Month: December 2020

Here’s a startling confession from a mother — I don’t really like kids. I like my own. I like a few others. But, as my kids aged into their teens and beyond; I found the current crop of young adults to be weak, vapid and annoying. Faces in their phones, all suffering from some sort of anxiety or depression — materialistic, selfie-obsessed, attention-seeking, looking for the next trophy they didn’t earn. They would sit in the backseat of my car and talk amongst themselves in a cringe-inducing, verbally fried conversation of, “oh my gawwwwd, so my ex liked this girl I hates picture and I was like, dude, I am going to like tell my other ex that like …”

I can’t tell you what they were saying beyond that point because the amount of “likes” that preceded every thought and the fact that a 14-year-old had more exes than I have would make me retreat into my head to wonder how illegal it would be if I pulled over and sent them out of my car to walk home. They all seemed to know everything and were oddly bold enough to argue with you about things without realizing they knew very, little at all about themselves, the world and most of all — adversity. For them, a really bad day was not being able to get their phone to charge. And, I would often give my kid’s friends blank stares as they struggled with issues that were to me — completely ridiculous.

I would resist the urge to age myself and give them the, “when I was your age, I walked uphill BOTH ways to school” speech. But, being around the current crop of teens and early adults — I very, clearly understood why my parents would give that response when they would hear me crying at a young age about such minor issues as girls at school being mean to me. We don’t have perspective at that age. And, deep inside I do know that. But, it didn’t stop the feelings of eyeball rolling irritation with today’s youth.

Until 2020 took them into the storm.

There’s so much talk about who has emotionally been hit the hardest by 2020. There is a laundry list of the wounded: those that lost their lives, those that lost loved ones, the frontline workers, the small business owners, the parents trying to homeschool their kids and work, the unemployed, the elderly locked in isolation. They all deserve love and compassion for enduring 2020 the best they know how.

But … most of those above know how. We are the adults. We have seen dark days followed by rainbows. We have had heartbreaks and healed. Lost and moved on. They haven’t.

I think to the kids in the back of my car, blithering on like silly, mini wannabe adults — immersed in the minutia of life — and, I ache for them. What must they be thinking during this year? They have so much life ahead and it must now be this giant pit of unknown.

Should I even go away to college when it is all remote? They will miss the smell of traffic and the nerves of walking around campus trying to find a class buried in a hall, impossible to find.

How will I date when I can’t even go out to eat with someone? They are missing the awkward moments of struggling to find the right words to say to a boy or girl they like during a dinner out.

When I get married, will this be gone? Will I get to have all the people I want there? They may miss the moments many of us had when we negotiated with our future spouse on how many cousins are allowed before we cut them off.

When I have a baby, will I have to go into the hospital alone? They may miss the flood of excited new grandparents and friends coming in with balloons and flowers to celebrate a new life.

When I buy a home, should I forget the big city life I always dreamed of? The pandemic hitting the larger cities so hard may make the suburbs they all used to dream of escaping not look so bad.

Every milestone that we adults got to go through unencumbered, isn’t a given for any of them now. The international symbol for our current young adults is the question mark — branding them like the Scarlet A. A future … unknown. And, they have been simultaneously ill-prepared and blindsided by that reality.

Battered and broken. So many of them must feel broken by the storm.

It’s our responsibility as the adults in the room to recognize them. I think they get overlooked in the endless battles over politics, masks, rights, losses and hardships. And, in that recognition tell them, “it’s going to be okay.” That seems like a pathetically small statement to make to them, but they don’t own the one thing that we have earned through our years of living — perspective. We have seen hard times that they haven’t and overcame. They will, too. But, they need to hear it from us, and often.

No, we don’t know exactly when this will end … younger one … but, it will.

That school will open, that boy will call, that big wedding will come, that baby will get passed around to teary-eyed family, your home will become your haven (no matter where it may be). This WILL pass. And, you will be stronger for it. You will. It doesn’t even matter how you handle it as we are still going through it. Cry, it’s okay … we all have. Get angry, it’s okay … we all have. But, endure … survive … fight … find silver-linings … adapt. You will get to the other side of this mountain now and look back in amazement that you got through it. It’s going to “age” you, for sure. But, it can be in the best way possible. You know that trophy that we adults never thought you earned? You will for getting through 2020.

You are going to appreciate things like freedom, AIR, life, a simple dinner out, time with family, a hug, a dance, a football game with friends, a first kiss like you never did before; if you let it. The world, outside of your phone, is going to be so much more important to you; if you let it. The politics and policies of this country will mean something to you now because you can see how if effects you. Let 2020 open your eyes to the things in this world both big and small and let it make you better. It can … if you don’t let it break you.

