out there and be a beast. Because if you don’t, you’re not going to be on the top." (as reported in The Washington Post)

The article was posted online, and there were many comments. As usual, some were thoughtful, some were hateful, some congratulatory. Many were political. This one, though, caught my attention:

"The press really ought to avoid quoting athletes when their comments are dumb. 'You just have to not be afraid and go out there and just dominate.' Really, is that all it takes? Who expects wisdom from a short young naive gymnast with no life experience outside of training and competition. The girl's a great gymnast, but she's not a top notch thinker, and really she's not an inspiration to anyone."  

Really? She inspires me. Not just because she defies gravity - for her, gravity seems to be more of a suggestion than the law - but because, at sixteen, she already knows something it took me years to finally master. She is not afraid to excel. She does not seem to fret about the consequences of being great. WIth that foundation, she will probably never worry, while receiving a standing ovation, about how she will have to pay for having been singled out for extra attention and praise. I do not envy the excellence of others. I celebrate it. I wish I had not learned (and had to unlearn) to be afraid of my own.

So congratulations, Gabby. May you savor your every triumph. And may there be many more of them.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The city that never sleeps

In my dreams, I often live on a gentlewoman's farm, or in a thatched cottage, with animals all around, a thriving flower garden, and the perfect desk for writing. In my waking reality, I've lived in or near cities most of my life (except for the eighteen years stretching between 1988 and 2006). With my family as a child, or on my own as an adult, I have made homes in Birmingham (UK), Paris, Brussels, Los Angeles, Chicago, and (three times!) in New York City. From 1988 to 2000, I lived in the Adirondack Mountains of far upstate NY, in the least populated county east of the Mississippi. There, I learned that I am not a very good gardener, that twenty-two horses is twenty too many, and that everything that happens in the city - good and bad - happens in the country too, though perhaps more quietly, and in locations that are farther apart.

My return to urban living took several years, and I like to think that it was the river that drew me back. Where the Hudson originates, deep in the Adirondacks, it's a small stream you can step across. It grows in size and strength as it travels south toward the ocean. When I left the mountains, I followed its path, living in the Catskills for a year, and then moving further south to the New Paltz area. I finally surrendered in 2006 to the irresistible pull of the river, and let it sweep me into the magnetic forcefield of this great city.

I think it was James Joyce who described the Catholic Church as "here comes everybody"; I think of NYC as "here is everybody". Every language, every ethnicity, every economic and social level, every philosophy, every faith, every occupation, every challenge, every grace, every magic: all here. The Queen told Alice to believe three impossible things before breakfast; in NYC, we do that before we even brush our teeth.

For the past two years, I have belonged to a community called the Order of Urban Missioners (OUM) that is based at the Cathedral of St. John the Divine. At the moment, there are 36 of us, some clergy, some not, some working in the church, most not. You will not see us standing on the corner with pamphlets. We are not missionaries. Rather, we are Christians who believe that we are called by God to live and work in the city at our various trades and to love with Christ's compassionate love. We meet regularly to share our stories and concerns, to look at scripture, and to join our hands to support each other with prayer.

Recently, one of our members, Marsha Ra, offered a meditation that closed with a beautiful prayer which I've asked for permission to share with you. She has graciously said yes. If you decide to pass it along, please give credit to the author.

 

Dear God we give you thanks for life in the City, for the millions of souls with whom we share this urban life,
We thank you for their variety,
For their thousands of houses of worship,
For the 170 languages they speak
For the interesting food they cook
For the street fairs
For the parks and trees;
For the birds and other wildlife that share this space with us, often unnoticed; for the companion animals of every kind

For owners of skyscrapers who voluntarily change the skins of their buildings or just turn off the lights at night so that the more than 300 types of migrating birds that pass our way may do so safely;
For the volunteers who plant flowers in parks, on street medians, around trees and those who put up window boxes
For   political clubs, block associations,  building associations,  business improvement districts and all organizations set up to improve city life;
For those who grow orchids, and those who play music, for those who paint and sculpt and act and dance, For lighting designers and make-up artists,
For the creative writers and composers
For the teachers medical workers, police and fire fighters
For the strangers who reach out to strangers when they trip, get sick, get lost, need help
For the doormen and handymen for postal workers and Fed Ex guys, for Fresh Direct and CSA’s
For over 300 colleges, universities and research institutions
For great hospitals
For dog walkers and housekeepers
For the bus drivers and taxicab drivers
For social workers
For the garment district, the flower district, the sports stadiums
For restaurant workers and those guys in trucks selling coffee and hotdogs
For those who have been here all their lives, for those who are just arriving from all over the world,
For everyone who lives in the City:
Help us to do better Lord in this great City.
Help us to improve our school system
Help us to find the way to affordable housing for everyone, help us to solve the problem of homelessness and poverty so that everyone who chooses to live here can find a safe place among us.
Encourage those who are discouraged
Watch over the children and be easy on the old.
Help us to improve accessibility to the disabled.
Help those who work in finance and real estate to avoid greed and to remember You and the poor even as they strive for success;
Support the diplomats
Help those in the judicial system to judge fairly;
Let us see the good human intention in the noise of traffic and of construction so that these city sounds can become a song to our ears.
Above all, give us patience and help us to always see you in the faces of the millions who cross our path.
Be with us, God, in the City. This we ask in Jesus’ name. Amen.

Deep in the heart of Texas

Do not pass "go". And do not wait. Just trot right over to my friend Paul Overton's blog at Every Day is Awesome. If you tend toward tears when in the presence of beauty and noble actions, have a hanky handy.

 

 

 

Mothering

It's Mother's Day here in the States. In every corner of my city, folks are taking their mothers to brunch, or presenting them with flowers, chocolates, world's-best-mom cards, jewellery - all in an effort to say thanks.

Or in an effort to avoid the ill-effects of forgetting, or - heaven forbid! - willfully ignoring Mother's Day.

Or some combination of all the above.

Great moms grow great kids, we are told. These great moms, living and deceased (for this is also a day of memory, and of missing  the first loved one), are already the topic of so many editorials, blogs, coffee mugs, and facebook comments that I want to take a moment to consider the other mother. The not-all-that-good mother. The bad mother. Because surely, somewhere, somebody had her.

And if great moms grow great kids, as the coffee mug says, what do bad moms grow?

Children who grow up with moms who beat them, physically and/or emotionally, whose moms couldn't be trusted, who forced their children to choose between mother and father - might be having a hard time with this particular holiday, and who can blame them? "I can never repay you for the gift of life," sing the cards. "Thanks, Mom." There is no flowery, verse-y card, though, for the gifts of the fist to the face and the assault on the soul.

We have a tendency to want to make things pretty, to look back fondly at a past that may never have actually happened. The happy Thanksgiving family dinner. The forefathers of our country agreeing on everything. Our foremothers happily consenting to be less than citizens. Many of us are taught, in childhood, that the Bible is a cohesive single text, and that everyone coming to America came for and received religious freedom - that kind of thing. But the truth is that life has always been complex, people have always endured great difficulties and confusions, and tried to do their best. And often failed, with consequences.

One of the best mothers I know is the thoughtful daughter of a bad mother, and I know she is not the only one out there. I want to celebrate the kids who had the not-so-good moms, but have carried on, teaching themselves how to trust, how to make friends, how to give and receive love. For these, the good mother is the one they have become to themselves. To all of you: you've done well. You are magnificent. Happy mother's day.