Trial By Public

I just finished watching an old documentary about a man who killed his wife and unborn child. All through the program, people everywhere had an opinion. Crowds gathered at the victim's home, with news people and their photographers constantly watching, ready to pounce whenever anyone connected to the case appeared. It didn't matter if the person was connected to the victim or the perpetrator.

One side was sure he did it; the other, no, he didn't. The people were seemingly normal everyday people, standing, chanting, prodding to get a response. Waiting for the moment that said, Aha, we got you.

Why are we so interested in other people's lives? Why do we seem to believe we have some sort of right to know? People are being tried and convicted in public opinion long before there is evidence to prove they did it. I know some would say, no big deal; they will get over it if they didn't do anything. The truth of the matter is, lives are forever disrupted, some even ruined beyond imagining. But the observers bear no responsibility for the chaos they helped create. They go on with their lives as usual until the next newscast provides another case to remark on.

Eventually, the accused appears in court to face attorneys, judges, and juries. Trials can become marathons, and the people still attend for that moment they have been holding their breath to hear. Guilty or not guilty. When the crowd hears "their chosen" response, they cheer at the conviction. They clap and jump for joy, chant, and state that is what they deserve for the crime they were found guilty of. How is it that we gather so much joy in the pain of others?

Looking back over history, public executions were common. People made a day of it to stand in the crowd of townspeople to witness the beheading of queens, thieves, and traders. Sadly, we haven't found our humanity in all these years.  We still want the scoop, to be an eyewitness, to scream our opinion to the universe. Social media has become the best friend of anyone wishing to express their point of view. They share them easily without facts in hand. They post: what should happen to the accused before there is evidence, before there is a day in court.

I am in no way suggesting people should not be held accountable for their actions; I am, however, of the mind that we need more facts before we speak, if we should speak at all. I found no need to rejoice in another human being's downfall.  I will undoubtedly get pushback for my words, and that is okay with me. I prefer to rejoice in the everyday good and leave the rest to a higher power.

That Special Day Called Valentine

He arrives at the door after work, inhand the flowers he bought on his way home. He thinks of the night before, and can't remember what came over him. But he knows the flowers will set it all right again, they always do.

As the door opens, she waits on the other side, her breath held, waiting to see his mood before speaking. There was a fight last night, and he believes it was all smoothed over.  For her, it was another night of guessing, fancy footwork to dodge the emotions of the man she believed she loved. Tonight, the door opens to a smile and "how's my best girl?" After all, it's Valentine's Day, and he wanted to surprise her.

This scene will be played out over and over as husbands and wives spend the evening together. For some, it will be fancy dinners, late movies, dancing, romance, the works. Others enjoy the comfort of home to celebrate their love quietly without fanfare, just knowing all is well, and love exists.

For victims of domestic violence, flowers can be a trigger. Flowers can bring memories of past Valentins filled with fear and forboding. Waiting for the moment when the look in his eye changes, when the flashing smile becomes his tight lips with clenched teeth. Flowers don't always carry the delights of romance and compassion. For some, flowers put a knot in her stomach, a warning in her brain, a fear in her heart.

One in four women and one in seven men will be victims of domestic violence in their lifetime. Flowers won't comfort, and lovely words may be the prelude to a night of accusations and arguments. Together we can change lives, promote equality, and provide safe spaces and a future without violence. Together, we can create a world where domestic violence isn't acceptable and is not tolerated. Won't you join me in building the new world? Contact your local shelter to see what you can do.  We all deserve to be safe.

Week End Observations

What an interesting weekend it was. The sitting president stepped aside and stated he wouldn’t run for another term, and we welcomed a new age for our government when he endorsed a black woman to run.  I will be backing VP Harris in her bid for the highest office in the land.  I feel it is the time and place for women to stand and for our voices to unite in a common goal of saving our democracy and assuring women have true equal rights.  Looking at the other side of the aisle and thinking, those people do not represent me or my beliefs. For some, this will cause friends to leave, families to argue and leave riffs in the family unit.  Not for me, you can believe what you believe and live how you see fit for you.

As beliefs go, mine are simple and straightforward spiritual beliefs. I believe in a higher power. Love is the answer and in the end that is all there is, love each other, hold space for someone who has a different view than I do.  The Golden Rule and the phrase, “First do no harm” live in my heart. I share this because I spent part of my weekend watching Hulu and their documentaries on mega-churches and the variety of cults that have passed through and are still alive and well in many places.

I was watching one such program “The Secrets of Hillsong”, a mega-church started in Australia and then brought to New York City.  I’m not going to degrade or disparage any other person’s beliefs or the way they practice their beliefs.  I will say for me, this isn’t a church it appears to be a rock concert.  I share because I found myself asking this question, when did the worship of God become a three-ring circle?  As it turns out there is quite a scandal around that church.  (You can watch the show to get the scoop).  I remember going to Sunday school as a child. It was peaceful, we sang, our minister shared The Word, and sometimes we would share a Sunday meal. Some people, simply meet in a location, sit quietly, and allow the peace and grace of their God to wash over them. No other words or a person leading them, telling them how they should feel or act, only quiet communal with like-minded people. In the end, we must all choose what fills our souls and brings us peace and comfort.  Some have no religion, no God, and no higher power beyond themselves.   As for me, I’ll pass on the Rock-Star preacher and sit in tranquility with my maker.

You're The Man Now

Watching television and finding a patterner that shows up in families regardless of ethnicity, or religion. After the death of a father figure, someone turns to the oldest boy child and says, "You're the man of the house now. You have to step up."  Young girls are asked to take on extra responsibilities to help the mother get through the day. Stop doing that. They are still children and have enough to be responsible for. They just lost a parent, processing that fact, and worrying about what happens now is enough. 

My father passed away when I was fifteen, and I assure you, processing that, adjusting to a new normal that I had no choice in making was a heavy enough load. My family was changed, and learning to find my place again was all I could handle. My mother was lost; she relied on my father for nearly everything. She was now the primary parent and wasn’t prepared for that role. I had older stepbrothers; however, they didn't live in our home, so I took on responsibilities I was not prepared for, nor did I have enough knowledge about. My younger sister, by only two years, didn't adjust well to me telling her what to do. She became rebellious and, at times, refused to listen to me at all.

Boys came into my life around this time. Again, an experience I was not prepared for. I soon was involved with a boy four years older than me. He became my world. We met in October, and by late April of the next year, I was pregnant, and by June, I was married. Again, another responsibility I was not prepared for. I was now a teen mother and married at age sixteen.

As I look back at that time of my life, a helpful alternative from an adult might have been, "I know you are probably scared and wondering what happens now, knowing your lives will be different, and it's okay to feel scared. We will have to make adjustments, and we can work together to get things done. It's okay to feel sad and cry. Always know you can talk to me and I will do my best to help you."   As parents, too often we think we are supposed to have all the answers. No one has all the answers; it's okay to say to a child, I am a little scared too and sad, but we can get through this. Placing no responsibility, other than those they are already experiencing. Children do not step up to be an adult or have the answers. The loss of a parent does not give them power or knowledge beyond what they already had.

Along with my own experience and working as a LAC (Licensed Addiction Counselor) and behavioral change facilitator for domestic violence perpetrator classes and victims' assistants, I saw firsthand the pressures we place on our children. We fight in front of them or send them to their rooms to listen in the dark to the scary sounds downstairs. We place adult responsibilities on their shoulders; those shoulders aren't built to carry that load.

Regardless of how difficult it may seem for us, the adults, we must bear the responsibility, look for the answers, and let the children be children.