Racism: The First Step

For some reason I've been attempting to process all that has been happening in my head instead of in writing, which we all know doesn't work for me.

I care deeply and I've been wanting to say more, but I'm exhausted. I only know two ways to feel: all or nothing. The "all" was keeping me awake at night, giving me chest pains, and making me shaky. Every day is something new. Every day is some difference injustice, some other constitutional violation, some new threat to freedom.

But this morning, a couple of things hit me:

1) This may be how people of color feel 100% of the time.
2) If God gave me a love and ability for writing, then the worst thing I can do is sit on it when real things come up.

I'm not here to defend my character or be sure that you know my opinions on every facet of this issue. >deleted sentences that amounted to exactly that< If you want to go in-depth, let's get coffee and chat sometime. You know discussion is my love language.

It has taken me an embarrassingly long time to begin to see the racism situation for what it might be.

Do you remember Formspring? It was around when I was like a freshman and sophomore in high school, and it was a platform where your Facebook friends could anonymously ask you questions, you'd answer them, and they'd appear on like a rolling profile page. It was mostly used for trying to get your crush to think about you Differently, but one question and answer by a white "friend" has stuck with me for a decade:

Q: Would you ever date a black guy?
A: No, sorry, I'm not racist, it's just the way I was raised.

I remember thinking, "Wait, that is absolutely racist. What does that even mean? How can you think that's not racist? Are people raising their children not to date black people?!"

That, at age fifteen, was my first recognized brush with racism. A decade and a half on the earth, and the first time I experienced racism was as the most passive of passive observers.

And somehow I still didn't think racism was a real problem.

Some people have said that while personal racism, like the above, is disgusting and may exist, institutional racism is a myth. I can't speak to this from experience, but I think that on paper, that may be true; there may be no racist laws anymore.

Here's the thing though: as long as there is personal racism, there will be institutional racism, because people run the institutions. There ARE racist teachers. There ARE racist politicians. There ARE racist cops. It's not so much that we need to work on racist laws anymore, but racist people.

I can tell you the real turning point in my opinion of racism, and it is both ridiculous and profound.

It was walking in on Gabe watching the TV show Luke Cage a couple of years ago. I remember passing through the living room and watching for a few minutes. I kind of frowned and an absentminded thought floated through my head:

Why is everyone black?

The thought exploded into my consciousness and I made Gabe pause the show.

"They're all black," I said to him. He stared at me.

"Yeah?"

"And it struck me as weird," I continued. "My knee jerk reaction was, 'Why aren't there some white characters?'" I couldn't believe was was unfolding inside my head. "Do you know how many TV shows I've watched where everyone was white and it never even occurred to me? It didn't seem weird. It didn't seem anything. It was just the default. I see ten minutes of Luke Cage and..."

That was when it started to make sense.

The world IS different for me because I'm white. That's not my fault and I don't need to feel personal guilt for being born into this skin or what my ancestors may have done. However it IS my fault that I refused to see this sooner, and I SHOULD feel guilty if I don't fight for real equality.

I said REAL equality. Not just equality under the law, but equality that extends to dating, media, institutions, and everything in between.

Was the murder of George Floyd "racist," or just cruel? We can all have opinions on that, and the truth is, we will probably never know. But I think that might be just the disgusting, tragic tip of the iceberg.

There IS a problem. You might disagree about what it is exactly, but there IS a problem.

I'm sorry it took me so long to admit it, but I'm really glad that first step is over.

~ Stephanie

P.S. I know this can be really obnoxious and I AM trying to work on it, but the way I naturally understand things better is to challenge them and play devil's advocate. If we end up talking and I push on your ideas in a way that seems "wrong," just push back (logically). I want to understand.

5 Thoughts on Pan(ic)demic Homeschooling from a Homeschooled Kid

This post started because I wanted to share the video at the end and couldn't come up with a succinct caption. I had too many thoughts vying for center stage. I expect the result is going to be something far too long for a Facebook caption, but unusually short for a Reason in the Rhyme post.*

If you don't want to read all this, at least watch the video at the end XD It's less than five minutes long.

Thought #1: On one hand, I don't have kids, so I don't feel that it's my place to philosophize on the merits of homeschooling.

I always worry that if I make a pro-homeschooling post, parents are going to roll their eyes, curl their lips, or (EVEN WORSE) just keep scrolling because what could I know? I'm a millennial idealist without children. I should JUST WAIT til I actually have kids.

On the other hand, I was homeschooled. I don't know how hard it is from a parent standpoint, but I know how beneficial it was in the long run as a student. Did I go through phases of wanting to go to "real school"? Of course I did. Thankfully, my parents didn't let a hormonal fourteen-year-old call the shots in the family. I wanted to go to "real school" so that I could test if I would be "popular," have a locker, complain about homework, and go to a really scandalous, raunchy prom.

Instead, I was forced to make deep, meaningful friendships based around timeless, identity-shaping ideas; keep my books fifty feet from my bedroom; not have any homework ever (because you get all your work done in the normal school hours); and go to both a cute, slightly boring prom AND a really scandalous, raunchy prom (for better or worse, homeschoolers can actually go to regular high school proms as guests of students there).

I also learned how to pace myself, self-motivate, juggle deadlines and big projects, think logically, read difficult literature, break down subjects I found challenging, blah, blah, blah, now I have the skills to learn anything—different post ;)

Thought #2: I know homeschooling doesn't sound feasible for families where both parents work.

Again, I don't have kids. However, it is possible to homeschool even when both parents work. I bet if I Googled "homeschooling both parents work" I would get tons of advice and plans and suggestions.

Yep. Just did, and I did.

Also, *ahem*: YOU'RE MAKING IT WORK RIGHT NOW, AREN'T YOU? :)

Thought #3: I hope that parents who are hating public school homeschooling realize that if they did regular homeschooling, it might not be as terrible.

When you homeschool, you don't have to follow someone else's lesson plan. You CAN; if you don't WANT to write a lesson plan, there are HUNDREDS out there, and you can do them at your own pace. There are plans that involve videos. There are plans that don't involve videos. There are plans that involve lots of worksheets. There are plans that involve no worksheets. There are expensive plans, and free plans.

Thought #4: There really are lots of options.

You can even combine some plans that involve videos AND some that don't, AND some worksheets but not others. You can make school work for your family in a way that a public school teacher can't. (Even though he or she might genuinely want to, the plan that helps Johnny thrive is going to drive Susan insane, and some kind of compromise must be implemented for everyone.)

Who knows your kids better than you do? Who loves them more than you do? Who has their best interest at heart more than you do?

There are hundreds of cheap or free co-ops where your kids can mingle with other kids and learn about whatever subjects the parents feel like teaching.

There are also programs like the one I work for, Classical Conversations, where your kids actually meet in "classes" and are "taught" one day a week, given their assignments for the other four days, and do them with their families (with tons of online and in-person support).

(Thought #4.5: Public schools may have to cut down on class sizes post-pandemic? Classical Conversations' class sizes aren't supposed to exceed 8 for the younger elementary grades, 16 for the upper elementary grades, and 12 for middle and high school.)

Thought #5: There are solutions for the problem that arises when "THERE ARE LOTS OF OPTIONS."

In this day and age, you can find blog reviews and watch YouTube videos and get word-of-mouth advice as easy as breathing. Do a bit of research, then just pick something and try it for a year. Again again, I know I don't have kids, but my hunch is that one year of ANY curriculum is not going to ruin your child beyond repair. If it doesn't work, you can change it for next year.

