Worry

Note:  This writing did not originally have two parts.  I wrote what is now Part I, thinking it might just be for myself and I would not post it.  I have done this with a number of writings.  However, I kept thinking about how I was really going to have to dig down deep and keep trying to get back to the me that had some qualities that I don’t want to let go; that I want to last a lifetime.  I always say my mind it no different than an incubator.  It needs time to really mull things over.  And that process I found particularly helpful this time.  Thus, Part II.

Part I

Recently we had a small group discussion about worry.  Interesting.  I have to say I don’t really “worry” per se, leastwise, not as I perceive others do.  And this was pretty much true before Natalia died.  But if it had not been, I would hope that my worry habit/s would have been changed for good.   

It has been my observation that when people talk about their worries, they refer to things in the future, sometimes well into the future.  Things that might never happen and about which they can do nothing. 

If I actually “worry” about anything, it is about getting lazy.  Yes, you read it correctly.  I don’t want to get lazy and I worry that I am on my way to becoming an apt illustration of just that quality. 

I’ve never been lazy.  That is about the only thing I would say has been a definitive and consistent description of myself.  Now?  I seem to have no drive or self-discipline to fight against that laziness; the laziness that is trying to consume me and alter who I am.  It’s as if I have ingested something that is keeping me continually lethargic.  Thank goodness not yet continuously lethargic, but I feel like I’m only a step or two away from being at that stage.  (I couldn’t remember the difference between the two.  But I did remember one of the high school English teachers thinking it was an important matter.  So I did do what they always told us, “Look it up!”  Wiktionary is a good thing!). 

I have often enough asked Allan his opinion.  He answers, no; that he does not think I am getting lazy.  This morning he said I’ve had a lifetime of self-discipline; what does it matter?  But I don’t WANT  to be undisciplined and lazy.  Ever. 

Last year I started saying that I was 61, I could do what I wanted.  (That only gave my daughter Trista another phrase / perceived idiosyncrasy in her repertoire of “Mom” imitations.  She always contends that, were she a comedian, I alone would provide a career’s worth of material.  This clearly shows you what a smart alec she is.  She takes after her dad, by the way.)  I decided that approach was okay, and perhaps appropriate, at this point in life.  But, I am now truly concerned that I am getting into that “all or nothing” mode I find totally unhelpful and try to avoid in most all areas of life.  I don’t want to do what I don’t want to do.  Period.  And I don’t see how that can be okay!?

Back to the “worry” idea.  Worrying about my current lazy mode will not all of a sudden make me want to do what I don’t want to do.  If so, I’d go on a worry strike!  So, I’ll have to find a way to handle the situation, won’t I?  Oh, if I only felt like I could do that!  It doesn’t merely seem like a pretty big mountain to climb.  It feels like I’m supposed to be an experienced rock/cliff climber and I’m heading off to one of the toughest climbs I’ve ever tackled.  And I’m a 62 year-old, wimpy, non-athletic woman with a tear in her back.  Oh dear!

Part II

As I explained in the “Note” above, I kept pondering the dilemma about which I had written.  I went on that particular day to make myself do what I had to and ended up being fairly productive.  At some point in time I realized that maybe this could be a good thing.  Not necessarily for me, because of the real effort I will have to constantly put forth.  BUT, maybe, if I write about the struggle, it will be part of a legacy for Trista.  I do pray she won’t need it.  However, what if she goes through some other really difficult phase of life and I’m not here to help her through it?  Then, perhaps reading about my striving will be a help to her.   

I have a friend whose mother left her some stocks and bonds.  Everything was in a safety deposit box.  Her mother had left little notes attached to the various documents telling her daughter not to waste any of it; to use it wisely.  My friend appreciated those reminders from her mother.  It indicated that her mom had been thinking ahead and wanting to leave her something tangible, but also some advice to accompany the gift itself.  Touching and comical.  I liked just hearing the story. 

So what if a collection of writings about my (a parent’s) struggle could similarly represent both a tangible gift and ongoing encouragement?  A gift that would provide mental and emotional support?  Or cheer her on to have courage and confidence to face whatever she must?  Or give her hope and help her keep going?  Any possibility that I could do that for her would make the difficulty worth it.  I did not get the choice to trade places with Natalia, which I would gratefully have done for my child.  But I can choose this path.  I can choose to record my “fight”.   I can pray that written account never be needed.  But should it be, I can pray it be of great benefit. 

