Redstocking Grandma's Open Salon Blog

Is Your Babysitter a Guy (Repost)

Mon, 7 May 2012 17:05:15 -0400

Would you trust your children to any of these disreputable men? My youngest uncle, 9 years older, is smoking a pipe. Jesus's rates were low (my third brother). Emma loved her 15-year-old uncle's flute playing and would run from anywhere in my parent's home to listen, enraptured. at his feet. That bearded guy with the glasses is her Daddy. Emma is reading to my fourth brother in the last picture. One day on the train, age 2, Emma inquired: "Daddy, where did all their beards go?"

I had 3 young uncles 9, 11, and 13 years older who have been absolutely wonderful to me all my life. I lived with my mother's family (5 uncles, 1 aunt) the first two years of my life before my dad returned from the war and my parents could afford a house. Uncle Frank and I watched Sal Maglie pitch a no-hitter for the Dodgers in a September 1956 night game. We were thrilled when our uncles came to Uniondale to babysit. Uncle Frank, six foot five, would hang from the top of the swing set, and we were allowed to keep all the money that fell out of his pockets. My brothers were outraged when our uncles got married and had children of their own, and they were stuck with me as their babysitter. I have never had a tougher job. Potato chip bribes were often necessary.

I admit I would not have trusted my brother Joe, 18 months younger as a babysitter. He had a proven track record of getting younger brothers on the roof. Noq Joe is the father of six (4 boys, 2 girls) and the grandpa of four. T My youngest brothers were 15 and 17 when my daughter Emma was born. Going on vacation with them was pure joy for my daughters. My youngest brother (flutist) lived with us for 9 months when he was 20. His nieces were in heaven.

In NYC women's liberatiion was at its height when my three older daughters were born. We were all obsessed with nonsexist childrearing. My daughters' playgroups had helping daddies as well as helping mommies. We used a babysitting cooperative of parents when we went out; daddies were more likely to be the evening babysitters. My kids were much more excited when someone's daddy was coming and let down if the mommy showed up.

Michelle had a male nursery school teacher. My daughters had one male teacher in a one-room schoolhouse private school in Maine. On Long Island they only had two male teachers in grade school; one was their favorite teacher. My brother is a grade school teacher in Maine. He says male teachers of young children feel like everyone regards them as potential child molesters.

According to the Bureau of Labor Statistics, men comprise:

5.4 % of Child Care Workers
8.5 % of Teacher Assistants
2.7 % of Preschool and Kindergarten Teachers

What are we teaching our children about sex roles? Have you used guys as babysitters? When did your child first have a male teacher? How do you answer if your children inquire why they never have men as teachers? Do you encourage your teen sons to babysit? How would you react if you son announced he wanted to teach kindergarten? Or even fourth grade? How old were you when you had your first male teacher? Were any of your babysitters guys? OS men, did you babysit?

What does this teach our children about sex roles? No wonder young boys have more trouble adjusting to totally women-dominated classrooms.

1971, Age 25, Doubts about Feminism

Tue, 1 May 2012 14:05:24 -0400

I was very active in the feminist movement of the late 1960s and early 1970s. Although I described myself as a radical feminist, I always had misgivings. I explore them in this journal entry from October 1971. Talking about a 20-hour work week seems preposterous now, but it seemed a realistic goal once upon a time in the 1970's.

Are men necessarily the enemies? Adopting that logic, couldn't women be categorized as the enemies? Must there be an enemy? Must the movement have a scapegoat? There is a danger of generalizing for all women from a few women’s (typical, atypical) experience with men. Perhaps many men are baffled rather than hostile. They have been socialized to believe the myths, so they do believe them. Why does the movement assume that their motives are vicious?

Perhaps the myths are harsher than the realities. Individual women are treated better and respected more than social mythology about women dictates. The movement shouldn't present what seems to be a fatal choice: true autonomy or loving, intimate relationships with men. If all men are despaired of, shouldn’t most women be despaired of? Have women tried hard enough to explain themselves? Or would they rather renounce men than fight through to an accommodation?

The movement stresses relationships with women because they are easier (at least for many women). There is no need to confront the enemy directly. Women often have bravely attacked men in coffee klatches, but they then have gone along with their own men, having worked out some of their hostilities with other women. I don't understand; because of my five younger brothers aand 3 young uncles, I have never had any trouble confronting men.

At times Women's Liberation is vulgarly careerist. There is very little speculation on changing the nature of work. There is no recognition that women’s jobs, not men’s jobs, may be the desirable jobs of the future. Many dominant economic values are accepted. A job’s value is measured by its pay or its status. There is total denial that raising young children is a uniquely demanding job, calling forth an infinite range of talents and imagination.