Alrighty. *cough* Well. Here is the video I wanted to post.




~Stephanie

* It is not. It is a regular post size XD

Venting

I feel so bitter these days. Not every second of every day, to be sure. I have moments where I feel joyful or make someone laugh. But on the whole, all the things that have always annoyed me about the world seem to be increasing—in frequency and intensity.

I don't know how to explain it. It makes me want to stop being friends with a lot of people. It makes me want to stay off the internet forever. It makes me want to snap pencils in half. It makes me want to throw open my mind and spew things and watch people be taken aback (which, really, is probably just a restatement of that first desire.)

I feel angry a lot. The body-center kind of angry, where your heart beats faster and your hands tingle. The kind of anger that literally keeps me up at night. The kind of anger that can make a difference—for good OR evil, but mostly I feel the evil.

Lately I've had people complain to me about things that they're brought on themselves—I mean, just hand-over-fist, dragged those things off shelves directly above their heads and stood underneath them to watch them fall. As hypocritical as it is, I have a lot of trouble feeling sorry for people who have brought their troubles on themselves. For a person who brings many things upon herself, I have shockingly little sympathy. (Maybe that's why? Not that it makes it any less hypocritical, but maybe I lack sympathy due to the "takes one to know one" effect.)

I have trouble talking to people who complain about things they've brought on themselves. In these situations I feel physically incapable of speaking insincerely, so that leaves me saying a lot of non-committal half-truths punctuated with "LOLs." I don't want to be mean. I don't want to be ungracious. I think about all the things I've brought on myself that Jesus has loved me through and taken me back after. But somehow I still can't think of anything to say to these people that feels kind and gracious AND true.

I've also recently been the recipient of the ol' high school trick where someone passive aggressively calls you out in a disparaging Facebook status. As an Eight, I have a complicated relationship with other people's opinion of me. In one very true way, I do not care what people think of me. It is not important to me to be liked by everyone. But on the other hand, injustice makes me seethe. Unfair, disrespectful assumptions bother me, not because I care what people think, per se, but because it's WRONG; in this case, it reflects something wrong about the person who posted it, not me, and yet the person doesn't see that irony. I find this maddening.

I've also seen posts berating people for occasionally breaking the six-feet-apart guideline. The posts demand that people stop being so selfish and take initiative by always staying six feet apart. On the surface, that doesn't sound like an unreasonable request. However, when you think about it playing out in reality, it just doesn't work.

Say I'm on a bicycle and I see someone ahead of me on the sidewalk. I can't pass them because I'd be closer than six feet, so I cross the street to pass—oh wait, there are people walking on that sidewalk too, and, in THEIR effort to stay six feet away from ME, they panic/stop in their tracks/cross the street, where—uh-oh, they're in danger of being too close to the person I was trying to avoid, and the person I was trying to avoid has to run ahead to give these new people room, but then she gets too close to the person ahead of her on the sidewalk—

It is a nice thought. But in reality, you cannot expect people never to break the six-feet-apart rule. If you are so concerned about your personal safety, definitely wear a mask, stay home, precautions. But if every individual person is supposed to rearrange himself for every individual person, we're just gonna collide even worse—and no one will reach their destination.

Although it doesn't feel directly related, I wouldn't be surprised if this bitter, pent-up feeling is a side effect of quarantine. With two or three exceptions, I haven't seen anyone but Gabe in about eight weeks. I'm beginning to feel permanently disconnected from the aspects of humanity that I actually like. I'm watching as Americans become brainwashed into believing that anyone who stands up for his or her freedom is selfish. There is no other way to put that. We are being brainwashed into believing that standing up for your freedom is selfish. If your reaction to that statement is any form of, "Well, YEAH, wanting to go out in the middle of a pandemic/wanting businesses to be allowed to stay open/etc. IS selfish," then it sounds like you've already drunk the Kool-Aid.

Loving your neighbor by choosing to stay home, wear a mask, and keep your distance is a beautiful, godly decision. Embracing the government's authority to FORCE you to do those things is frightening, un-American, and dangerous. It is not selfish to want to make your own decisions.

I'm going to try to do a better job of giving this all to God. Clearly I'm currently doing a horrible job. I hope getting this out has been in some way therapeutic for me as well. It's been a long time coming.

~Stephanie

I Don't Want to Change the World Anymore

I'm not sure where this post is going. Some good posts have started out feeling like this, but a lot of others have ended up deleted. We shall see where this one goes.

I like to think of myself as a very reasonable, logical person—almost to a fault, at times. I have trouble empathizing. I don't usually care how people FEEL if it flies in the face of reason. I am a very black-and-white person.

When I was in eleventh grade, I studied American history, philosophy, and formal logic in the same semester. We dived deep into concepts like economics and Christianity. We constructed intense, rational arguments to defend our well-developed opinions. We memorized famous speeches that made us proud of being Americans, that made us want to change the world. We were going to change the world, and we declared as much to the adults in our lives.

In my memory, we were met with a lot of raised eyebrows and nods accompanied by smug looks. Sure, the expressions seemed to say. I remember when I thought I was gonna change the world. You'll grow out of it eventually. Their looks offended me and made me all the more determined to speak truth in a way that would make people listen.

I went to college to become a lawyer. I wanted to fight for justice using passion and logic. I wanted to persuade the world of what I knew to be true based on logic, history, morality. However, after an especially tedious class, I realized that becoming a lawyer was NOT the way I wanted to do that with my life. I became an English major instead, because what good are logic, history, and morality if you can't communicate them effectively?

I graduated in 2016. Election year. For all humans who had to endure that year while on a college campus, I want to offer my deepest condolences. If I hadn't already high-tailed it out of political science, that would've done it for me. Twenty-sixteen made me so glad I had evacuated the world of academic politics. To defend myself against accusations of racism, sexism, and bigotry from people who clearly must not know me was exhausting in a way that makes my soul feel tired just remembering it.

Back in high school, I loved to debate. I loved it so much that I would—and I am NOT kidding—seek out YouTube videos that went against my beliefs and engage in comment wars with strangers for DAYS. I would defend my beliefs about anything to anyone, and thoroughly enjoy myself. It might make me sad and frustrated and incredulous that some people wouldn't see the reason in what I argued, but it never discouraged me.

Now, I am tired.

Now, I understand the raised eyebrows and smug looks of the adults I encountered when I was seventeen.

It kind of makes me want to cry. It kind of makes me want to throw chairs against walls. It kind of makes me want to refuse to talk to anyone who believes differently than I do.

I feel very "done" these days. I'm done trying to get some people to see reason, and they're probably feeling the same way about me. I don't know that my logical persuasion has ever once convinced someone to change his or her opinion, and I don't know whose fault that is. Is it mine, because I'm not empathetic and winsome enough? Is it hers, because she refuses to see the error in her reasoning? Is it mine, because I'm too rigid and old-fashioned in my beliefs? Is it his, because he bases his argument on emotion? Is it mine, because I'm wrong but stubborn? Is it his, because he's wrong but stubborn?

I don't know. I'll probably never know. All I know is that talking about it does not seem to work, although I know that's what we're supposed to do. We're supposed to keep an open dialogue, be willing to listen—really listen—to people who think differently than us.

But I can tell you right now that I do not see myself changing any of my fundamental beliefs. How can I expect someone else to? *shrug* I guess I can't.

At this point, I don't want to change the world anymore; I just want to keep myself from going crazy. That seems like a big enough bite to chew these days.