Super interesting, I think.  I don’t know if I can now say there is a purpose, such as that for which I have been searching.  I do know approaching the battle in this way feels like motivation.  And I know the beneficial qualities are circular in nature.  My efforts will be devoted to the benefit of my child.  But just the exerting of that effort circles back to me and I am a recipient of the very thing I most need, motivation.  The strongest and most powerful motivation, the deep desire to help your child.  Wow!  I’m thankful to be getting the encouragement I need for climbing that rock mountain that seems to go straight up.  There’s not only a strongly anchored rope in sight, but a harness uniquely designed for just such a person as I.  You, know, the wimp I described above.  I’m going to grab on, buckle the harness and start up.  Maybe I’ll from time to time give an update on that climb.  If so, I’ll do it with the idea that I have looked over and seen you also climbing your own rock mountain.  And I want some way to cheer you on; to remind you that, just by living, we are all rock climbing.  It really doesn’t matter the size of the mountain, the slope of the mountain, or whether the mountain provides natural footholds or is completely smooth.  Maybe yours is an easier climb than mine.  I hope it is.  But I still see that as completely irrelevant.  Because, either way, your mountain might still represent the most difficult climb you have had thus far on your life’s path.  And cheering you on is what I want to do.  Again, I don’t know if that is a true purpose or not.  I do know I will more than settle for doing just that; focusing on giving someone else that “hand up”. 

Metamorphosis?

I explained in my second blog, “Yearning”, dated November 7, 2010, that this blog is a personal journey.  A journey where I think out loud and try to figure things out; try to make sense of  my life from that point on.  It has been good for me.  It has been its own kind of (grief) therapy. 

I also said at the time that I didn’t know for how long I might do this.  While that continues to be true, this writing thing has developed such that I don’t know if “it” would let me stop at present.  It started, and continues to be, about my personal journey; my attempt to figure out where to go in life at this point in time.   However, at times it feels as if the writing is beginning to give me purpose, or at least additional purpose, to life.  Possibly and most probably temporary purpose, but purpose nevertheless.  And that I find comforting.  But that is very different than just journaling about what I’m thinking, isn’t it?  At the start this was a means of organizing my thoughts, and by so doing, maybe gain insight and purpose.  That is very different than the writing being a purpose in and of itself.  Isn’t it? 

I would really have thought that the writing would have served its purpose by now and what became the need to write would be “out of my system”.   But, as I recently explained in “Book Reports” (September 27^th), it seems that topics are beginning to not only present themselves, but are repeated in various everyday ways.  Almost so as to be sure I won’t miss them.  In that same post I admitted that it sounded really weird.  I still feel that way.  Maybe if I give a few examples, I’ll be able to “illustrate” what I mean. 

ü     I had begun to gather my thoughts to write something about language and words I hear used to talk about other human beings; about how negative, nasty speech doesn’t offer anything except an obvious boost to someone’s sense of importance.  I was going (and still will) give examples of how positive, encouraging language has inspired me, and hopefully, others. 

My brother had just attended a seminar on the use of verbal first aid; language proven by research to have an immediate impact on victims of physical trauma.  I remembered a course similar in content, but having to do with how to help those who have suffered a loss.  I thought the two worked so well together that they could be like Verbal First Aid 101 and 102. 

ü     Motivated for a number of different reasons, I have been studying American history again.  I have read a good amount about the history of Blacks and Native Americans in our country. 

Remember “Personal Reality Show, The Prequel,  of August 1^st?  I wrote that as a response to the reading of several books and  study I had done.  Shortly after, inadvertently,  I saw on Book TV a Native American explaining his newly published book.  So, I  am currently reading In The Courts Of The Conqueror: The Ten Worst Indian Law Cases Ever Decided by Walter Echo-Hawk.  The library had to search various state libraries and found a copy for me from Highpoint, about 4 hours from here.  Cost to me?  $2.00!  (I will report on it when I have finished the book.  But let me tell you, the abuse and denigration of a class of people in our country can only be called shameful and sickening.) 

