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doctorstethoscope · 3 years

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The Right Chapter 21 || Aaron Hotchner x Fem Reader

Helloooooo my friends!!! You are going to love this one. I am so excited to hear what you think about it. Hold on to the fluff my loves.

Read previous chapters of this fic here!

warnings: food mention, alcohol consumption, discussion of pregnancy (not reader), mild sexual content

wordcount: 1.9k

“Okay, be honest. How many nights have you actually spent here since you moved in?” Emily asked, perched on the couch in your apartment, a glass of wine in her hand, a few empty bottles scattered between you, her, JJ and Garcia throughout your living room.

“That’s not fair! We spend way more nights out on cases than I do at Aaron’s place,” you laughed from across the living room in a lounge chair.

“You know that’s not what she meant, peach.” Garcia chastises you, and JJ lets out a snort.

“It doesn’t matter. Her non-answer is answer enough,” she points out, and you all laugh together.

“It’s a good thing,” Garcia reminds you.

“Oh, absolutely,” Emily concurs. “We’re all glad you finally figured it out. I didn’t know how much longer I was going to be able to stand you making googly-eyes at him during active hostage situations.”

“I did not!” You defended yourself with a smile, hiding your grin behind your fourth-- or was it your fifth?--- glass of wine.

“You weren’t that bad. That’s not to say you were good at hiding it, because you weren’t,” JJ assures you. “But you held it together in the field.”

“See, guys? And JJ’s sober.” You reminded the group.

“Are you sure you don’t want a glass?” Garcia offered her.

“No, I’m alright,” JJ denied. “Actually, I offered to drive because…. Will and I are expecting!” She announces, and your faces all light up in unison.

“Jayje!” Emily squeals, practically diving across the couch to wrap her friend in a hug. Penelope is right behind her, and you all take a moment to fuss over her and feel her non-existent bump before settling back into your own seats.

“Oh, that means you and Hotch are next!” Garcia asserts drunkenly, and you tense, although you doubt any of the ladies noticed.

“You think you’d want that? Kids, I mean?” Emily asks you, reclining back in her chair.

“I don’t really know what Aaron wants,” you shrug the question off, averting your gaze to your wine glass.

“That’s not what we asked,” JJ redirects you, apparently unwilling to accept a non-answer this time around. “What do you want?”

“With Aaron? More kids, definitely more.” You confess. “But Aaron’s older than I am. I don’t know if he feels like he’s done with that part of his life, you know?”

“There’s no way. He loves Jack more than anything.” Emily concludes. “He seems like the type of guy who’d love to keep you barefoot and pregnant, even if it’s only because he’d get to pull you out of the field and keep you safe at home.”

You let out a real laugh at Emily’s assertion. “Well, if he ever asks me about it, I’ll be sure to include that in my supporting arguments.”

“Trust me-- they never feel done with being a dad. How do you think Will and I ended up with baby number two?” JJ reminds you with a wink.

“Oh, you guys would just have the cutest babies. That dark Hotchner hair and your pretty eyes!” Garcia gushes, her lower lip starting to quiver.

“Okay, and that’s my cue to get her home,” JJ chuckles, rising from her place on the couch. “Drink some water before you go to bed, okay? And maybe eat something, and take some advil?”

“Okay, mom,” you rolled your eyes, standing up and giving your friends hugs goodbye as you said goodnight.

“Hey, someday you’ll understand,” JJ tells you. “It will be sooner than you think, I’d bet.” She winks, and you roll your eyes at her again, smiling as you walked the three of them to the door.

----------------

“We’re going on a date tonight,” Aaron tells you as the two of you leave the office a few nights later. “Jess agreed to take Jack.”

Your brow furrowed in confusion. “Am I forgetting something?”

“Only that I love you, and as your boyfriend I reserve the right to take you out whenever I please,” He smirks, placing a hand on your back as he opens the door and helps you into the car.

You roll your eyes, but you’re not quick enough to come up with some smart-ass comment, so you let him have the win as he drives you both home.

“Should I wear something specific?” You ask as the two of you walk into the house together.