Hopefully soon—now that I'm beginning to admit and process these thoughts and feelings—I will have a more encouraging, Christ-like update. Until then, don't expect me to join any comment wars.

~Stephanie

How One Line in the Christopher Robin Movie Changed Me

"What is your favorite movie?"

Until the summer of 2018, I would experience the same gentle exasperation and uncertainty as most people do when they hear this question. I am kind of a Leslie Knope when it comes to having passion and opinions ("You have an opinion on pockets"), but I did not have a favorite movie. I'd ask you to specify a genre (fantasy?) or a quality (funniest?), and even then I'd probably give you my top three to five.

But then came...

The Christopher Robin movie.

I've seen it three times (not a lot, I know, but it's important to me that I don't EVER risk getting tired of it) and cried between four and seven times with each viewing.

However, this isn't actually a review of Christopher Robin; it's a post highlighting one teeny, tiny line in the movie that has tumbled around in my head for a year, begging to have a spotlight shone on it. It might be the line that hit me the hardest, caused me to give a quiet gasp and--duh--tear up.

(I don't think this line is a spoiler for normal people, so I'm just going to talk freely about it, but if you haven't seen the movie and feel the way I do about spoilers [special circle of Hell], maybe don't read this?)

It happens when Christopher Robin and Winnie the Pooh are sneaking around outside, trying to get away unnoticed by Christopher's wife and daughter. (Pooh has never seen Christopher's family.) As Christopher and Pooh tiptoe under the kitchen window, Pooh looks in and sees Christopher Robin's wife, Evelyn.

We all know what a character says when he sees the hero's girl for the first time. "She's beautiful!" It's a given; we practically hear the line before it's said aloud.

But Pooh sees Evelyn, and says, in his husky little voice, "She looks very kind."

That is the compliment Pooh gives. That is his observation. I had seen the line's set up and assumed what Pooh would say with so much certainty that to hear "She looks very kind" actually caused my brain to pull up short and stare.

Then I realized how sad and backwards our culture must still be for me to have made that assumption.

In one line, Christopher Robin taught me that 1) physical beauty is still what we expect to be commented on, 2) innocence and character see past that, and 3) one can "look very kind."

I hope that I can cultivate a spirit such that when people see me, their first thought isn't about my physical appearance, but about whether or not I look very kind.

Excuse me, I need to go get a tissue.

~Stephanie

PSA: Switching Birthdays

For years, Gabe and I have thought it was cool that our birthdays are exactly six months apart: mine is February 7th, his is August 7th. But I'm not sure how we started the conversation when we decided to switch birthdays.

It started as one of three conversations, which are also the three reasons we've decided to do it.

1: Our birthdays are in the wrong seasons.
I hate winter. I hate being cold. I hate the sun being far away. I hate the sun setting early. I hate cold and flu and stomach bug season. All growing up, I'd want to have fun outdoor birthday parties, but it would be thirty degrees, or it would snow and people couldn't come, or, like, the pool was closed because it was the dead of winter.

Gabe "hates" the summer. (I put it in quotes because he doesn't have enough malice of character to hate something properly like I do.) He hates being hot. He hates getting sunburned. He hates not being able to wear jeans all the time. He doesn't even like the beach. His favorite activities are brutal in the summertime: hiking, camping, bonfires and s'mores. Winter would be a great time of year for any version of his preferred birthday parties.

2: The gift-giving windows don't suit us personally.
I am not good at presents. (Some people will staunchly defend me and say that I give AMAZING presents. I don't know if that's true or not, but I DO know that any time I've given a gift that wasn't the amazingness of reused teabag, it took me MONTHS of planning and thinking and stressing and crying and wracking my brain and panicking. So, whether or not I "give amazing presents," I am not "good at presents." It is not one of my natural gifts. [Ha, pun.])

That being said, if Gabe and I go with our biological birthdays, I have to plan and think and stress and et cetera virtually ALL YEAR LONG. I stress from January to August about his birthday present, and August to December about his Christmas present. I would much rather just BAM: give him a present in December, and a present in February, and then I can relax until, like, August.

Gabe is insanely wonderful at presents. Giving gifts is the way he likes to show love to people. So, it was sad to him that he only got to give me anything during a little quarter-of-the-year window. If we switch birthdays, he gets to spread out the horror joy of gift giving all year.

3: We prefer each other's birthstones.
This one is pretty simple. My favorite color is green. His favorite is purple. August's birthstone is a peridot. February's is an amethyst. WHAT MORE OF A SIGN DID WE NEED?!

So, what does this mean for you, as a friend of one or both of us? Nothing, if you don't want it to. You can stick with our biological birthdays for all card- and gift-giving purposes if you wish. This is just an announcement to say that as far as WE are concerned, my birthday is now August 7th, and Gabe's is February 7th. We will give each other gifts on our new birthdays, and any birthday celebrations that we plan and execute will correspond to our new birthdays.

*happy sigh* I wouldn't want to (and couldn't) be this weird with anyone else. Happy almost birthday, Gabe ;)

Missing the Mold of Manners

We've been watching the old TV show Poirot. A brilliant, stout, impeccably polite detective (the Belgian Hercule Poirot) finds himself around complicated murders and proceeds to solve them through observation and conversation. He is the epitome of class, good manners, and gentle dry humor, and if he weren't an old guy, I'd have a crush on him. He's like a favorite uncle that I want everyone to meet.

The stories (based on Agatha Christie novels, which are even more excellent than the show) take place in the early twentieth century and mostly in Europe. As such, everyone is Just So. The men, even on their days off, wear three piece suits and carry themselves with perfect posture. They pay their debts, watch their language, and rise to their feet when ladies enter the room. The women exude poise, pride, and propriety to the point that it's palpable. Their dresses are flimsy and flowy and they wouldn't dream of leaving the house looking a wreck or failing to offer a guest tea.

I've also been using The Dick Van Dyke Show as my mindless, while-I-chop-veggies-for-salad show. (Gabe doesn't care for it, but I grew up watching reruns so it's basically comfort TV.) Though that takes place in the '50s, I think, it's got that same air of class. If people are invited to dinner, they put on a suit or a dress to attend. Men call for ladies at their houses for dates. Words are well-chosen and well-enunciated. Ladies sometimes wear gloves. Houses are neat. Everyone understands what's expected of them to do or say, or not do or not say. It's so...pretty. Life was pretty.

Now, I know I'm supposed to rage at the fact that in Poirot women are treated like dainty, delicate creatures who can't be exposed to nasty words, and in Dick Van Dyke, women are expected to do the housework and look nice for their husbands...but I don't. I just don't.

I wish I lived in one of those times. I just absolutely love the cultures. The more I watch stuff like this, the more I think we've gone too far in the opposite direction. In our quest for "realness," we've completely disregarded tact and presentation. In our quest for equality, we've demonized the idea of women being managers of the home. In our quest for expediency, we've neglected to foster healthy, precise vocabularies.

This paragraph here was originally me admitting that "of course, there are some things I'm glad I can do today that I wouldn't have been able to do in Poirot's day," but I couldn't even come up with anything besides "wear shorts," and I think dresses and skirts are more comfortable anyway. I guess I'd miss some modern medicines and plumbing. Yeah, that's definitely true. But to give up such amenities in return for Such Classiness sounds like a fair trade.

(Note: These thoughts are more about manners than societal/gender roles. That's a topic for another post.)

