Good Morning.
I freely admit to being almost despondent about the situation in Washington. I believe that Dr. Christine Blasey Ford was telling the truth and that her charges were pretty much blown off by the Republican senators. The agreement to allow her to testify and the subsequent, limited FBI investigation were window dressing at best. I'm tired of being regarded as a second class human being by a bunch of pompous old white men, and I don't particularly care whether they're senators, the president, or the cardinals of the Catholic Church. I've had a very discouraging week, but there was one bright note and I want to tell you about it.
One of my granddaughters is writing for her high school publication, a magazine that makes, if the first issue is a sign of things to come, the material I get from institutions of higher learning seem rather boring. The layout is better, the graphics are better, and the subject matter is more varied and interesting. There are lighter articles about where to get a good burger or a cheap breakfast, how to spend a rainy day in an antiques store, and what is found in an athletic bag besides equipment, like food that needs to be thrown out and socks that should be washed immediately. There are profiles of brainy students, interviews with freshmen trying to adjust to upper school life, and discussions about dress style and footwear. Not surprisingly, there's a section devoted to the athletes, but there's also a nice piece about the marching band.
There also are articles about serious issues that didn't even exist when I was in school. Every time there's another school shooting, I'm reminded that today's students have to deal with scary, weighty matters that weren't even on my radar screen. We didn't have to worry about someone unloading an assault rifle in the cafeteria or some creep lurking in the parking lot. We didn't have to deal with a culture of violence and drugs, along with all the other stuff that makes adolescence a confusing, unsettling time. We were concerned with clothes and drivers' licenses and curfews set by unreasonable parents. We worried about acne rather than sexual assault. We didn't volunteer for anything or have service projects. At my school we brought cookies for a downtown mission, but never would it have even occurred to us to actually visit the mission. We were, in all honesty, rather self-centered, and we led pretty cushy lives, now that I think about it.
In the student publication a few inches away from me, a staff writer talks about Mollie Tibbetts, the young woman who was kidnapped and murdered in Iowa this past summer. The writer details her life and her wonderful specialness and the heartache of her family. Another writer explores the animal rights' organization PETA and uncovers some disturbing policies that contradict what the group claims to be. The editor-in-chief writes about political correctness, particularly as it affects the choice of language, and the need to respect people who are outside of one's comfort zone. "People simply can't know what they don't know. Empathy can't exist in a vacuum," the young man states along with this final thought : "Be kind. And remember that it isn't the semantics that matter, but the sentiment."
We need to put these insightful young writers on a bus and send them to Washington to convey their wisdom to the poobahs who play their political games that insult our intelligence. Better yet, these young people need to run for office as soon as they meet the age requirement so we can dispatch the good ol' boys to a nursing home where they belong.
Best regards,
Elisabeth
Comments