In this post I'll be telling the 'self-truth' of someone else I know. I'm telling this story because I think it's strong and in this case I will make an assumption on what goes on in someone else's domain. This is just to demonstrate, I've quite a few painful truths in that category of my own and I will share them.
When my son was in kindergarten he befriended two boys who were both his age and siblings. They were not twins but simply adopted by their two fathers, who were married. My son was very fond of them both and they became his favorite friends. LL and I were also good friends with the fathers who seemed to be just our cup of tea. Initially it was new to us, having a gay couple as friends but since neither us nor that couple had come with any prior misconceptions, things flowed.
This relationship was great and was good for both LL and I and our son.
The problem began when one of the boys was gradually becoming violent. It started in school, with other kids, with his brother and also my son. It was both physical and verbal violence, punches with fists (which were new to us, coming from a 5 year old), he used wooden sticks and threw objects at other kids and sometimes even adults.
Playdates and meetings with that family were becoming intolerable. LL and I had discussions and were polarized over it but really, it was very frustrating for both of us. It seemed like their parents, our friends, could not have done anything to solve the problem while my son was getting beat up by their kid inside and outside of school. Finally, we've stopped seeing them on a regular basis and only during school events in which we had no choice and also these violent outbursts were not focused on our son (and we could do something about it).
Did I say frustrating? I mean, very. At some point, the parents approached us and told us that it was frustrating for them also. This was affecting the whole family and the situation was getting worse. They did not understand where the violence came from; there was no physical violence within the family. They talked about how they are sure this is a result of them being a gay couple and how perhaps the boy needs a woman-like parent to reduce his aggressiveness.
I knew that they did not want an honest answer from us, that's usually the case. We're not psychologists, but it was very clear to anyone having the external viewpoint what was the problem. If you ask me, it was not the parents' gender problem. As any kid is, I guess, this cute, smart and gentle boy was a mirror of his parents. Mirrors tell the truth, they can't lie to their surroundings or themselves. Like parents/adults can.
The parents were also smart, social, gentle and good people. But, they had a problem. The community they came from (the exact details are less important, I think) was not receptive of being gay and gay marriage. Their families gave them a hard time. There are probably other reasons which I'm not and shouldn't be aware of. The fact is that both parents were violent. They did not use physical violence, but they used verbal violence when they were angry. When angry (which happened a lot, also when we were there), both of them had their whole bodies in attack stands. I can still see their boys' faces in my minds' eye, defensive, eyes blinking with fear when these episodes took place. If you're a 5 year old and have a difficult time differentiating between physical violence and virtual violence, you'll be protective, you'll mimic. That's the example you're seeing.
I remember, after that, starting to notice my own behavior with my kids. I found so many painful mistakes, painful truths. And each time I've found one, it was hard, it hurt, but once I've admitted it to myself and others, the problem was solved. The following posts will probably deal with some of them.
Maybe it was easier for me to start with someone else's painful truth and maybe I feel it's just a good example.
Finally, after a a couple of extreme episodes (including some passive aggresive episodes towards us), we broke total contact with that family. We missed them but we had no choice. They started therapy, I recall, but the episodes were still strong.
It still is frustrating when I think of our friendship(s). Still.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Monday, January 31, 2011
Painful Truth #134: You have to do things right!
I'm sitting one evening with LL (my Lovely wife L.) in my son's class room. Third grade, somewhere in the US. I admit, it does not look like a class room that I would have ever been studying in. True, I grew up outside of the US, but that country was not a third-world country, actually it's quite an international technology and academic hub (end of intro. for my country).
The class room looks inviting, a real 'learning lab', would look perfect in an ad for private schools - actually like the one we're sitting in. Alas, the teacher is a troubling reminder of the teachers I've had as a child. I am trying at that point to understand the purpose of the monotonic tone of her voice, the tough expression and the way she describes our son to us. I mean, even if my kid was a serial killer, you would still want to open a channel for communication with his parents, right?
And of course, the only serials my kid butchers are his beloved smores, when he drowns them in too much milk. At school, so it seems, his biggest problem is that he solves some of the exercises "differently". Hmm.
Are his answers correct?
Some of the time, she says.
Less than the 'correctness' frequency of his class mates?
She makes this face, intimidated micro expression (been watching my "lie to me" episodes) and blurts something that is not an answer. Then she says it's correct most of the time.