I wish people were still expected to behave well. Sure, it's easier not having to put your napkin in your lap or bring a hostess gift or stand when an older person walks in or say "Excuse me" when you leave a situation, but...just because it's easier doesn't mean it's better. I get that honesty, transparency, and genuineness are desirable qualities, but can't we still maintain some discretion? Obviously I want to be able to share my thoughts with my sister or husband or best friend even if said thoughts aren't polite or rosy, but maybe that's where we should draw the line, rather than spewing outright, inarticulate shade to anyone with ears.

Of course, even "back in the day" shade was thrown and insults were spoken (have you ever read a Jane Austen novel?), but it was done more subtly, and almost more fairly too, because people were more aware of expectations. If you did X, Y, or Z, you knew it was considered impolite; you opened the door to just criticism.

Some might say that's worse, that all the manners just made it easier to be phony and passive aggressive and prevented people from becoming fully themselves. But...hm. Maybe I'm just a sucker for appearances? Or maybe I'm a little bit right. I think when done correctly, the old manners don't just help you appear to be a prettier, better, politer person, they might actually help mold you into a one.

~Stephanie

Survivor's Guilt, or Something

I don't know how to say what I'm feeling, which is why I'm here, saying something. It might sound arrogant and obnoxious and insensitive, like a scrawny person complaining to an obese one that they can't gain weight (which is a real issue, and not one that I'm trying to hate on, but you get what I mean). I will be the first to admit that I struggle with arrogance, obnoxiousness, and insensitivity. But here's the thing:

I got good grades in college and graduated with honors. I found the love of my life and got married and moved into an apartment. I got a job that actually fits my college major and I love it. All the main things in my life are going pretty great.

And a lot of times, I'm made to feel guilty about that.

In college, I studied and made flashcards and outlined and wrote. (I also watched Netflix, had movie nights, and ate dinner with my friends, just the Reader's Digest versions.) I worked really hard because I wanted A's. And my friends who strove for Cs made me feel like such an erudite brat for being sad if I got a B, like it was personally offensive to them that I thought I could do better.

So I stopped talking specifics about my grades or study habits, almost ashamed that I could pull off all A's some semesters.

When Gabe and I started planning the wedding, time became even more of a commodity. Now, if I wasn't studying or writing papers, I had wedding stuff to figure out. Venue hunting, dress shopping, taste testing, and decoration hunting swallowed up nearly every weekend. And my friends got mad about that too. I still hung out with people (though mostly my roommates), but the fact that I had a wedding to plan seemed to cloud conversations with derisive refrains of Oh, right, the wedding.

Now there are all these circulating lists and open letters about how it's perfectly fine that 20-somethings don't know how to boil water and how hard it is to find a job and yourself at the same time.

(First of all, I only recently learned to boil water, and second of all, I have a job and it is still hard to find myself.

And guess what? I got good grades and it gave me gray hair. I planned a wedding and shed more tears in six months than in the collective college years before engagement. I had a wedding and experienced the drastic drop in fitness motivation that follows. I got married and discovered just how damn much there is to fight about in a family of two. I got a job and realized that what I learned in college is only the tip of the iceberg of skills I need to succeed. I got an apartment and learned how much daily attention it takes to live above "slovenly at best.")

I have a lot of friends with whom theses lists and letters resonate. I have a lot of beautiful, funny friends who are still single. I have a lot of intelligent, hard-working friends who are still jobless. It makes me frustrated and sad on their behalves that they haven't yet hit the stride they're searching for. It seems unfair. To break my fast-forming rule about the F word, I feel for them.

But it also seems like the increasingly-popular reassurance lists and letters are aimed, in part, at people like me. At erudite brats who just got lucky and should feel guilty for flaunting our "success"--and "success" is in quotations because how successful are we really gonna feel when in ten years we realize that we didn't even know what we wanted back then and we got on a career path that isn't making us happy and don't we wish we'd taken the time to travel and make mistakes and find ourselves first? It seems like culture/social media is reassuring one group by giving another group the middle finger and saying "Well, GOOD FOR YOU" with as much sarcasm as an Odyssey Online keyboard can muster.

I am sorry that you're single and jobless. But I refuse to apologize for being married and employed. I still have real problems in my life. But I also feel blessed beyond what I deserve.

I guess that's really what it boils down to. Not the fact that I still have legitimate problems, but the fact that I'm made to feel guilty for liking my life. Half the time, I feel like I'm not allowed to voice my problems, and the other half I feel obligated to voice them just to avoid making other people jealous or depressed.

So, keep sharing the aforementioned Lists and Letters if they inspire and encourage you. We all need more inspiration and encouragement in our lives. But I really do mean in "all" our lives, even people who look like they've got it together. Don't throw shade at people who get mostly A's. Don't get passive aggressive toward people who find wedding plans stressful. Don't make people who love their jobs afraid to say so.

~Stephanie

My Reason in the Rhyme: having kids when I'm selfish, scared, and cynical

Spoiler alert:  I am not pregnant.

Anyway.

Having kids has never been a question for me. Of course I am going to have kids. When I was little, I thought it was just what happened when you grew up and got married. As I grew up, I guess somewhere in the back of my mind (where I stored the information gleaned from The Talk) I knew that I didn't HAVE to have kids, but I always knew that I would. I loved babysitting; I never completely grew out of my love for "playing pretend;" I enjoyed conversations with children. Kids never intimidated me, even the ones "you couldn't do anything with."

As I grew even older, I began to think about what it would be like to raise a mini-me. What would she look like? Would she love to read? (Of course she would love to read.) Would she be allergic to peanuts? Would she be a worrywart like me?

When I fell in love with Gabe, my future wonderings grew concrete in a breathtaking, exhilarating, frighteningly real way. His was the other half of my kids' DNA. Brown eyes are dominant, so my kids would now probably have brown eyes. Gabe is much more patient than I am, more steady. Maybe my kids would have his patience and surefootedness, rather than my peanut allergy and inclination to stress about literally everything. Maybe one kid would be like me, another like him. Maybe they'd all be perfect mixtures. Maybe some would be completely out of left field and we'd have to learn them together.

I've never doubted that I want kids.

But then...

Then we started premarital counseling, and had to put our goals into categories:  short term (3-5 years), medium term (5-10 years), long term (10+ years).

Clearly, at age 22 and wanting four children, the logical category for kids was Short Term. But a spark of panic leapt into my stomach and bloomed into something hot and scratchy.

Three to five years? Gabe won't even be finished with school for three and a half years. What, he graduates and gets a job and then BAM--babies? No time as married adults with regular jobs? No years as DINKS to travel and eat at fancy restaurants and go to movies at full price?

Was I terrible for thinking that way? I really did want kids. I love kids. I want my own kids. I want to read to them, and fix their favorite foods, and take them to historical places, and play pretend with them, and hear their thoughts about the world.

But I already worry about my body. I'm already a bit of a hypochondriac. Can you imagine how worked up and freaked out I'd be if I were pregnant? Still worrying about myself all the time, except ALSO worrying about the little person inside of me, and how my own health would affect him or her.

And, if I'm absolutely throwing good taste to the wind, I might as well say that the idea of being pregnant freaks me out. My stomach is going to swell. There is going to be an ANIMAL (I know, a person, I'm there with you, but it is, in fact, a creature) forming out of tissue and soul in my stomach. Growing. It'll be like I swallowed a person, except that it keeps growing.

And don't even get me started on how scared I am of actually giving birth and nursing not sleeping for months.