Recently I purchased a Nook Color.  I had consistently  said I absolutely did NOT want to read a book on a technological device.  I would never consider it.  Of course, Allan said I would love it and we should just go look at them.  We did.  I bought.  And... I really, really like it! A lot!   (Why do men have the aggravating habit of being right when we are SURE they are totally mistaken?).   Anyway, several different times, I have “browsed” for free books.  A result of my first search?  Fiction, but having to do with the treatment of Blacks by Christian leaders in a small community. Most recent search for the books of a favorite author, free or not?  Several fictional books having to do with Native Americans! And let me explain that once you are reading the overview of a book, there is a tab giving books “Like This”.  So I found several more by authors I do not yet know. 

ü     PBS and the History channel have had several shows/documentaries on the same topics that have been what I will call “thrown in front of me” recently.  And there are at least two I intend to watch this week. 

ü     If I have failed to make it clear in the past, let me clarify one thing now.  I HATE how we Christians act a lot of the time.  I abhor any of the current political stances being masqueraded as Christianity.  I feel like way too many people are falling in line, not even trying to think for themselves.  In fact, I will go so far as to say that I do not fear terrorism; I do not fear financial collapse; I do not fear any major social event as much as I fear this bunching together of those who speak far more often of their political views than their beliefs.  It concerns me that I hear the exact same phrases and arguments from so many, as if they are robotic beings programmed in like manner. 

Once again, my frustrating and distinctly  irritating ability to catch just a few words of something while changing television channels has shown itself.  I recently had to pause because some guy was talking about  the First Amendment right to freedom of religion.  I do not recall whether he said it did NOT apply to Muslims or he said it applied only to Christianity. I believe he also said we should not allow one more mosque to be built in this country.   CLICK. 

Within that same time frame I saw and heard another man refer to people who disagree with him as “human debris”. (I’m not sure, but I believe this is someone with a good sized “ Christian” following.)   CLICK.

I could cite a number of other examples, but maybe these will suffice.  I don’t know, but given the very specific and “out of the ordinary” topics, I see this as all very uncanny!  And since they matter to me, because they have to do with people and how they are treated, shouldn’t I write about them?  So is that a purpose?  To write about the things that literally keep stepping in front of me on my life pathway?  As always, I have no idea whatsoever! 

However, to quote myself from the “Yearning” post, I wrote:

I think I'm unsettled and fearful that if politics doesn't stop being an idol; if we don't denounce the hate-filled voices, we won't want to reach out to others when they most need it.  Not unless they agree with us, anyway.  And I'm yearning for a world where a world view different from our own doesn't equate to disdain.  I want to appreciate that everyone has a different "story".   I'm yearning for a world where we're willing to examine what we think and change our minds.  A world where we are more than willing to say "Great idea!" to someone else.  A world where we are all happy to see our balloons rise together, so to speak.  I'm yearning for a world where everyone who needs compassion and kindness and consideration (like we experienced) will get it.  And it will be heartfelt.

So maybe nothing has really changed at all.  Maybe I still feel that if we examine what has happened to us and where we’ve been, individually and corporately, the result should be more compassion and concern for others; more wanting to know their stories, and, if needed, to help them up.

Obviously, I’m still trying to figure it all out.   So, for now, I continue to write.

A Long List

Why?! I just don’t understand it!  Why did  my child have to die?  Did s/her die alone?  Did s/he suffer?  What were his/her last words?  Can’t you tell me something?  Please! I need to know.  I want to know.  Isn’t there anything at all you can tell me?

That’s what I imagine I would say if notified that my child had died in war.  Obviously, our family having had a child die, I am probably more sensitive to this scene than perhaps others might be.  I understand that.  But I can’t help wondering about the emotions that military families (world-wide) go through upon experiencing this kind of death.  It seems, at least to me, only natural that they would be almost overwhelmed with frustration.  Wouldn’t it be easy to understand?  How could you not have sympathy for those parents?  They must be angry that their child might be alive had some men not made decisions that resulted in war. 

Today marks 10 years that we have been fighting in Afghanistan.  It so happens that my most recent reading deals somewhat indirectly with war.  I’m learning a little about the international law of war; the “kinds” of war; various reasons for which a war has been fought (whether formally declared or not0, etc.  These two things have played at the back of my mind all day.  I began to wonder how many families, all over the world, for hundreds and hundreds of years have received notification of a child’s death during war?  And how many of those deaths were truly necessary?  Meaning how many were necessary because of an attack, resulting in a region or country having to defend itself?  And I wonder how many innocent, non-military people, have died over those same years?  Especially children, who know nothing about anything; they are/were just thinking about getting to play or do some other fun activity. 