And, someday … when you are my age and that baby grows to be 14 and is sitting in the back of your car complaining about some ridiculously small issue, you can turn to them and say, “Let me tell you about the year 2020 and how I thought it would break me … but, it didn’t”.

Because the storm will end, and the sun will shine again. I promise.

My years as a “Republican” started as a little girl watching the 1981 inauguration of Ronald Reagan in awe. As a seven-year-old child, I lay on my stomach with my chin cupped in my hands and watched Lee Greenwood perform God Bless the U.S.A. From behind me on the couch, I heard, probably for the first time in my young life, my Vietnam Veteran father crying. Glancing behind me, I saw both he and my mother holding hands and red faced with tears of pride spilling out. And, perhaps from a place of child-like empathy or of just pure love of them, I felt as the warm tears of patriotism began to roll down my cheeks, too.

“Mommy and Daddy really loves this country. So do I.” It’s that simple when you are young.

But, I don’t think I ever looked back again.

I didn’t like sports, even coming of age in the Steel Town that stood behind their teams, even at their lowest points, I had no interest in anything with a ball involved. America was my “team”. And, I loved it as much as the boys and girls around me loved their Steelers. An unabashed patriot. Debating all throughout grade, middle and high school and in college. Tempestuous, opinionated, outspoken … even as time made my views evolve, I never strayed far from the little girl on the floor. I loved my country and that was okay.

The 80’s also brought us the movie Wall Street. “Greed is good”, stated Gordon Gekko and I watched as the yuppie, shoulder pad, power suit, money-loving stereotype stuck to all Republicans like the hair gel in Douglas’s hair. And, I could see where that could come from, as the “right” had embraced the capitalism as the “left” moved more and more towards “equity”. But, I still loved my country and that was okay.

The 90’s brought scandals to the White House. Clinton’s escapades stained the country as fast as it did a blue dress. The little girl on the floor in me looked at him in disgust. I cared less about his politics or policies and more about the dishonor he brought the office and my country. But, it was still my country and I still loved through moments of embarrassment or disgrace. Like our boys loved the Pirates, even when they were not at their best. Patriotism was my version of rooting for the home team.

In college in the 90’s, I was exposed to so many more opinions and would listen to them with open ears and Nirvana playing in the background. Back then, you could fiercely debate and snuff it out as fast as my liberal friends could stamp out a cigarette once a professor would appear around the corner. They could prove a case to me on not inflicting my more Conservative values on them and I could implore that they should then apply the same respect to me. We all would choose freedom was the best way to go. We were all patriots, even while fighting a slightly different war — and, that was okay back then.

The 2000’s began with watching two towers fall and planes drop from the sky. I sat on the floor as a young mother and wept. People were attacking the country I loved, my country. Bush stood with a flag waving on a surreal mountain of pain. And, those same warm tears of a patriot fell from my cheeks. I raged at those that would attack my countrymen as my own little 4-year-old boy watched — he decided in that moment to fight for this country. Fourteen years later, I stood in the paneled room in Pittsburgh and wept as he raised his hand to enter the Marine Corp to follow in all his grandfather’s footsteps and go to defend this country — our country. Patriots.

But, as Obama followed Bush and “Hope and Change” became the mantra the world turned and the people turned. All of a sudden, the country I loved was “fundamentally flawed”. All that I could see changing was that the hope and dreams and patriotism that we once had was being made into something bad, something ugly, something wrong. It became more academic and prestigious to hate our country. People waving flags started to be presented as more of a threat than those burning it. Those that fought in wars under that flag couldn’t sit to watch the Steelers play to escape anymore without watching those kneel for it. It wasn’t “patriotism” anymore … it was “nationalism” and they made what was once beautiful, ugly.

The patriot, little girl in me wept. What was happening and why? And, please … please make it stop. But, it didn’t. It grew. And, as it grew … so did the divide.

President Trump entered the picture and exploded a divide that was already 40 years in the making. As the “left” became increasingly more socialist and the “right” abandoned the far, religious right concepts that made them less popular. President Trump took the patriots – young and old and said, “you have a home here.” And, the crowds to the left viewed that as laughable, scary and deplorable, all at the same time. They didn’t seem to grasp that the more they mocked patriotism, the deeper the bitterness grew. Your insults and condescension were the fuel to the flames of the fire you wanted to stomp out. Yet, you were the ones feeding it — an epic, ironic battle.

The shoulder pads and power suits got replaced with MAGA hats and trucks with American flags flying next to Trump flags. Republicans were all of a sudden the ones fighting for small businesses, let the restaurants open! Live free or die! And, liberals sat perplexed by this new development that looked “cult-like” to them. And, they argued to keep the small businesses closed, which will destroy them and transfer all the money to government or large corporations. Um? Democrats fighting to make the rich … richer? The country became upside down and backwards and no “party” will ever be the same, or perhaps ever really was. Every stereotype that once was — was gone. And, people that fought their entire life for one ideology were seemingly fighting for a completely different one because the letter after the name was the correct one.