Also, the world today. What if my baby has to know Hilary Clinton as his first president? Or Donald Trump? What if my baby's best friend has two mommies? What if my baby tries to tell me that he thinks he's actually a she? What if my baby's brain is skewed by the prevalent use of social media? What if he subconsciously feels like if he doesn't take a picture of an event, it might as well not have happened? I already struggle with that, and I wasn't even born into this craziness.

I feel so scared--and so selfish--when it comes to having kids. I feel like a bad person. Sometimes I want kids RIGHT NOW, sometimes I can't even pretend like I might want kids any time soon. But God is doing several things to keep me sane about this, the biggest of which is my job.

I work for Classical Conversations: a classical, Christian, community-based curriculum program for homeschooling families. Its mission statement is "to know God and to make Him known," and one of its core beliefs is that parents are the best educators for their unique children. I did this program growing up, and its philosophy and content prepared me for college and life better than anything else could have. Seriously, I will have to write a post entirely about this company sometime.

But this is not that post.

I'm the assistant editor for the multimedia side of the company, which means that I get to read a lot of the curriculum and the catalog and the resources and the emails and basically everything that this company is putting out there for parents and students.

And guys, it makes me so excited to have kids.

I want to read Story of the World to my kids. I want to hear their little voices rattling off complex history sentences from memory, the way I did when I was their age. I want to show them the beautiful logic behind Latin, and how fun it is to read original documents. I want to see the light go on in their heads when they see laws of science work in experiments. I want to hear their thoughts on the Dred Scott decision. I want to see the map of the world they can draw from memory.

I want to help them love learning, even more than I did. I want to help them understand the truth, goodness, and beauty of the world even better than I did. I want them to live a life of learning, even more intentionally than I did. I want them to see the connections between Latin and music, western culture and theology, math and literature even better than I did.

I want them to live with more love for and awareness of God than I did. I want them to feel His joy more than I did. I want them to see His connections better than I did.

Every day, I get to work with resources that help kids become the best humans they can be for God. I'm selfish, I'm scared, I'm cynical, but how can I not want to have little humans who will learn and grow and love and explore and understand better than I did? I know it sounds sort of backwards and silly, but Classical Conversations is such a great program that it makes me want to have kids just so they can participate.

I know this isn't the best thinking process, and I'm struggling with whether or not I should even hit "Publish," but this is my truth for the time being. This is my reason in the rhyme. This is how I'm staying sane and wanting kids even though I'm selfish and scared.

*shrug* I'll let you know how I feel in three to five years.

~Stephanie

Weirdly Awkward

"I'm nervous."

"It'll be fun!"

"But I'm so awkward!"

"No you're not."

"I am! I'm super weird."

"That's not the same as awkward."

I paused. It wasn't? Huh. It wasn't. I am weird, but that doesn't have to mean I'm awkward:  "causing difficulty; hard to deal with; causing or feeling embarrassment or inconvenience." Being weird doesn't necessarily mean socially unskilled, unrelatable, distasteful, dull.

Being weird is an asset; being awkward is a handicap.

Somehow I had never noticed how I was conflating the terms. I have been living my whole life thinking that because I'm weird--because I read "school books" in my spare time, have two razors in my shower, get dehydrated easily, and can't get into binge watching TV--I am an "awkward person." But that's not necessarily true.

What if owned my "weirdness" and stopped acting like I thought it made me an awkward person?

What if instead of hiding my copy of Romanticism and Consciousness, I brought it with me to the pool and used it as a conversation starter, or even just let people think what they want?

What if instead of making an apologetic explanation for my two razors, I said "Yeah, I have a weird system. But hey, at least I don't leave food debris in the sink. That would be a lot harder to live with."

What if instead of chewing my nails off and smiling weakly and having an inner freak-out when I'm getting dehydrated, I said "I'm really thirsty. Wanna go with me to find something to drink?"

What if instead of chiming in with a lame "Oh, Pretty Little Liars...yeah...I saw an episode one time, maybe..." I just came right out and said "You know, I've never really seen that. What's it about? What are the characters like?"

What if I stopped mining every conversation for the hidden "right" next thing to say, and just focused on being Real? What if I talked when I felt like talking, and let silences flow as they would? What if I used my weirdness as a way of being profoundly honest and authentic? What if I used my weirdness to put people at ease with their own selves? (After all, aren't we all a little odd?)

That sounds a lot easier and more fun--for everyone involved.

Yeah, I AM weird. But I can have a perfectly "normal" conversation with you. I can go to normal restaurants and watch normal movies and listen to normal songs and have a normal good time. Not only that, but because I'm actually weird, I can probably offer you something that the next "normal" person can't.

I'll be interested to see the effects of this latest revelation :)

~Stephanie

Processing "Rape Culture"

I'm not sure how to write about this. I don't even know what I want to say yet (which is--as always--why I'm writing in the first place).

You've probably already heard more than you care to about the girl who was raped behind a dumpster and how her rapist got sentenced to only six months in prison. Part of me agrees that you can never say too much about how awful that was. But part of me is also emotionally exhausted by all the hate and horror floating around on the internet.

If it's not police violence, it's a gorilla getting shot. If it's not a gorilla getting shot, it's how males are absolute pigs and responsible for "rape culture."

Are males responsible for rape culture? Well, they are statistically more often the rapists and than the victims. Males do have more of a reputation for objectifying and sexualizing women, and reputations don't just form for no reason. So, I guess yeah, males are primarily responsible for rape culture.

But not ALL males. Gem is not responsible for rape culture. My dad is not responsible for rape culture. And I resent all the broad, sweeping statements about how "No, you know what, because you have a penis you ARE part of the problem and the fact that you don't think you are means you're even worse and there's nothing you can say or do to make me change my mind."

I'm sorry, but isn't that just another form of sexism? Don't women get enraged when sweeping statements are made about them? People are individuals. "Men" is not a homogeneous group of macho rapists any more than "Women" is a homogeneous group of emotional b*tches.

Brock Turner did something wrong. But TWO other males did something right by stopping him and calling the police.

Yeah, males are primarily responsible for rape culture. But not ALL males.

I also happen to think that it is really stupid for a young woman to get so drunk she can't remember her night, so drunk she thinks it's wise to wander behind a dumpster with a strange boy. I do NOT mean that it was "her fault" that she was violated. But you are more likely to get knifed in a dark alley alone than in a well-lit Starbucks. You are also more likely to be molested if you are totally plastered and unable to enforce your wishes. (A 2012 study posted by Campus Safety Magazine reports that "90% of acquaintance rapes involve alcohol.")

But then again. I just read an article (why do I even do that to myself? It's like reading the comments on YouTube) by a 20-something Christian guy who made a point I had somehow overlooked:  "As men, it’s our job to protect women regardless of what they wear or how much they drink."

Oh.

How could I have forgotten the way I was raised? How could I have forgotten the Southern values I hold to so proudly? How could I have forgotten the Biblical responsibility of men?

I've been so caught up in how dumb and irresponsible it is to wear short skirts and get plastered in an alleyway that I forgot that THAT SHOULDN'T MATTER. In a common sense and empirical kind of way, it totally does matter, but on a moral, Christian, Southern level, it shouldn't matter at all.

Men are supposed to protect women, not because women are weak or cowardly, but because it's polite (and clearly women are the ones who need protection in this particular case, since most rapists are men and most victims are women).

But no matter how confident in and proud of Gem and my dad I am, I will never wear a short skirt and get plastered in an alleyway.