“We’re gonna walk downtown a little, so something comfortable,” he advises. “Do you need to do anything other than change, or are you basically ready to go?”

“I could use ten minutes to freshen up,” you tell him, and he nods with a smile.

“Take your time, we’re not in any rush,” he says, kissing your temple and moving into the bedroom to change into something more comfortable as you step into the bathroom, adjusting your hair and makeup just a tad. When you come back into the bedroom, Aaron’s switched into jeans, so you do the same. You go to fish your wallet out of your work bag, and Aaron slaps at your wrist lightly.

“Stop it. You don’t need that,” he tells you, and you roll your eyes with a playful smile.

“You’re a neanderthal,” You tease him, letting him guide you out of the house and back towards the car.

“No, I was raised right,” Aaron corrects you.

“What if I want a drink and I get carded?” You smirked as you buckled your seatbelt. You were younger than Aaron, yes, but not by that much.

“If you get denied because you don’t have an ID on you, I’ll stop at the gas station on our way home and buy you a six pack of bud light.” He assures you as he backs out of the parking lot.

“So romantic,” you cooed overdramatically, tossing your head back with a laugh. Aaron takes advantage of the opportunity to lean over the console and press a quick kiss to your jawline.

A few moments later, Aaron parks the car in front of a greasy spoon downtown that you’d never been to before, and you give him an inquisitive look. It’s not that you minded at all-- any time you spent with Aaron was perfect in every way. But his dates were usually a lot higher-key.

“I’ve got to keep you on your toes,” he shrugged with a boyish grin as he took your hand in his on the sidewalk and walked you into the restaurant. He let go reluctantly as the two of you slid into opposite sides of a booth.

“So, it’s safe to assume that there’s more to tonight’s date than burgers and milkshakes?” You ask Aaron after the two of you have placed your orders.

“Oh, absolutely,” Aaron nods, smiling smugly.

“And are you going to tell me what that might be?” You asked hopefully.

“Absolutely not,” Aaron confirmed what you had already suspected.

“Not even a hint?” You asked.

“You’ll find out in due time. Be patient, princess,” he encourages you.

“I’m willing to beg,” you informed him. You were sure that whatever he had planned would be romantic and wonderful, but god did you want to know.

“Darling, I’d really prefer if you saved that for our bedroom,” Aaron deadpanned, and you choked on your water.

“Agent Hotchner!” You chastised, catching your breath.

“Come on, now you’re just teasing me,” he winked, and you felt butterflies in your stomach.

“Well, is it working?” You asked, wondering if you could flirt your way into some intel.

“Not a chance,” he admonished you playfully as the waitress sat your meals down in front of you.

After dinner, Aaron took your hand back in his and led you out of the restaurant. You started to head off towards the car, but he stopped you.

“You did want to see what else I had planned, didn’t you?” He asks, facetiously.

“Yes please,” you smiled shyly.

“Take a walk with me,” Aaron says, tugging you back into him so he can wrap his arm around you. It takes a couple of paces for him to find his metaphorical footing, but after a moment, he speaks up again. “I haven’t been clear with you about what my intentions are, and I wanted to apologize for that.”

“Aaron, you don’t have to--” you start, but he cuts you off.

“Let me, first, please?” Aaron asks of you, looking you in the eyes, and you nod, giving him permission to continue. “I haven’t explained to you exactly how I feel, and because I didn’t do that, you’re having to worry about silly things, like whether or not you have the same amount of experience I do, or whether or not I’m going to run off with Jack’s teacher or one of his friends moms.”

“Well, I’m less worried about Rhonda now that I’ve met her wife. But Ms. Meadows is still on my watch list.” You tell him, and he chuckles, taking your hand in his and kissing the back of it as he takes you down a side street.

“Darling, you’ve got nothing to worry about. That’s what I needed to tell you. I’m all in, sweetheart. You, me, Jack, and anyone else we might add to our family-- that’s all I want. That’s my priority.” He tells you, and your breath catches. “So, I got you a little something, just to show you how serious I am,” He says, leading you into a jewelry store. You stop in the doorway.