Feminists lack a strong grasp on job alternatives. I am frustrated with so much loose talk about expressing creativity in jobs. Don't women recognize what most workers do, not only blue and white collar workers, but professional and managerial ones as well? Creativity is the value much stressed by woman’s magazines. Be a creative homemaker. The movement often seems to accept this definition of creativity. There is no recognition that post -revolution many, if not most, women might have less creative jobs than they do now. Volunteers are often allowed more autonomy and outlet for imaginative change than regular staff would be permitted.

Emphasis could have been completely different. Feminists need not have accepted the male value that your job is everything, completely determining your value and what people think of you. Alternatives include--more leisure, 20- hour week for everyone, change hierarchical nature of work, decentralize it, recognize that much work is unnecessary in a more rational society that won’t need 100 brands of detergents, toothpastes, and feminine hygiene deodorants.

Many jobs now are completely unproductive. Most jobs are not inherently creative. What is a creative job anyway? The solution may be to give people more time, real time, to be creative off the job.

My close friend said almost any job is preferable to staying home with the kids. That is a preposterous statement, particularly from a so-called radical who pays lip service to human values. That is not to say that childrearing as it is now arranged is perfect. We might benefit from more stress on communal childraising, not necessarily so parents can get a “job,” but because it may be a better way to raise children from both parents’ and children’s point of view. I am the oldest of six; growing up in a large family wass a positive experience. My parents seemed to have less need to control our direction in life than the parents of my friends with fewer siblings.

The nature of work must change in our society. Women should be at the forefront of the battle for change. Autonomy and self-sufficiency cannot be pictured as depending on capitalist recognition of worth. Rather the economy should be made to value and reward the kinds of work that woman do. Men have problems with women’s lib on this point. They can’t seem to believe that women would want to have equality in men’s world. How many men would trade roles if only the objective nature of what they had to do was the consideration and not society’s evaluation of it?

Perhaps the major emphasis must be on changing society’s evaluation of women. Otherwise, when women enter or take over traditionally men’s fields, they would only decline in relative prestige. It can’t be difficult or challenging job if mere women can do it. Emphasis should not be on merely putting women in out-of-home jobs.

The nature of reward for jobs should change. Money must cease to be the major incentive. The gap between low salaries and high salaries needs to be dramatically smaller. If raising young children had prestige of being a pediatrician or a child psychologist, for example, and it need not be done in social isolation, might not women and men feel differently about it?

I seem to be getting away from 20-hour week. If all men and women worked, the work week probably would be less than 20 hours. Low productivity and make work have kept the work week from declining for over 20 years. Even without women’s going to work en masse, it might sink to 30 hours.

Tossing Pebbles and Making Ripples

Mon, 30 Apr 2012 19:04:56 -0400

I originally posted this two years ago. It seemed appropriate to repost it as I return to my OS home once again. I hope different meds, a different psychiatrist, a different therapist, a healed marriage will make it possible for me to stay home for good.

"We drop like pebbles into the ponds of each other's souls, and the orbit of our ripples continues to expand, intersecting with countless others. " Ken Wilbur, No Boundaries

Children love throwing pebbles into the water and watching the ripples spread out. The ripple effect is how I conceive of my contribution toonOpen Salon and, indeed, everywhere.

What I loved about being a public librarian was the opportunity to throw thousands of pebbles over the years. Handing the right book to a child going through a difficult time could be worth months of therapy. A ten -minute conversation with a distressed mom can help her reframe her problems with her children. Fifteen minutes coaxing eldersto try the internet can open up the world for them. Guiding frightened new cancer patients to local support groups and the latest research might lessen their fear.

I preferred being a librarian to being a social worker. Insurance companies compell therapists to put numbers on people; librarians only number the books. So many public librarians considered being social workers, not realizing that they already are.

I once treated a young Irishman struggling with gay identity issues. Introducing him to James Baldwin was my crucial intervention. A late friend, a ER psychiatric social worker at a large municipal hospital, had an office filled with books that he gives away. Chris believed many people experiencing the spiritual emergency of acute mental distress need a good listener and the right book, not hospital admission and mind-dulling drugs.

Being a La Leche leader from 1977 to 1987 was a deeply rewarding way to create ripples. My name and phone number were on posters all over 3 towns. People were invited to call me 24/7 for breastfeeding advice. No one ever abused that offer. The few late nights calls I got were important. Many more mothers who should have called didn't.