~Stephanie

As Told in Pairs

{Did you read the title as "Paris"? Because I've done that like four times since typing it. Anyway.}

Personally, I don't drink.

I don't mean "I don't get drunk;" I don't mean "I don't use alcohol to solve my problems." I mean I have never tasted alcohol and I plan to be able to say that for the rest of my life.

And I am tired of people making assumptions when I tell them that.

So, I am writing this post to debunk myths about my stance on drinking/alcohol.

2 Reasons That Are NOT Part of Why I Don't Drink

"Because drinking is morally reprehensible." False. Jesus drank. Jesus turned water into wine. Yeah, I think there's something about how the alcohol back then didn't get you as drunk as fast, but still. I don't think that I can use being a Christian as a reason to condemn all alcohol all the time.

"Because drinking is always irresponsible." I also don't believe that drinking is inherently irresponsible. Obviously getting drunk in public and hitting on a stranger/throwing up in the bathroom/trying to drive home/airing your friend's dirty laundry is irresponsible, but if you know your limits, you never have to reach that point. As long as you make logical arrangements, you can drink safely and smartly.

2 Reasons that ARE Part of Why I Don't Drink
My family has a history of alcoholism--on both sides. I am genetically predisposed to become addicted to alcohol. Maybe I could taste it and walk away. But it is very likely that my body would demand more and my brain would wire itself to use alcohol as a coping mechanism. For me, drinking is just not smart.

Do you even know me at all? Let's be honest guys:  if I were to drink, I would drink too much; I don't do anything halfway. I am passionate and mischievous enough while sober; I dance enough, talk enough, laugh enough, and put my foot in my mouth enough while sober. I need no enhancement of my "drunk-on-life" state. If I were to get drunk, I would probably end up taking my clothes off, starting a fight, and making out with a stranger.

2 Additional Myths About My Position
I think everyone should adopt this stance/I judge people who drink. False. Because I don't have any inherent or moral problems with alcohol, there is no reason for me to think no one should drink. I will be your DD. I will help you find the bathroom. I will advise you on when you've probably had enough. And I will think no less of you when the night is over.

I think I'm better than people who drink. *rolls eyes* Seriously? If anything I am genuinely jealous of people whose personalities and biologies allow them to drink responsibly.

2 Additional Truths About My Position
It is difficult to maintain. I love to have a wild good time. I look around at parties and clubs and concerts and I see people laughing and loosened up and I wonder what I would be like on a little bit of juice. Would I be a silly drinker? An angry drinker? A sad drinker? I'll never know, and that's difficult to live with as someone who likes to leave no experience unknown.

My best friend and boyfriend drink alcohol. My two closest friends in the world drink, and I have no problem with it. In fact, I maaaaaay live a little vicariously through them:  "Ooooh, Cass, you should get that drink. That blue one. Yeah. Cool. How is it? Is it good? And, Gabe, get that weird lime one because it looks fascinating. Please?"

And that's pretty much it.

:)

~Stephanie

I Have Black Friends

I have black friends.

Of course, in my day, we just called them "friends."

My first "boyfriend" was black (age 4, we ran that preschool). One of my best friends is black. My best friend at college is black.

For 21 years, I have interacted with "people." Some people I like a lot. Some people annoy me to death. I think some people are really attractive. I think some people are pretty dang homely. Some people make me uncomfortable. Some people make me feel at ease. For 21 years, the world has been made up of "people," each unique, each uniquely shaping my life.

But now, I see color.

I have never been a racist. I am not a racist now. But all the screaming, raging, and fighting about racism and political correctness has shifted me from racially colorblind to racially anxious.

Now, if I bump into a black person, I make sure to say excuse me AND that I'm so sorry, lest she think I have a white elitist attitude. Now, if the cashier at the store is black, I push myself to be overly friendly and smile a lot, lest he think I take him for granted because he's black. Now, if a black man is walking behind me at night, I make sure to go slowly and smile if he passes me, to make sure he knows I made no weird assumptions about being unsafe.

I used to have friends. Now I have "white friends AND BLACK FRIENDS, WHICH I DIFFERENTIATE BETWEEN NONE AT ALL, BECAUSE THEY ARE TOTALLY THE SAME AND EQUAL, EXCEPT THAT THE BLACK FRIENDS ARE ESPECIALLY IMPORTANT BECAUSE THEY PROVE THAT I AM NOT A RACIST."

I'm sorry, but what the hell?

I agree that racism is a real issue, in that it should not ever be an issue. People are people. Black people are people, and white people are people, and everyone has the ability to be funny or attractive or arrogant or stupid and it has nothing to do with skin color.

I already understood this, and I think a lot of other people did too. However, all the recent shootings and media uproar and Confederate Flag ridiculousness and a HOST of other junk have made it really hard to be colorblind. Instead of encouraging equal treatment, I think all the fuss has actually encouraged and exacerbated racism. People like me, who have been non-racist almost to the point of obliviousness, now find themselves noticing skin color. Isn't that the very thing we're trying to avoid?

Slavery was horrific. I am tremendously glad that it is in the past. We must remember that it was terrible and wrong and never gloss over it in a history lesson--but can we also remember that it is history? I did not personally enslave anyone. Neither did my parents. Neither did my grandparents. I would not do it now if I had the chance. Neither would my parents. Neither would my grandparents. Slavery was and is WRONG.

Slavery was horrific--but it was not my FAULT. No white American alive today is personally responsible for institutionalized slavery. No black American today has been personally abused by institutionalized slavery.

Obviously, true racists do exist, and they should be ashamed of themselves. But I really don't think all the pettiness and anger and guilt-tripping is the way to make racists change--white racists or black racists. I truly believe that racism does not make sense and that the truth of equality will prevail.

We fight for equality so that everyone can be treated equally. But I think it's time to stop FIGHTING for equality--we've been doing that for fifty years--and time just to start treating people equally. Let's all assume that people are people, and shut up about the rest. Imagine raising your kids in a society where no one has to say "white people and black people are equal," because the kids have never known otherwise.

Morgan Freeman said it best last year when asked "How are we going to get rid of racism?"

"Stop talking about it."

Come on, guys. I want to be colorblind again.

~Stephanie

Aspirations

You know how some people--and maybe you're one of them--can make a cup of coffee or a bag of M&Ms last for like hours? The cup just sits beside them on the desk as they attend to their work with focus and tranquility, largely oblivious to the delicacy at hand. Occasionally they'll take a sip. The steam starts to subside, but they don't seem to mind. They have mastered the arts of moderation and indifference.

I am profoundly jealous of this mastery.

I first noted this kind of detachment when I was eight years old. Matt, a first-grader, would come over to our house after school if his babysitter had some other commitment. Sometimes Mom would give us a snack--chocolate chips or something--to eat as we did our homework.

My chocolate chips were always gone within the first three or four minutes. They were delicious, and after a single chip, I became a temporary chocolate addict. I couldn't resist eating them one after another until they were gone, and my homework barely started.

Matt did his homework with the meandering, selective attention of a little boy who does not want to use a number line to practice subtraction. However, he ate his chocolate chips the same way. Every few minutes, he would blink at his snack as if he'd just remembered it, pick up a couple of chips, and then immediately forget his snack's existence again.

How could he care so little about chocolate chips? How was he not driven crazy by their tempting presence until it was fully relocated into his stomach?

As a third-grader, I chalked it up to the fact that Matt had funner food at his house (which was true). He was used to candy for snack; it wasn't a treat for him. It has lost its novelty. I wondered if the same phenomenon would be true for me if I ever became rich enough to have fun food on hand at all times.