The divide will grow further until they can grasp the concept that it wasn’t Trump that many started to fight for … it was patriotism. It was the harshest rebuke of the “America is flawed” ideology. It was a screaming on completely deaf ears, “we may be flawed, but this is MY country and I love it. And, that should be OKAY!” And, the sicker that message made you … the more you mocked it … the wider it spread. One man’s “Nationalism” is the other’s “Patriotism”. And, as you looked down your nose at the rural Americans that loved Trump, you bullied and belittled the backbone of America with an academic elitism that created this unlikely alliance between the capitalists and the populists.

Without even realizing it, you changed a party to a movement.

Republican is no longer this representation of American greed and corporatism. Gordon Gekko is gone. Democrat is NO longer a representation of people for the “little man”. JFK is gone. You are foolish to think those parties actually exist anymore — if they ever really did. Until we start looking at each other for what we are and asking ourselves which side of this turning point in history we want to be on … the divide is going to grow deeper. And, as the chasm grows between us, I will drift away further to the side of love of my country — not a man, not a President, not a party. Because even though 40 years have grown and evolved my political beliefs, inside me still lives the little girl on the floor that will stand up and say,

“If you make me choose a ‘side’ … I will choose to stand with the patriots every time”.

“Coronavirus cases SURGE out of control!” “The economy is near collapse!” “Businesses are closing at an alarming rate!” “Experts say it may be years before life returns to normal, if ever.” “Stay home, stay safe!” “Isolate, distance, ISOLATE!”

These are the headlines. Daily. All day. Every day. People, young adults, old adults, children — social creature told to isolate or they are selfish. Told that seeing other people is tantamount to murder. Told the ticker of death on their television is the only news worth seeing. Hopelessness. Death. Pain. Loss. That is the present, that is the future you show them. That is the news cycle. It scares, it sells. So, you sell it more. Isolate or die. Alone together. Sell it more.

But, what happens when the isolation you’re selling becomes death? Who pays that bill?

Marc does.

Marc was a tortured light in the world. A mismatched soul, as complex and colorful as the gay pride flag he proudly waved — alternately silly and deep, catty and caring, biting and introspective. In any conversation I had with him, I could tell that amongst his many critics, no one could have judged him harder than he did himself. You wanted to just reach into his brain and turn off the thoughts that plagued him. If only it were that easy. But, it never is.

He was like so many that struggle with depression, it was like he was born into the world skinless and raw; everything was felt and felt to the bone. No one can simply tell people like that to have thicker skin because that layer doesn’t exist. All the passion and pain is felt to a level that those of us not suffering the same infliction can imagine. So, they numb. They need to numb, “take me away from all this pain”, and they find what they can to do that.

And, now … Marc is gone.

They won’t count him on their ticker of the coronavirus deaths. He won’t be counted as one of your casualties. He won’t get counted at all. No 43-year-old dies of “natural causes”, but it won’t get mentioned in any headline. He won’t be breaking news. He will be broadcast only amongst a series of sad texts between friends trying to process what just happened. How horrifyingly sad and ironic, because Marc listened to you. He listened to everything you told him to do. He was a germaphobe and devout Liberal; he watched your news, took your advice, wore your masks, isolated. He was your star pupil. He listened to you. He isolated.

And, then … the Medical Examiner walked him slowly to his van last night.

He mattered. Marc mattered. His life mattered. Depression matters. Giving people hope MATTERS! At some point, what responsibility do journalists or politicians or people at large take for this? Hope doesn’t sell, but it can save lives. Lives are supposed to matter, right? Isolation and daily hopelessness can kill people quicker than this virus and the complete unwillingness to see this is inhumane.

Marc should be here. Marc mattered.

He had friends and family who loved him. Had they not all been listening to all your directives, maybe they could have seen a look in his eyes, a color in his skin, a tone to his voice that only a friend could detect and say, “hey, buddy … let’s get you some help.” But, they couldn’t because they were listening to you. Stay apart! It saves lives. But, it didn’t save Marc. They are all going to be left with the lingering sting of guilt that they talk themselves out of by saying, “but, I was following the rules.”

What will you tell yourselves to feel better in the press, you medical experts, you politicians that could only see isolation as the answer? Anything? Or, simply nothing at all.

But, it’s YOUR rules and YOUR paychecks that you cash to sell hopelessness and fear that led to this. Because if there is a shred of a conscience left dangling in any of you at podiums and news desk and microphones — I hope that on days when the buzz of the producers and handlers and bosses voices in your ear lessens you hear these five words:

Marc should still be here.