“Aaron Hotchner, please tell me you’re not proposing at the jewelers.” You whisper out, not wanting to cause a scene. You would have said yes, regardless, but you were struck by a little bit of shock.

He chuckles and shakes his head. “No, dear. Come on in, and I’ll show you,” He takes your hand again, and you step into the jewelry store with trepidation. The man behind the counter seems to recognize Aaron, as he produces a bag from the back counter once they make eye contact. Aaron passes the bag to you, and you push through the pink tissue paper to uncover a box, in which you find a single diamond solitaire pendant.

“Aaron,” you start breathlessly, but he’s already taking the necklace out of your hands and maneuvering the clasp around your neck.

“This is just a placeholder, until you’re ready for the real thing,” Aaron whispers, pressing a kiss behind your ear once the necklace is secure. “But since we’re here, would you want to try a few on? So I know what you like? You’re not allowed to take the real one off, once it’s on. So I want you to be happy with it.”

You’re sure that you’re dreaming your way through the rest of the evening. You try on what feels like every ring in the store, including the ones you insist are too expensive, but Aaron refuses to listen. You’re practically floating on air during the walk back to the car, and you let out a sigh as you settle into the passenger seat.

“I know I said you weren’t allowed to take the ring off, and I meant it,” Aaron tells you. “But if you’re not ready to start thinking that way, I understand. This is at your pace. You just let me know, and I’ll pump the breaks.”

You practically launch yourself across the center console, taking his face in your hands and kissing him. “Does this thing go any faster, actually?” You ask, and he laughs as he kisses you again.

tagging: @romanogersendgame @wanniiieeee @zheezs14 @greeneyedblondie44 @angelic-kisses13 @baumarvel @ssamorganhotchner @ijustwannaread2k19 @rexit-mo @shmaptainhotchnersmain @qtip-blog @averyhotchner @the-modernmary @itsmytimetoodream @choppa-style @hotforhotchner11 @infinite-tides @isthatme-thatsme @g-l-pierce @bakugouswh0r3 @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x you #hotch x you #hotch x y/n #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner fic #criminal minds #criminal minds fic

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unfortunate-stranger-losers · 5 years

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Do you have any headcannons about the Mysterious Benedict Society kids?

UM FUCK YE

Reynie Muldoon

HIIIIIGHKEY AUTISTIC. Pretty much everything he does in the books screams autism. He probably does a lot of stereotypical stimming- flapping hands, jumping- and Ms Perumal definitely gets him fidget cubes and sequin pillows to play with.

Has stayed up all night more than once to make a conspiracy board for a book he read.

Has no memory of his birth parents; they died in a fire when he was a baby, and none of their relatives appeared to claim him. He doesn’t really care, though; he has Ms Perumal, and that’s all he needs.

His first Mother’s Day with Ms Perumal, he spent like a week trying to make her an amazing gift and then he passed out from exhaustion while trying (and failing) to write a card. She found him like that in the morning and was just like “oh my god how did I adopt the most perfect boy”

also he’s Demi but also oblivious as hell and it took him YEARS to realize he had a crush on Sticky.

Sticky Washington

Has to take anxiety medication as he gets older. His friends are really good at reminding him to take it when he forgets.

Gets way more into fiction than nonfiction as he gets older, mainly because there’s no pressure on him to memorize facts. He spends a lot of time hiding in Mr Benedict’s library, curled up with some classic novel. His current favorite is Pride and Prejudice.

Surprisingly good singer. Kate and Reynie make him sing while they practice piano, and Constance claims she hates it, but also sometimes has him recite her poems to see what they sound like.

Kate dared him to memorize Les Mis. He did not back down, but did rant at her and Reynie for three hours about how Victor Hugo could not keep focus.

He’s gay and had a crush on Reynie since they met. He’s useless and I love him

Kate Wetherall

ADHD as hell. She has at least ten fidget spinners in her bucket at all times.