I doubt there is a way to get that kind of number.  And I’m not at all sure I would want to know, anyway.  But, I did, totally unexpectedly, just the other day, read a list of our country’s “record” on war or military action.  I was shocked at just how long the list was.

ü     Revolutionary War 1775-1783

ü     Numerous Indian wars 1790-1890  (Yes, almost 100 years!)

ü     Naval operations against France 1798-1801

ü     War of 1812   1812-1815

ü     The Mexican-American War 1846-1858

ü     The American Civil War 1861-1865

ü     Overthrow of the Kingdom of Hawaii 1887

ü     The Spanish-American War 1898-1902

ü     The Boxer Rebellion 1900-1901

ü     The Philippine-American War 1899-1913

ü     Occupation of Vera Cruz, Mexico 1914

ü     The Pershing Expedition into Mexico 1916

ü     World War I 1917-1919

ü     World War II 1941-1945

ü     Conflict in Korea 1950-1953

ü     The Vietnam “War” 1963-1974

ü     Invasion of Lebanon 1982

ü     Invasion of Grenada 1983

ü     Invasion of Libya 1986

ü     Invasion of Panama 1989

ü     Invasion of Iraq 1990-1991

ü     Invasion of Somalia 1991

ü     Afghanistan 2001-present

ü     Iraq 2003-present

Not mentioned above is a constant state of alert during the “Cold War”, mid-1940’s to early 1990’s.  Also not listed is the “War on Terrorism” that we speak of.   That’s a lot of war over a lot of years.  The number of years we have not been at war or involved in military conflict is far less than the years we have been so engaged.  I’ll let you count for yourself.  I’m still thinking about someone’s child being killed, whether part of a war/conflict or an innocent civilian. 

Response to "Verbal First Aid"

My brother has a blog and recently wrote about attending a presentation on verbal first aid.  The presentation was evidently given by a Dr. Judith Prager, co-author of the book The Worst Is Over: What To Say When Every Moment Counts.  A really interesting post regarding research about “the rapid dramatic physical improvement experienced by accident victims who heard healing words….”!  I encourage you to read it for yourself.  The title is "Verbal First Aid" and it was posted October 1st.  You'll find his blog at http://noaz.blogspot.com.   (This brother is a computer expert.  Me?  Well…no so much.  So I do hope he is impressed that I am putting a link in this post.  Never done that before!  And I figured it out all on my own!)  Anyway, I wrote a brief response but wanted to share the following with him, as it relates so very well.  But it was simply too long as a comment, so I share it here. 

Years ago we took a course on what to say to/do for people who are experiencing a tragedy.  The course was by Dr. Norman Wright.  I do not recall the title.  But it was excellent. 

Some things we learned? 

1)  People, when in shock (and it may not be apparent that a person is in that state) might not even remember others coming to be with them. So don't be offended if you have gone to someone immediately upon hearing of a tragedy and s/he does not, later on, remember your presence.

2)  Don't ask a person what you can do for him/her.  S/he can't think.  Instead, be very specific.  "I am going to bring dinner for you on Tuesday night.  I will prepare something you can freeze so that if you already have food, what I bring will be a help to you later on."

3)  Put it on your calendar to send a note, call or visit a person on an "anniversary date", whether that be 3 months or 6 months after a tragedy; just whatever.  In particular, do so at the one year mark.  Evidently people can think they are slowly beginning to recover, but an "anniversary" like the first can take them totally by surprise because it is almost  a replay of the day tragedy struck.  So not only do they re-live the tragedy, but they are totally unsettled by the strength and depth of their response to the date.

(I can tell you from personal experience that remembering means so much to people.  This year a friend of my daughter's gave a gift to a charity for children  in memory of our little granddaughter's birthday.  My daughter was so touched.  She has never appreciated a gift any more than she did that one.) 

4)     Don't worry that you don’t know what to say.  You do not have to say anything!  The truly important thing?  Just knowing you care about what s/he is going through.  If the person gets upset and cries, let him/her.  It is healing.  If s/he wants to talk about the loved one, or what happened, just listen.  You don't (and can't anyway) say anything that will help.  But listening intently is a gift to the hurting person. 