In the days before cordless phones, I needed a phone cord that stretched anywhere downstairs, from the front to the back door. Otherwise, I would be giving advice on sore nipples and improper latching, and my kids would be painting themselves purple, making magic potions for their baby sister, or decorating the playroom with talcum power and desitin. I counseled many hundreds of women in meetings and over the phone in Bangor, Maine, and Long Island..

Often enough I will meet someone who insists I look very familiar. After exchanging our life stories, we realize I was her La Leche League leader. Or I was the helpful librarian whose name she never knew. Public librarians tend to be anonymous handmaidens and angels.

I have always wanted to change the world. As I age, I realize my legacy is to make ripples, one pebble at a time. Each of us is doing that on Open Salon, and we will never know how far our ripples expand. Ratings and comments and editor's picks don't measure ripples.

Bobbot has kindly given me permission to include his comment, which expresses my ideas better than Wilbur or I did

The ripples are not affected by accolades. They spread even beyond our ability to see them still making minute changes as far as the body of water they are in goes then, even though no longer perceptible they return to where they came from. That is the legacy, change even imperceptible is still change and that will not be undone.

How to Cheat on the Mental Mini-Status Exam

Fri, 6 Jan 2012 16:01:00 -0500

Given that researchers plan to diagnose Alzheimer's Disease ten or twenty years earlier, no one is too young to practice cheating on the Mini Mental Status Exam .

Make sure all the answers are on your smart phone before your neurologist visit.

If the examiner asks you not to look at your smart phone, offer to teach him how to use it so he won't have to waste so much time "remembering" Smirking casts doubt on your sincerity.

Mini-Mental Status Examination

The Mini-Mental Status Examination offers a quick and simple way to quantify cognitive function and screen for cognitive loss. It tests the individual’s orientation, attention, calculation, recall, language and motor skills.

Each section of the test involves a related series of questions or commands. The individual receives one point for each correct answer.To give the examination, seat the individual in a quiet, well-lit room. Ask him/her to listen carefully and to answer each question as accurately as he/she can.

Don’t time the test but score it right away. To score, add the number of correct responses. The individual can receive a maximum score of 30 points.

A score below 20 usually indicates cognitive impairment. ___

What is today’s date?

What is the month?

What is the year?

What is the day of the week today?

What season is it?

Whose home is this?

What room is this?

What city are we in?

What county are we in?

What state are we in?

Examiner: Confiscate all smart phones and ipods before administering this part of the test. Be aware your patient will be hiding them.

Ask if you may test his/her memory. Then say “ball”, “flag”, “tree” clearly and slowly, about 1 second for each. After you have said all 3 words, ask him/her to repeat them – the first repetition determines the score (0-3):

Examiner: Suspect surreptitious text messaging to oneself.

Ask the individual to begin with 100 and count backwards by 7. Stop after 5 subtractions. Score the correct subtractions.

Patient: Make sure to teach your child to count backwards first so they can ace this exam.

Ask the individual to spell the word ”WORLD” backwards. The score is the number of letters in correct position.

Patient: Silly you, learning to spell forwards. No wonder there are so many people with dementia.

Ask the individual to recall the 3 words you previously asked him/her to remember.

Ball Flag Tree

Examiner: Suspect his mental acuity if he isn't consulting his cell phone.

Show the individual a wristwatch and ask him/her what it is. Repeat for pencil.

Examiner: Don't award any points if patient says the wristwatch was a primitive cell phone and a pencil was a primitive ipad.

Ask the individual to repeat the following: “No if, ands, or buts”

Examiner: "No if, ands, and buts, this is the stupidest test I have ever taken" still earns full credit.

Give the individual a plain piece of paper and say, “Take the paper in your hand, fold it in half, and put it on the floor.”

Examiner: Duck the paper airplane headed toward your eyes.

Hold up the card reading: “Close your eyes” so the individual can see it clearly. Ask him/her to read it and do what it says. Score correctly only if the individual actually closes his/her eyes. âÂÂÂª

Examiner: Disobedience is unmistakable proof of dementia.

Give the individual a piece of paper and ask him/her to write a sentence. It is to be written spontaneously. It must contain a subject and verb and be sensible.

Examiner: "You are a fucking idiot" is an eminently sensible sentence. Control your emotions.

Give the individual a piece of paper and ask him/her to copy a design of two intersecting shapes. One point is awarded for correctly copying the shapes. All angles on both figures must be present, and the figures must have one overlapping angle.