Then she immediately adds something about his fingers not moving as they should over the recorder he plays. Does the music come out right?
Not so much.
This is his first time on the recorder, LL says. The teacher shrugs.
Work with him at home!
We nod.
Then we spend fifteen minutes on why his numbers are not always aligned with his other numbers. I suggested that I'll bring the electron microscope from one of my friend's lab, next time we meet, so that the measurements of the miss-alignment could be more conclusive. Well, I did not say that, but I should've.
She concludes: he's very smart, no doubt, but he is not doing things right. I shudder, my childhood memories pass through my brain like bad Vodka (I've had some once). I remember getting medium grades, sometimes even below medium. I remember that once-a-year A+ - an illusion. I remember the teachers frowning and punishing me constantly (this was more than 20 years ago). I remember my parents, punishing me again, I remember that the worst was not the punishments but their faces. I remember going around with this heavy feeling of inadequacy, very bad for my self image. Especially since I was talented and was capable, just... different. Nobody knew anything about learning disabilities, ADHD, etc.
I remember deciding that I want to be a scientist after I have had my break while serving in the army. I remember that once school has become enough of a distant memory, my passion for science, history and math has started to creep in, returned to grow in me - 12 years of opression were not enough to kill it. I remember reading Hawking's book and deciding to be a Physicist.
I remember getting not so great grades as an undergrad, I remember going to a senior prof. and starting doing research with him during my undergrads. I knew it was my strength and I knew it will compensate for the grades, and it did.
I remember my first solo paper while doing my Masters, I will not forget the moment I found out it was accepted. I remember it all until this moment when I'm doing my postdoc in an Ivy league university.
So, I did things "differently" and it worked quite well. The problem was that at each point of the road instead of just doing things well, as they should have been done, I was suffering from the fact that people of any given establishment were not finding what I did in any book. They did not know how to digest it and the immediate result was dismissal. Most of the time.
So, having some experience with science in my last ten or so years I ask this question: do we know how to write that book of rules? I don't think so, but that's OK, we don't know a lot of things. The problem, I think, is that in order to learn how to write that book, we have to first admit that we don't. That specific teacher of my son probably was not admitting she doesn't. She was not open to other paths, different people.
I don't blame her, she does not have any incentive.
It's just, it would've been much easier if she did.
The class room looks inviting, a real 'learning lab', would look perfect in an ad for private schools - actually like the one we're sitting in. Alas, the teacher is a troubling reminder of the teachers I've had as a child. I am trying at that point to understand the purpose of the monotonic tone of her voice, the tough expression and the way she describes our son to us. I mean, even if my kid was a serial killer, you would still want to open a channel for communication with his parents, right?
And of course, the only serials my kid butchers are his beloved smores, when he drowns them in too much milk. At school, so it seems, his biggest problem is that he solves some of the exercises "differently". Hmm.
Are his answers correct?
Some of the time, she says.
Less than the 'correctness' frequency of his class mates?
She makes this face, intimidated micro expression (been watching my "lie to me" episodes) and blurts something that is not an answer. Then she says it's correct most of the time.
Then she immediately adds something about his fingers not moving as they should over the recorder he plays. Does the music come out right?
Not so much.
This is his first time on the recorder, LL says. The teacher shrugs.
Work with him at home!
We nod.
Then we spend fifteen minutes on why his numbers are not always aligned with his other numbers. I suggested that I'll bring the electron microscope from one of my friend's lab, next time we meet, so that the measurements of the miss-alignment could be more conclusive. Well, I did not say that, but I should've.
She concludes: he's very smart, no doubt, but he is not doing things right. I shudder, my childhood memories pass through my brain like bad Vodka (I've had some once). I remember getting medium grades, sometimes even below medium. I remember that once-a-year A+ - an illusion. I remember the teachers frowning and punishing me constantly (this was more than 20 years ago). I remember my parents, punishing me again, I remember that the worst was not the punishments but their faces. I remember going around with this heavy feeling of inadequacy, very bad for my self image. Especially since I was talented and was capable, just... different. Nobody knew anything about learning disabilities, ADHD, etc.
I remember deciding that I want to be a scientist after I have had my break while serving in the army. I remember that once school has become enough of a distant memory, my passion for science, history and math has started to creep in, returned to grow in me - 12 years of opression were not enough to kill it. I remember reading Hawking's book and deciding to be a Physicist.