It is my sincere wish that no one needs to use any of what is on my brother’s blog or in this post.

Natalia's Kiss

It was just as we were leaving and it was ever so light.  But it was so perfect.  I can still feel it now, a touching memory.

It was a good day.  We started out on a “Surprise Adventure” early in the day.  The heat wouldn’t really allow us to do otherwise.  And, as it turned out, it was also necessary because the heat was a factor for the beautiful creatures that were the focus of our adventure. 

Trista kept the destination a secret from all of us, including Ale.  She was taking us to Airlie Gardens to the butterfly house to celebrate our 41^st anniversary on August 8^th.  The setting was serene.  I very much liked the sculptures, in diverse and eclectic mediums.  The butterflies were beautiful!  There weren’t the 14,000 varieties found in Costa Rica, of course.  But there were enough for us to appreciate how unique each variety was.    

I really wanted a butterfly to land on me.  I kept waiting, hoping for this small “gift”; a gift surely without meaning to anyone who hasn’t had to search for little moments of encouragement and the feeling of being close to a sweet lost child.  I understand that.  And I hope most, or at least as many as possible, never understand.  That would be a good thing.  But, I needed to look up and feel as if the sun were shining on my face in some special way.  And that the occasional slight breezes were, in fact, meant specifically to refresh my spirit.  Finally one came to sit a brief moment or two on my skirt.  I stayed very still so a picture could be taken, of course.  I was honestly thankful for that little butterfly, but, still, I wanted some special experience, I guess. 





And just as we were leaving, at that very last moment, one came to rest on my shoulder; not on an article of clothing, but on my person.  As I write this, I am aware that to describe the significance that moment held for me is impossible.  I can only say that sometimes the “non-events” of life simply touch one’s very core. I know it was not a big thing, but to get this one little wish granted was like getting a kiss from Natalia.  That’s what it was in my mind; a kiss just for me!  A kiss encouraging me to have a good day. 

A kiss to remind me that she is surrounded by the kind of beauty and serenity I had just enjoyed.  A kiss to remind me that one day I will get that kiss in person.  And I will be able to kiss that little face in return.  Maybe we will be in a field of butterflies.  I can make a game of it, and kiss her each and every time a butterfly flits anywhere near us.  I can only imagine the giggling!  No doubt, her laughter is the music to which the dance of those butterflies is perfectly choreographed.

Wisdom From Dad

Last May I wrote a post for Mother’s Day and talked about my mom.  I didn’t have time in June to do the same for Father’s Day, even though I would have liked to do so.  But Sunday, October 2^nd  was my dad’s birthday.   So I started this post for him, although I knew time would not allow me to finish it that day. 

The lessons I learned from dad are numerous.  I decided to try and pick the “top three”.   A difficult task, I assure you, as I thought more than three definitely qualified to be in that category.  So, I just picked three.  Maybe another time I can share the others.  Here are those three, in no specific order, and maybe a few notes on how I have used those lessons:

1)     Ask kids questions about why they have done something before assuming they were just being naughty.  Often you’ll be surprised and pleased with what their intent was!  And how to handle the situation will be so much more easily determined.  Want to guess how often this advice helped me out?  I’ll give you a couple of the best examples I can think of.   At some point in time, during my teaching years, a kid, who was usually such a pleasure, must have been having a bad day.  I don’t remember the circumstances, but I chastised him, which he didn’t take so well.  After a few minutes he was really angry and told me to just send him to the office.  I refused to do so; said we were going to set the issue aside and talk about it later.  After class, I asked. “Glenn what were you thinking?  You know very well I don’t send people to the office as a general rule.  Why would you want me to make the situation any worse and get you in more trouble by sending you to the office?  Explain that to me first and then we’ll discuss the original issue.”  His response?  “Mrs. N, you were just making me SO mad I didn’t want to stay and maybe be disrespectful to you.  I really didn’t want to do that!”  Of course, I had to tell Glenn that actually, then, he had been thinking ahead and handling the situation better than I.  Since we had never had any trouble I suggested I just thank him for wanting to be respectful to me and we start with a clean slate the following day; that I expected we really would be able to let it go.  And I repeated that I was glad he had been in better control than I.