Patient: The examiner is testing your motor skills. Informing him you still skateboard will not improve your score.

Total Score:_____

DISCLAIMER: ANYTHING WRITTEN IN BOLDFACE IS NOT PART OF THE TEST. ANYTHING NOT WRITTEN IN BOLDFACE IS THE ACTUAL TEST.

Duck and Cover, McCarthy, Assassinations, Vietnam, Jail

Mon, 2 Jan 2012 11:01:00 -0500

I was born the day after Trinity, the first atom bomb test. From age 5, duck-and-cover, hide-under-our-desks drills in my Catholic school were as frequent as tests. I was terrified of nuclear war. We lived one mile away from an air force base. Whenever I heard planes, I ran out into the backyard and tried to to determine if they were American or Russian, using my library book on aircraft identification. When I was 7, Stalin died. I asked my parents if this meant we would not be killed by atom bombs.

In 1954 I had a severe case of the measles, and my Grandma came to help nurse me. Grandma was a lifelong Democrat since she voted in the first election open to women. With loathing, she was listening to the Joseph McCarthy army hearings. My eyes hurt too much to read, so I listened obsessively. Hatred of McCarthy's voice probably shaped my entire political development.

In 1956, just turning eleven, I fell madly in love with Jack Kennedy as he made an unsuccessful bid for the vice presidential nomination. I was initially attracted by his Catholicism; ten minutes later I was smitten by his intelligence, wit, and charm. I was luckier than his other women. Loving Jack Kennedy was wonderful for me. From 1956 to 1963, I read everything I could about Kennedy, politics, American history.

What JFK believed in, I believed in. Gradually I moved to the left of his pragmatic liberalism. Certainly Kennedy was responsible for my decision to major in political science in college. Kennedy's assassination,during the fall of my freshman year in college, devastated me. I felt like there had been a death in my immediate family. I quickly transferred my political allegiance to Bobby Kennedy, who was the keynote speaker at my graduation from Fordham in 1967.

Planning to get Ph.D. in political science, I attended Stanford University where resistance to the war was at its height. Almost every afternoon, David Harris, Joan Baez's future husband who was later jailed, spoke out eloquently against the war. I was studying political science as a quantifiable science. I knew Harris and the protests were the real political science, and I dropped out, throwing away my free ride to college professorship.

After Stanford, I worked for Victor Riesel, the blind labor columnist. When he was exposing waterfront racketeering. acid was thrown in his eyes. He was too proud to learn Braille, so he hired bright young political women to be his eyes, so he could write his daily colulmn. I skimmed 8 newspapers and 40 labor newspapers and read to him anything that might provide column ideas. The Internet equivalent was a constantly running ticker tape. All day, everyday I read and discussed the assassinations, the riots, Vietnam. The shattering world was my job.

I had gone to bed very late the night Bobby Kennedy won the California primary. As the radio woke me up, I didn't understand what they were saying for several minutes. I thought they were talking about someone else. When I called my finace, I was crying so hysterically he thought something had happened to my parents or brothers. JFK's assassination was 10 days before my wedding. The day after I had a final dress fitting. I cried the entire time, not caring if I had a wedding dress of tears.

I became a pacifist. Opposition to the Vietnam War right from the beginning was the catalyst. My husband Chris applied for conscientious objector status and was willing to face jail rather than be inducted. We became very active in the Catholic Peace Fellowship, the Fellowship of Reconciliation, and the War Resister's League, all pacifist organizations. I have mostly seen Washington behind a picket sign. Freezing,I stood in front of the White House I stood in front of the White House and shouted the name of a dead soldier during the March of Death.

My husband was turned down for Conscientious Objector Status, as most Catholics were, even though he appealed the decision up to the Presidential Appeal Board. We knew he was going to be jailed, probably for 3 years, for refusing induction. But in 1969 the Selective Service instituted the First Draft Lottery. The days of the year, represented by the numbers from 1 to 366 (including Leap Year Day), were written on slips of paper that were placed in capsules. The capsules were mixed in a shoebox and dumped into a deep glass jar. Capsules were drawn from the jar one at a time.

The first day number drawn was 257 (September 14), so all registrants with that birthday were assigned lottery number 1. Men of draft age (those born between 1944 and 1950) whose birthday fell on the corresponding day of the year would all be drafted at the same time. Only the first 195 birthdates drawn in the 1969 lottery were called to serve. The lottery night was among the worst of my life. I arrived home from work when they had reached 50. As time when on and they didn't call out Chris's birthday, I was convinced he had been in the first five. His number was 339. He was spared jail.