I remember getting not so great grades as an undergrad, I remember going to a senior prof. and starting doing research with him during my undergrads. I knew it was my strength and I knew it will compensate for the grades, and it did.
I remember my first solo paper while doing my Masters, I will not forget the moment I found out it was accepted. I remember it all until this moment when I'm doing my postdoc in an Ivy league university.
So, I did things "differently" and it worked quite well. The problem was that at each point of the road instead of just doing things well, as they should have been done, I was suffering from the fact that people of any given establishment were not finding what I did in any book. They did not know how to digest it and the immediate result was dismissal. Most of the time.
So, having some experience with science in my last ten or so years I ask this question: do we know how to write that book of rules? I don't think so, but that's OK, we don't know a lot of things. The problem, I think, is that in order to learn how to write that book, we have to first admit that we don't. That specific teacher of my son probably was not admitting she doesn't. She was not open to other paths, different people.
I don't blame her, she does not have any incentive.
It's just, it would've been much easier if she did.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Painful Truth #133: You're not initiating sex!
I wore my sour face throughout the whole day. She, of course, noticed it.
So after doing the dishes, waiting for me to finish putting the kids to sleep, at the amazingly early time of 23:00, we sat down in our bedroom, on the bed, messy room, both of us exausted.
What's wrong, Danny?
Silence.
Really Danny, I'm listening, now is the only time we can talk - she says with her pretty eyelids heavier than my feelings. I'm even more insulted.
You're not initiating any sex, I tell that beautiful sexy albeit half-a-sleep woman. She frowns, she looks into my eyes with complete exaustness mixed with a pint of guilt. We go into the argument of how she's not initiating, practically, anything and how I'm so neglected and how it's not worth it, blah blah blah.
We go to sleep, same bed, two separate bodies, not touching.
This happens twice a week now, no progress, no conclusions. I'm desperate. So now is the time to go to the truth place, invoke my inner me which is, supposedly, a mix between the scientist and the spirtualist. It's not her, my inner sci-guy says, according to your own rational theories (as painful as it is, adds my inner spiritman with a comforting hug). It's you. Let go. The insult is overwhelming, doubly painful - could it be that I'm neglected and also I've been wronging my wife for so long?
Then, if it's me, why is it like that? what am I doing wrong? I ask my two inner advisors, half taunting half serious.
My sci-guy smiles and nods without a word. He knows I know. And I know.
Two weeks later, me and her hugging passionatly under the warm covers on a rainy day. We're both semi-drunk from the love-making. It's different now, she says and I smile. I know exactly what she means. She is a mother and a wife and a ton of other things and even though she's now working less than I am, she does not deserve to be tied up to everything that needs to be done around the house.
But I'm working hard, I say to myself.
So hard that you can't be an equal part in the chores, with the kids?
My career is very demanding. It is, but is there any excuse to not be focused on your home?
No.
You wanted this family and it's here, for a reason. Now, balance.
As usual, it's like magic. What seemed to be a constraint on my career has now turned into pure balance. I'm doing less meaningless work (and there was more of that than I thought) and instead I'm at home, doing the dishes so she can rest, taking care of the kids, cleaning, so she can read. And there is enough sex. Oh yea, oh yummi, that quality, deep, amazing sex they talk about in books. And everytime I put my apron on and clean, I can see her sneaking a look at my (censored), she says it's sexy for her and makes her feel free and safe.
There's an old funny line in an old funny sketch in the country I come from: "Be a man, humiliate yourself."
Being a man is understanding what she needs and understanding what I need (which usually has some significant overlaps). One point for truth, zero for being Mr. right.
So after doing the dishes, waiting for me to finish putting the kids to sleep, at the amazingly early time of 23:00, we sat down in our bedroom, on the bed, messy room, both of us exausted.
What's wrong, Danny?
Silence.
Really Danny, I'm listening, now is the only time we can talk - she says with her pretty eyelids heavier than my feelings. I'm even more insulted.
You're not initiating any sex, I tell that beautiful sexy albeit half-a-sleep woman. She frowns, she looks into my eyes with complete exaustness mixed with a pint of guilt. We go into the argument of how she's not initiating, practically, anything and how I'm so neglected and how it's not worth it, blah blah blah.