She immediately became super comfortable with Milligan, and sometimes would just run up and hug him whenever she felt like it. This took a while for him to get used to, as he was a spy and expected sudden attacks, but thankfully her acrobatic skills helped her dodge in case he instinctively tried to defend himself. They both found this very funny.

Sometimes she’ll just be chatting with someone and then just. Does a handstand or a cartwheel. She cannot stand still for any amount of time and nobody will ever forget it.

Milligan eventually homeschools her, and she’ll study and do work from the loft of the barn, or while watching Madge fly overhead.

Either a lesbian or ace/aro, I haven’t decided yet.

Constance Contraire

When she hits her teenage growth spurt, she actually ends up taller than the other kids. She is thrilled, and Kate is enraged.

Ends up getting really into sports as she gets older, and ends up joining a soccer team, and occasionally impressing the girls in the locker room by telling them about her superpowers.

As soon as Kate accidentally teaches her swear words, nothing can stop her.

She has, multiple times, fallen asleep on Mr Benedict, Rhonda or Number Two while they were reading to/with her. She always denies it when she wakes up.

Reynie: Now, Constance, you know you shouldn’t use your psychic abilities for personal gain. Constance: sureReynie:Reynie: Reynie: you just did didn’t you Constance: I can win all the arcade games Sticky: that’s not how it works- Constance: shut up nerd

#mysterious benedict society #the mysterious benedict society #reynie muldoon #sticky washington #kate wetherall #constance contraire #mbs kids #mine #ask #anonymous

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palefestivaldestiny-blog · 5 years

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32 Minutes - Matt Lomeli

You grab your bag, already late, and unplug your phone from the wall. You were supposed to meet him at 7:00, but it was now 7:15 and you weren’t even ready. You throw on a shirt that looks at least a tad decent, spike your hair into an up do and hope for the best. It was easily a nine-minute walk, eight if you ran. You grab your phone, send an apology text, and head out the door.

Your neighbor is outside. You think her name is Rhonda or something, but you honestly aren’t sure and you don’t have the time to figure it out.

“Good evening!” she yells to you. You reluctantly wave, return with a half-hearted hello, and shove in your headphones. You think that the 80’s playlist you made when you were stressed one day will somehow make you walk faster. It doesn’t.

You met him at the first meeting of the environmental group you are a part of; the Greenies. There aren’t that many people in the group, so you always notice newcomers. New people usually fall into one of two camps; spunky freshman trying out new things their first semester, or the energetic sorority girl who is trying to “reinvent herself”. The Fox was different. He drew you in right away; shaggy brown hair, dark eyes, sharp features, and an err confidence that you aren’t used to. He was wearing an ugly shirt with a fox on it, so from then on you decide to call him The Fox. After the meeting, the topic of which you don’t remember, you leave before he can see you.

You show up to the next meeting way earlier than you normally do. You got a seat in the front half, but not close enough to be weird. You want to show the Fox that you are committed to the group, but you want to maintain that sense of attractive mystery.

When the Fox finally shows up you try to show that you aren’t fazed. You keep scrolling through Twitter, despite the fact that you aren’t reading a single word on the screen. When you look up out of habit, you lock eyes with him. You felt your whole body tense, you are cemented in this moment. You feel time stop, as if the world forgot to keep turning. You watch things play out around you, but you remain detached. When you come to, the Fox is sitting. There is a whole row to your right, but he chose the seat directly next to you; a power move.

You make jokes with him the whole meeting. You aren’t one to make fun of people, but you want to impress him so you mock all the freshman who make points of “using a glass water bottle” and “biking to classes”. You both know that those are admirable efforts, but make no real change unless congress passes legislation. The Greenies is really important to you, and you take these meetings really seriously, but you can’t help it. You feel like a school kid, trying with all of your might to impress the people around you.

“Do you want to get dinner?” you ask him. You are shocked by your confidence, but at some point a rift was created between your mouth and your brain. You shove your face into your turtleneck, hoping that the safety of the mustard yellow will save you from this embarrassment. You get up to walk away, but the Fox stops you. You are stunned that he even responds to you, let alone says yes. The two of you plan the date for Friday at 7, and you practically count the minutes until then.