Another quick example.  Another student, a girl, this time, was SO good for me, but she came to class extremely unprepared one day.  When I asked why she didn’t have her homework, she just repeated several times that she didn’t; that was all.  I went on with class.  Later, I asked her why she wouldn’t give me a reason.  She went on to say that she didn’t want to give me a hard time, but, okay,  her younger brother, who was suffering from a degenerative disease had been really sick the night before and she didn’t get any homework done for any class.  She was particularly close to him and he liked having her with him.  In her case, I had to tell her, “Shame on me, Stacey!  I evidently have not made it clear that I do believe in bad stuff happening.  I  should have made it more than clear to everyone they NEVER had to be afraid to ‘give me a hard time’ by telling me something.  And, further, I had also not made it understood  that nothing had to be said in front of the entire class.  Any student could just ask if s/he could tell me later.”   I was glad to have learned about the situation because I was able to frequently ask how he was doing and tell her I was thinking about her family.  Not too many years later, Stacey’s brother did pass away.  I was able to contact her and give my sympathy.

2)     Don’t fret over trying to learn how to make decisions.  Do the best you can.  And when you find out it wasn’t such a good decision, mentally pick yourself up, brush yourself off, and keep going.  You’ll know better next time.  This was Dad’s response when, somewhere in my later teenaged years,  I told him I didn’t know how to make some decisions.  I think it might be my general nature that I don’t look backwards and fret about dumb things I’ve done.  BUT, even if that is true, my dad helped develop that natural bend.  When a totally dumb decision stares me in the face, I look at it,  think about remembering that, and I do move on.  I’m not so sure I would know to move on quickly if it weren’t for Dad’s advice.  

3)     Girls work hard to look good.  Working on “looking good on the inside” should get at least equal time.   (Dad mentioned this when I was 16 and getting ready to go to a dance. I DID actually pause and think about it at the time.  But I’m sure it was years later before I really understood the wisdom he was sharing.)

In an upcoming post about words and the impact they can have, I’ll share one of my favorite lessons from Dad.  

No parent is perfect, of course.  But mine did the very, very best they knew how.  I appreciate both of them and miss them. 

Numbers

I was going to entitle this post “Speechless”.  But that seemed totally ridiculous.  If you have read any of my blogs, I am absolutely sure you doubt I can ever be rendered speechless.  In fact, my husband wondered if my last two posts would be rejected because of length.  Thank goodness it doesn’t work like texting.  Because some things, like the books I shared, just have so much to offer as food for thought; substantive food, at that.  In my defense, you’ll see how the following news item was disappointing enough to make me momentarily lose touch with reality and THINK I was going to be speechless.

The North Carolina legislature is having hearings in order to decide which of 3 residential schools for the deaf and blind to close, due to budget constraints.  To quote dailytarheel.com, “The recently passed State appropriations bill mandates the State close one of those 3 schools because they no longer meet the needs of visually impaired and hard of hearing populations in an effective manner.”  My first reaction was NOT to pause and ask questions.  Think disbelief, aggravation and disgust.  That pretty well sums up my immediate reaction.  Why kids?  Why does something good have to be taken away from  kids?  Isn’t there anywhere else the budget can be cut?  Really?! 

However, I’ve now backed up and reminded myself of something important.  Just like I had to do with the Supreme Court decision Snyder vs. Phelps regarding the Westboro Baptist Church, I had to get the facts.  (Why is it so hard to remember to take my own advice?  Wonder if anyone else finds that as difficult to do as I?)  So online I went.  My questions were:

1)     What are the exact figures?  What are the annual costs of each of the 3 schools? 

2)     What would be the annual cost for a public school to accommodate the students of the school ultimately closed? 

3)     What, exactly, does “an effective manner” mean? 

4)     How is “effective manner” measured, whether referring to the services provided in these residential schools or in public school? 

5)     Who does the measuring?  Educators well experienced in, and specializing in working with deaf/blind students or policy makers?  Or both, working jointly?  You know, those evidently impossible, and for all intents and purposes, currently non-existent human interactions called cooperation and compromise?

You get my point.

I have not found any of the answers.  I intend to try and get them.  Now, please hang on to this thought about the schools for the disabled for a minute.  Let me go back a few years and fill you in on how I learned to “get the numbers”.