We go to sleep, same bed, two separate bodies, not touching.
This happens twice a week now, no progress, no conclusions. I'm desperate. So now is the time to go to the truth place, invoke my inner me which is, supposedly, a mix between the scientist and the spirtualist. It's not her, my inner sci-guy says, according to your own rational theories (as painful as it is, adds my inner spiritman with a comforting hug). It's you. Let go. The insult is overwhelming, doubly painful - could it be that I'm neglected and also I've been wronging my wife for so long?
Then, if it's me, why is it like that? what am I doing wrong? I ask my two inner advisors, half taunting half serious.
My sci-guy smiles and nods without a word. He knows I know. And I know.
Two weeks later, me and her hugging passionatly under the warm covers on a rainy day. We're both semi-drunk from the love-making. It's different now, she says and I smile. I know exactly what she means. She is a mother and a wife and a ton of other things and even though she's now working less than I am, she does not deserve to be tied up to everything that needs to be done around the house.
But I'm working hard, I say to myself.
So hard that you can't be an equal part in the chores, with the kids?
My career is very demanding. It is, but is there any excuse to not be focused on your home?
No.
You wanted this family and it's here, for a reason. Now, balance.
As usual, it's like magic. What seemed to be a constraint on my career has now turned into pure balance. I'm doing less meaningless work (and there was more of that than I thought) and instead I'm at home, doing the dishes so she can rest, taking care of the kids, cleaning, so she can read. And there is enough sex. Oh yea, oh yummi, that quality, deep, amazing sex they talk about in books. And everytime I put my apron on and clean, I can see her sneaking a look at my (censored), she says it's sexy for her and makes her feel free and safe.
There's an old funny line in an old funny sketch in the country I come from: "Be a man, humiliate yourself."
Being a man is understanding what she needs and understanding what I need (which usually has some significant overlaps). One point for truth, zero for being Mr. right.
Why lies for lives?
I was a very unhappy kid, very unhappy. I was a relatively less unhappy (but still very sad) young adult. I'm thirty five now and I'm much more happy. Something happened along the way, something dramatic that changed my outlook on life. And I realized that much like many people I know (OK... everyone) I'm carrying lies, or maybe it's better to call them "painful truths". And as someone very dear to me said: "lies have the tendency to vaporize if you shine light on them."
And so after that dramatic event, I've started shining light on my lies, my painful truths, and each time I've done this it felt like dying, it felt like going through fire. Each time it was good, purifying, validating, I became healthier, happier. I'm still carrying lies. The way I know that it's true is through the sadness that comes once in a while. Not regular sadness, 'that' sadness. The good news is that I'm much (much!) more happy these days than I've ever been.
Recently, I shared that with a close friend and I've seen how it changed his life so I'm trying to share it with more people. It's not a method that requires a book or an instruction CD/DVD for $29.99. It's just as simple as it sounds: confront the truth(s), no matter how painful it is and you will be happier. Simple math of the universe, I guess.
So, here's my recepie for happiness - you're not happy? it means you have lies to unfold. So, confront them, as much as you can as quick as you can (some take time, though). Any other method will eventually lead you to that same confrontation-wall in which you'd have to make a choice if you want to unravel that lie or not. I've made my choice, I'm making it again and again every day.
Wanna be happier?
I guess it's time to trade some more lies for some more life.
And so after that dramatic event, I've started shining light on my lies, my painful truths, and each time I've done this it felt like dying, it felt like going through fire. Each time it was good, purifying, validating, I became healthier, happier. I'm still carrying lies. The way I know that it's true is through the sadness that comes once in a while. Not regular sadness, 'that' sadness. The good news is that I'm much (much!) more happy these days than I've ever been.
Recently, I shared that with a close friend and I've seen how it changed his life so I'm trying to share it with more people. It's not a method that requires a book or an instruction CD/DVD for $29.99. It's just as simple as it sounds: confront the truth(s), no matter how painful it is and you will be happier. Simple math of the universe, I guess.
So, here's my recepie for happiness - you're not happy? it means you have lies to unfold. So, confront them, as much as you can as quick as you can (some take time, though). Any other method will eventually lead you to that same confrontation-wall in which you'd have to make a choice if you want to unravel that lie or not. I've made my choice, I'm making it again and again every day.
Wanna be happier?
I guess it's time to trade some more lies for some more life.
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