It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time

More than a byline

Normally I try not to pay much attention to comments on my posts or articles.  It’s almost impossible to write in the age of the internet and take such things seriously.  That way lies madness.  But the last few weeks, I’ve felt sensitized to the endless division and judgment that has become so much a part of computer culture.  I’m tired, again, of people judging those they’ve never met, of calling names or saying things in public fora that they would never say in person.  It feels cowardly and slimy and mean.

We’re all guilty of it to some extent.  I’ve done it, too, ranted about the “idiots” who espouse such-and-such opinion.  It’s easy to forget that behind every posting is a real person.

Earlier this month I wrote a post for Waldorfish on Michaelmas and what that festival has come to mean to me.  I half-laughed with my friend Robyn when we found that my little essay had been posted on an anti-Waldorf/Steiner website.  Half-laughed, because you know you’ve made it as a writer when you incur hatred, but even after four years of writing professionally, I’m still not thick-skinned enough to dismiss being judged by people who’ve never met me. 

After sitting on it for a week or so, I finally decided this morning to submit a comment to the site, and to invite a dialogue here.  I guess we’ll see what happens next.

This, in case anyone is curious, is me taking my sword of courage to my own personal dragon – confrontation.  I’m not acting in violence or anger, but with the hope that maybe courage and compassion can transform confrontation to conversation.

Here is my comment:

 

It’s easy to attach an identity to a byline – to blame, to disagree, to judge.  I’ve done it myself.  But, the writer is more than her name.  Behind every faceless byline on the internet is a real person – with real values, dreams, goals, and feelings. And yes, real flaws, too.

I’m sorry for whatever has happened in the lives of those of you who would question the ethics of a stranger based only on a few paragraphs that you read through your own lens.  I can only guess that there is powerful hurt there somewhere, and that makes me sad.

I’m not responding to the criticism of my essay to argue or to try to change minds.  Different beliefs and opinions are what make life worthwhile.  I’m just here to introduce myself, to put a virtual face to the name whose ethics have been called into question.

I’m not some brainwashed cultist.  I’m a mother, a writer, a scientist, a friend, a lover, a runner, a dreamer, a thinker.  I have plenty of flaws if you’d like some to criticize.  I’m stubborn, klutzy, and sometimes selfish.  I procrastinate.  I’m a terrible housekeeper.  I’m all too apt to hide behind humor.  And I’m incredibly awkward at parties.

I’m also practical, idealistic, the most prepared camper you’ll ever meet.  I’m a loyal beyond reason to those I love.  I can bake birthday cakes in almost any configuration.  I’ve been known to quote Shakespeare while performing a Caesarean section on a cow.  I think about everything.  All of the time.  I love – intensely, painfully, and unconditionally. 

I believe in working for peace, justice, and acceptance for everyone.  Seeing my name equated with eugenics and warmongering hurts.  Yes, I’m also sensitive. 

You don’t know me.  You know only that I wrote about a topic where you have strong feelings.  Great.  Come discuss them with me.  I can’t offer a glass of wine or a cup of tea over the internet, but you’re more than welcome to stop by my blog, read a bit, and share your thoughts.  Conversation is so much easier than anonymous anger.

Librarian's Daughter: Thoughts on Banned Books Week 2014

I am a librarian’s daughter. 

Whatever else I have been or become, I am always this.  It doesn’t matter that I’m in my 40s with children of my own or that my mom hasn’t been the school librarian since I was in college.  The end of summer brings memories of new lunch boxes, weirdly stiff shoes, and books.  Boxes of crisp-covered, tight-paged books.  Books with virgin pages that I would be the first to caress.   Books that would give me secret knowledge unclaimed by my peers.  It didn’t matter that my peers were oblivious to said knowledge or that they wouldn’t care that I’d beaten them to the stories on the shelves – books had power, and for a few weeks of the school year, that power was mine alone.

Books have power.

I’ve understood that since my days of plaid jumpers and knee socks.  Yet, some part of me has never fully integrated the realization that many people fear that power. 

Books are the essence of free speech, a glorious mishmash of the messiness of the human experience -- facts, errors, misunderstandings, epiphanies, outright lies, and soul-shaking truths.  All that is mundane, sacred, and, yes, profane lives in the written word. Books are thought, and thought is both weapon and salvation.

It makes intellectual sense then, that people might fear this power, that parents could wish to keep their children out of the shadows or from straying from a certain mental path.

But the shadows are always with us, and it is off the trail that we find our way.

I live in a liberal college town.  Most of those involved with my children’s education celebrate knowledge and exploration of ideas.  Yet, at least once a year, there will be a discussion in at least one of my children’s classes regarding “appropriate reading material.”  This conversation is nearly always sparked by the latest semi-subversive book popular among the kids who want to believe themselves edgy.  Typically it’s a book written for an older audience and containing sex, violence, or both.  It’s often also abysmally written.

For me, the last is the only real sin a book can commit.

This annual question of age-appropriate literature invariably causes some consternation in our family.  My children’s father and I are both proponents of reading, thinking, and information.  We also believe in supporting teachers.  But neither of us is comfortable with the muddy slide from concern to censorship.

At least once a year, we find ourselves explaining to someone the family rule regarding books:

IF YOU ARE CAPABLE OF READING IT, YOU MAY READ IT, BUT YOU MIGHT HAVE TO ENDURE AN UNCOMFORATBLE CONVERSATION WITH MOM OR DAD.

We both have an open bookshelf policy.  Any of the books – yes, ANY – on the shelves at either of our houses is available to any of the kids.  However, we know the content of the books and reserve the right to discuss it with the kids as they read.  (This corollary usually holds sufficient prospect of awkwardness to deter them from more “adult” content.)

This is my paradox: when it comes to banning or challenging books in schools, I want everyone to approach the written word the way my family does.  In other words, as I expound on the virtues of intellectual freedom, I really want everyone to see it my way.

Maybe that’s the real value of Banned Books Week; thinking about words and controversy opens all of us to the reality that the world is full of ideals other than our own.  When we explore those other, uncomfortable ideals, we grow closer together.

In another timeline, a skinny, bespectacled girl sits crosslegged on beige linoleum in front of a cardboard box.  Her freckled nose sniffs the pages of the paperback in her hands, and heedless of the still unpacked box, undusted shelves, and exhortations not to bend the spine, she dives into another world and absorbs its power.

I am, and will always be, a librarian’s daughter.

 

Transitions

This poor blog has been neglected over the past year, and with reason.  Last October, my husband and I separated, and I've been trying to decide how I want to mesh my personal writing and personal life.  Many of these things will become clear over time, and I have no desire to tell any story but my own.  However, because I've written much on family and relationships, and will likely continue to do so, it needs to be said that he is a wonderful man, fabulous co-parent, and is and will always be very dear to me.

From time to time, I suspect my posts will pick up some of the backstory of my past year, but as happens with life transitions, I'm likely to be shifting focus somewhat with this blog.  I'll be likely to focus less on veterinary matters since I write about those for a living. You can find my veterinary-related writing at www.vetzinsight.com, news.vin.com, or thehorse.com.

This space is likely to be used for issues that matter most in my life right now -- parenting, sexuality, relationships (of all sorts), mental health, and feminism.