He was REALLY irritated.  That wasn’t too unusual, but, unfortunately for me, guess where that anger was directed?  I had been stupid enough to dare ask about a number.  I was on a committee to investigate and give input on various educational programs.  The assumed head of the committee, who also happened to be the boss of all of us around the table, had mentioned a dollar figure we paid (He definitely used past tense.) for an additional program.  I looked around the table.  All blank faces.  (Does everybody else remember our agreeing to spend the money?  I sure don’t!) I waited.  No one spoke up.  Being, at that point in life, still always naïve about such mean-spirited people, I speak up.  I’m sorry, I just don’t remember our deciding about that expense.  So where does that leave us with respect to monies still available?  At just the time his face was flushing red from anger, my friend Randy speaks up.  I don’t either.  Then my friend Elaine.  I guess I don’t either.  With difficulty, but real effort, because he was, to his credit, trying to suppress his annoyance, he explains that he had been speaking about the dollar figure we would have to spend, if the program weren’t part of a great package he thought we should consider.  (Run that by me one more time?)  He was just using that past tense because in his mind it was a done deal.  The rest of us had not caught on to the fact that it was a pretend committee.  (What were we thinking?  We really should have known.) 

That experience taught me how easily numbers can be manipulated, taken out of context, whatever, to get a desired result, for good or bad.   I knew words can be taken out of context, and thereby either change their meaning entirely, or give a different, but important, change in nuance.   Now I knew numbers can be likewise used; perhaps even more so.  I sometimes wonder how many numbers we use in life can really stand alone and yet represent accurate and complete truth.  A last example, if it is okay; one to which we all might more easily relate.  I tore something in my back.  At the time, the medical person gave my blood pressure as 140 over something.  Since my blood pressure is always slightly low or just about perfect, 140 was, for me, very high.  The medical professional needed to know what the 140 figure meant as it related to me personally.  Because, for someone else, 140 might be closer to his/her normal pressure.  He explained the 140 was a result of pain.  (I did not know that happened!)  Just as most plays need supporting actors, so do numbers. 

My point?  First, to have truthful and beneficial communication, the kind that will lead to efficient and productive action, requires numbers.  A lot of confusion, frustration, and wasted time can be avoided, if we start demanding the context for any numbers cited, whether given to prove a point or to encourage a certain response/action.  And if not provided, it’s unwise to react as I did this time.  A better course of action is to search out the context.  (Hope I remember my own advice next time!)  When necessary, Allan and I use several sites that are committed to unbiased fact checking.  Secondly, I’d like to think no decision that dramatically affects the lives of human beings (especially children) is made without the full “number context”.  To my way of thinking, in addition to the numbers and context of the problem, the same should be provided for any alternative solution being put forth.  Difficult decisions might be easier to accept given such an approach.  And maybe better solutions will become apparent.   At the very least, there might be a lot less enmity.  Don’t forget.  I’m an idealist who struggles to be more of a realist.  But boy, would I like to see some overlap of my idealism with reality!

By way of showing I do TRY to do what I’m “preaching” about on a consistent basis, I did get numbers for the assertion I made in “Back To The Future?” regarding the number of slave owners.  I said, “For what percentage of white men in the combined states have we allowed the subject of slavery to become an issue?  And to what percentage of our population, claimed by us to be equal, would we be denying representation?  No man can say that the number benefiting from allowing the continuation of slavery represents ‘large districts of people’.  Rather, if we include slaves, the percentage unrepresented would be vastly greater than those for whom we are willing to set aside our worthy aspirations.”  I should have given the numbers on which I based saying one number was not only greater than another, but vastly greater.   (Shame on me!  Or, as Malik, my trainer at the Y says, “My bad!”.)  Here they are.  I read some of the actual 1860 census report on the http://www.census.gov/ site and compared the numbers with Wikipedia.  In some cases the numbers varied slightly.  I’ll give both.  The 1860 (eighth US) census showed:

ü     US population was determined to be 31,443,321

ü     4 million slaves lived in the US  (Wikipedia said 3,953,761)

ü     This was increased from 700,000 in 1790

ü     Slaves made up a full 1/3 of the Southern population  (Wikipedia)

ü     393,975 individuals, or 8% of all US families, owned 3,950,528 slaves (The 3,950,528 was a Wikipedia number that differed from the one above, second check mark.)