To some extent, that philosophy proved true. My family now has orange juice on a regular basis, and I no longer feel compelled to drink it all the time just because it's there. The same is true of cookies, and Cheez-Its, and flavored yogurt. I have risen above the animalistic urge to consume these relatively mundane foods.

However.

With "treat" foods and beverages, the art of pacing oneself is still lost on me. I buy a smoothie, and it's half gone before I'm even back in my dorm room. I open a 2-serving bag of M&Ms, and within ten minutes, it's empty. I grab an iced coffee on the way to work, and I'm sucking at the ice fifteen minutes later.

Meanwhile, I watch people around me exercise this intensely classy combination of absentminded appreciation and tranquil indifference to their "treats." Large iced coffees go minutes and minutes and MINUTES without even being touched, and people don't even seem to be struggling to resist.

Maybe they're just all rich and have treats all the time and the novelty has been lost, like Matt with his chocolate chips? Or am I totally and abnormally self-control-deficient when it comes to delicious things?

All I know is that I envy the air of maturity embodied by people who can resist their treats. It's a level of maturity to which I genuinely aspire.

And I will get there, even if it means drinking steamless coffee and drooling on my keyboard.

~Stephanie

The Teenage Brain

I stir sugar into my hot tea with a knife. {Oh please, no college student washes silverware until the very last utensil is dirty}. Today I was surprised to see the graceful explosion of tea leaves swirling around in my mug. I was raking a serrated metal edge against a thin, wet tea bag. What did I expect to happen? Somehow, not that.

Then I got to thinking.

The human brain doesn't effectively factor in consequences until it's 25. We watch videos in health class about how eating badly can cause diabetes, and tanning can cause melanoma, and smoking increases risk of lung cancer, but there's a disconnect in our heads. Our subconscious definitions of "relevant" are exceptionally narrow.

Researchers say that this is just the way young adult brains work. It's a scientific fact. It's not that we CAN'T make the better choice, it's that we don't fully understand why it's better.

So what? Is it not our fault that we have bad judgment? Should we be exempt from blame when we make stupid choices?

My immediate response was, "No, of course not. Even a three-year-old is expected to follow rules." Don't hit people; use your inside voice; don't leave the front yard. If toddlers are legitimately subjected to rules, teenagers should not have a My-Brain-Hasn't-Developed-That-Far-Yet card to play.

So yes, teenagers should be expected to follow rules. But that's not quite the question I had originally asked myself. "Following rules" and "making choices" are two radically different things. Rules result from authority; the option to make a choice results from having authority yourself.

During the teen years, people are given more authority over themselves. They get more freedom, and, of course, with freedom comes responsibility. It's not just about following rules anymore; it's about choosing our own rules, drawing our own boundaries.

But as soon as we're allowed to make our own choices, our brains become ill-equipped to make good ones. What are we do to, then?

I think it depends on what kind of person you are. Some teens are perfectly content to seek out authority figures and ask them for advice. They continue to follow the rules that have been set for them, and ask mentors to help make new choices.

But then you have the other kind of person, the kind of person who wants to see for herself; the kind of person who wants to find out WHY that rule exists before she chooses to follow it, or builds her choices on that rule.

The first situation is ideal, I guess. Best case scenario, teens listen to their mentors until their own brains develop enough to make good judgment calls. There is definitely honor in this approach, and I'm sure it prevents a lot of heartache.

However, I mostly wouldn't know, because I am Kind of Person Number Two.

I'm an advocate for freedom of decision:  freedom to make stupid choices with the knowledge that consequences--good or bad--will follow. I think your conviction to do right becomes stronger once you truly understand wrong.

{Experience also makes you undeniably more convincing and better able to advise Kind of Person Number One. Number Two probably isn't going to listen to you anyway.}

But getting back to the original question:  Can teens be held accountable for their choices if their brains are scientifically not conducive to good decision-making?

Absolutely. And they should be.

But instead of condemning them for making the "wrong" choices, we should remember that they couldn't see it coming quite the same way, and that their "screw-up," no matter how devastating, is ultimately one more step on the road to true understanding.

~Stephanie

Poetry and Party Poopers

No one knows who wrote "Beowulf." But because of "Beowulf," we know a lot about ancient culture, particularly about some of the first literary heroes and villains.

For instance, the villain--the monster named Grendel--hates music. He first attacks the kingdom because he hears singing and it annoys him. He hates the sound; he hates the celebration; he hates the fellowship.

Grendel lives far away from people. {I guess he just has phenomenal hearing.} We later find out that he shares a home with his mother, but it's just the two of them. He hates company.

From the way Grendel is villainized {I choose to believe that's a word}, we modern-day readers can gather that in "Beowulf's" day, silence and solitude were frowned upon. If you didn't like poetry and parties, you were evil.

But then you have the hero, Beowulf, himself. Beowulf doesn't LIVE in solitude, but does insist on going to battle alone. How come the hero can get away with the very actions that make the villain what he is?

I don't know.

I also can't decide if I think today's values have changed or not.

Certainly, today's heroes must be team players or they're labeled "arrogant." If modern heroes demand to work alone, 9 times out of 10 they end up suffering some kind of "humbling" experience that teaches them to value others. This is because today’s issues are increasingly of global rather than regional importance, causing heroes to model teamwork as a subtle lesson for society.

What about poetry and parties? Personally, I support the idea that hating poetry makes you a villain XD But parties?

I think today's society is at least a little more accepting of introverts. We don't rip their arms off or anything. However, there's still the whole wallflower/party pooper stigma, and being "popular" is a timelessly desirable trait.

I dunno. In thirteen hundred years, a lot of things can change. But some things don't change a lot.

~Stephanie

Humility: a Luxury of the Strong

"Alright." Dr. Dunnum's pleasant mid-western accent blanketed the inane buzz of the classroom. Voices and pencil cases quieted with beginning-of-semester immediacy. "So, Beowulf. Everyone should have read Beowulf for today. Epic poem. Sort of the first piece of English literature that we have. Today I want us to sort of look at the notion of 'the hero.' Heroes illustrate what a given culture admires. Someone name another famous ancient hero."

Faces turned with expectant disgust on the girl who had--in one previous class alone--singled herself out as the socially inept know-it-all. Sure enough, her nasally voice rang out:

"Well, Odysseus, of course. Of Homer's Odyssey."

Dr. Dunnum nodded, clearly aware of the potential minefield of unwelcome information he was walking through. "And what was Odysseus known for?"

"His cleverness." Her deep breath and raised eyebrows warned of an impending torrent of explanation and opinion. Dr. Dunnum neatly cut her off.

"Right. A lot of texts will translate his description as wily. He was wily: very clever and willing to lie. And this suggests to us that wiliness and deceit were actually admired traits in the Greek culture."

Dr. Dunnum strode to the whiteboard. "What I want us to do, is get into our groups and come up with a list of adjectives we'd use to describe Beowulf."

After the exercise came a time of sharing. Dr. Dunnum wrote the suggestions on the whiteboard in his cramped, curly handwriting. Adjectives like valiant, strong, generous, loyal, and transparent were offered.

Dr. Dunnum turned his sharp blue eyes on the girl who'd offered "transparent."

"What do you mean by that?"

The girl straightened in her chair and gestured slightly with her pen as she answered. "He's open about his strategies and motives. He tells the people exactly what he intends to do, and that he expects to receive glory for it. He doesn't hide the fact that he wants recognition."

Another girl threw out the word "boastful." Dr. Dunnum nodded and scribbled the word at the bottom of the list.

"So, pride was a big deal for these people." He raised an eyebrow in an inviting expression. Students nodded. "And yet, no one seemed to really have a problem with that. Boasting and glory are huge parts of Beowulf's character, and yet he's the hero. Does this suggest that the Angelo-Saxon culture valued arrogance?"

Dr. Dunnum switched gears with a swing of his head, eyes gleaming. "How about heroes today? Who can we compare Beowulf to? In your groups, pick a modern hero and write down some of the traits associated with him or her."

"Transparent" Girl glanced back at her group, shades of condescension showing behind her thin smile. "Who do we think, guys?"

"I 'on' know, man," said her closest neighbor, leaning his chair back on two legs. "Like Supe'man or somethin'."

Something genuine leaped in the girl's eyes. "That's what I was thinking! There aren't really a whole lot of wholesome, superhumanly strong characters out there."

She got to work on her list: honest, just, wholesome, worthy, loyal, humble...

Dr. Dunnum invited the groups to write their heroes and traits on the board. When the chaos of voices and the squelching of dry-erase markers faded, the board held three Supermans, a Thor, a Captain America, and a Batman.

"Transparent" Girl gave a throaty noise of disapproval as her eyes passed over the lists. Chair-Tipper glanced at her expectantly. She looked embarrassed through her annoyance. "Under 'Batman'," she said, stabbing her pen in the direction of the whiteboard. "someone wrote 'fearless.' It's just...Batman's not fearless."

Chair-Tipper lost interest.

"Okay," Dr. Dunnum interrupted the din of unavoidable side conversations. "What are some common themes here?" He walked in front of the board and circled the recurring words: brave, loyal, strong. "What are we not seeing?" He paused at the Batman list and gave it a look of confusion, frowning slightly. "Transparent" Girl felt smugly validated.

Dr. Dunnum turned his eyes on the class, eyebrows raised. "Boasting. Arrogance. Pride." He tilted his head. "It's not here. We, as a culture, put less emphasis on pride as a positive thing. Why is that?"

"We have-uh lass to buh-rag about-uh," came a strong valley girl accent from across the room.

"Yeah?" Dr. Dunnum couldn't keep the chuckle out of his voice. "Penicillin? No big deal?"

"I mean-uh..." Valley Girl looked immediately enraged. "Like, we don't have like-uh one guy who could win a war alone-uh."

Dr. Dunnum nodded thoughtfully. "Okay. But do you think the Angelo-Saxons really did either? I mean, this is just a story. Beowulf was not real."

Valley Girl rolled her eyes and turned her attention apparently to her crotch, presumably to her iPhone.

"Less had already been done?" Someone suggested from the back. "Bragging was more legitimate back then because people were doing things for the very first time."

Dr. Dunnum nodded some more. "Okay."

"Transparent" Girl put her elbows on her desk and leaned forward, suddenly intensely engaged. No one was getting it. This question required real thinking. Why did the Angelo-Saxons value boastfulness? Why did Americans today shy away from it? Why?

Her brain churned up chunks of thought, which she examined and mentally threw over her shoulder. No, no, no. What positive outcomes could occur from bragging?

The answer leaped to the front of her mind with an electric stab of understanding. Her hand raised itself. Dr. Dunnum caught her eye and wrapped up his acknowledgment of another mediocre answer.

"Yes?" he raised his eyebrows at her.

"Back then, your reputation was a way of protecting those you loved," she offered. "By boasting, inflating his reputation, Beowulf was actually ensuring that no one would attack his people. It wasn't all selfish. He was trying to help his family."

"And what did everyone think when Beowulf died?"

"They expected to be invaded."

"Yes." Dr. Dunnum walked back to the center of the whiteboard and addressed the class. "Today, in the modern world, we have such impressive technology and are so strong that..." He shrugged. "We don't really need to brag. Our reputation goes without saying."

He pointed to Beowulf's name, written in red dry-erase maker. "Could we maybe even argue that the people of Beowulf's time bragged out of weakness, and not strength? That their need to assert their reputation grew out of fear and anxiety?"

It was 1:50pm. The students began forcing their notebooks and textbooks back into their backpacks.

"Transparent" Girl left the classroom on a dreamy Idea High. What a thought. Humility: a luxury of the strong.

~Stephanie

Why I Believe in "Slut-Shaming"

Don't freak out--yet. Just hear me out.

Today in my research for a Brit Lit paper, I got vastly distracted. One thing led to another, and I ran across the most obnoxious online strain of feminist tirades I've read in a long time.

As you probably know, I'm a pretty proud person {...who alliterates}. And that is why I can live my life as a young woman without demanding to be treated like a man. The feminist argument is essentially "Look how great women are! We can be just like men!" Um, irony, anyone? The logic just doesn't jive.

The article that most captured my attention was a crusade against "Slut-Shaming:"

"Slut-shaming occurs when a source attempts to elicit feelings of inferiority or remorse [by] attacking a woman’s perceived or actual sexual behavior or feelings." - Feminspire

I see.

Are there not perceived or actual sexual behaviors for which people should feel remorseful? Because basically what I'm hearing in that definition is that it is now unacceptably offensive to label promiscuity as a bad thing.

What is this, A Brave New World?

We talked about free markets in International Relations this morning. If you create a product and it doesn't sell, you either improve it, or you create a different product. The feedback from people, positive or negative, guides you to produce the best product you can.

I think the concept of discouraging promiscuous behavior can work the same way.

Unless you have no respect for individuals, you view luring people to bed-hop as a contemptible behavior. If you're a Christian, you believe that sex/sexual thoughts belong in a specific context--and that context is not strutting around the mall. If you're a feminist, you rabidly oppose instances where people--specifically women--are objectified. Really, there should be no version of sleeping around that isn't frowned upon.

So give the "product" of promiscuity negative feedback. If you don't like it, if you don't want it on the market, if you think it's a bad product, discourage it.

One way to do that is obviously not to "buy the product." If a girl is getting nowhere with her physically flirtatious behavior, theoretically she'll quit. However, there will unfortunately always be someone willing to take advantage of a girl's availability.

I guess that's just too bad, right? If you think something is wrong, but it seems to be successful, you're just supposed to let it go.

Well, no one seems to think that when it comes to drugs, animal testing, Chick-fil-A's stance on homosexuality, tobacco use, or a whole host of other things.

Success should not exempt something from criticism, especially if you believe it to be immoral.

In addition to not "buying the product of promiscuity," offer an additional kind of negative feedback.

Basically, SHAME IT.

If you think something is wrong, is it not right and natural to speak out against it? In our culture of hyper-sensitive political correctness, no one is allowed to believe in absolute morals because it might hurt someone else's feelings.

I hate to break it to you, but Flannery O'Conner has it right:  "The truth does not change according to our ability to stomach it."

Now, I'm not saying that it's okay to ridicule someone. People are insecure enough without being torn to shreds by the judgmental public.

But some behaviors are objectively inferior to others. {"Love your neighbor" > "Eat your neighbor"}. I believe that being a sexually forward, indiscriminate young woman is an inferior behavior.

Should that behavior be called inferior? Yes. Should that behavior elicit remorse? Yes. Do I then support "slut-shaming?"

I guess you could say that. But I prefer the term "promoting self-respect."

Now, what was I doing? Oh yeah. Writing a Brit Lit paper...

~Stephanie