There isn’t much on campus, so the two of you decided on the spot where all young love goes to spark the flame of romance- Olive Garden.

When you get there the Fox was already sitting. He was looking down at his phone, scrolling through something. You feel bad, he has probably been here for at least 20 minutes all alone trying to kill time by mindlessly scrolling through an article. You guess it’s the New Yorker, you remember he told you that was his favorite.

“Hey, sorry I’m late, I texted you” you tell him in a panic. You decide that being late isn’t the sexiest thing in the world, so you try everything to look desirable. You fear that he will leave the restaurant out of frustration, that he will walk out on you and leave you behind. You feel alone in the middle of the crowded restaurant. You stand there spiting yourself, asking how you could be so stupid when you realize that he hasn’t left. You realize that you are still standing. You throw your body into the seat and ask what he was reading; the New Yorker.

“How was your day?” you ask him. To your surprise, he responds like he normally would. He gives a vague answer, but with enough detail to make you not hate yourself.

For the first few minutes the two of you try as hard as you can to get the conversation flowing. You try talking about the Greenies, as if that is the only thing the two of you have to talk about, but that leads nowhere. You can’t decide if it’s being late, he dim lighting, the faint smell of pasta water, or a combination of all three that makes your mind go blank. Luckily, the Fox is great at small talk. He asks you about your favorite book-

“The pictures of Dorian Gray” you answer. You don’t know why you say this; you read it your freshman year of high school and you hated it. The Fox responds with excitement. This makes your stomach flutter; his excitement makes you feel out of your body. His joy makes you feel safe. With that, you feel your body relax. You discover you were clenching muscles you didn’t even know that you had. Your mind finally clears; the two of you talk about classes, your favorite movies, your plans for the future, or practically anything that you can think of.

You feel your mind and body draw closer to the Fox. He exudes this strength that you aren’t used to. You see it in the way he gestures, the way he reaches for his glass, the way he places the napkin on his lap, in everything. All parts of him draw you in, and you want nothing more than to remain in this moment forever.

The waiter walks up with your bill. He asks if you want to split it and you are about to say yes when the Fox jumps in. He offers to pay and you about jump across the table and kiss him on the spot.

“You don’t have to do that-” he cuts you off. He tells you that it’s his job to pay, more aggressively that you would expect. You shrink into yourself a bit, you wonder why he is doing this; is it a dominance thing? You decide it isn’t worth the worry; Hey, free dinner you think. When you return to reality the Fox is giving you a smile, an apology?

The two of you plan to meet for a second date. You can already feel yourself waiting until the next time you meet when the Fox asks you if he can walk you home.

When you reach the front door you pretend you can’t find your keys. You dig around in your bag, throwing around old receipts and gum wrappers for the set that you know are in the side pocket. When you feel you have stalled long enough, you pull them out and jangle them in his face.

“I had a great time” you tell him. You want to say so much more, tell him everything you will be telling you pillow later, but you don’t. He tells you that he did too, and that he wants to see you sooner than your next date. You agree on tomorrow in the library to study, a pre-date if you will.

The two of you stand in front of each other, an awkward—ness so palpable it hurts. When you turn to open your front door he grabs you, more forceful than you expect, and he kisses you. A part of you expected the kiss to be gentle, for the Fox to touch his lips softly to yours in a sort of surrender. This wasn’t submission, this was resistance.

You don’t know how to feel. You wanted that more than anything, and it was great, but something in the back of your mind tells you it wasn’t. A part of your brain tells you to run, to leave this moment behind, to move on but you don’t.

You fall down into the bed, allowing the sheets to swallow you. You aren’t used to feeling this way. You have had partners before, but you have never felt for them like you do for the Fox. It’s an attraction that you don’t know how to put into words, one that demands all of your attention.

You look out the window to see Rhonda watering her tomatoes in her backyard. Despite it being the beginning of spring her tomatoes are already beginning to bloom, their yellow flowers peeking through the fuzzy green stem. You wonder what her secret is.

“I don’t even know what a correlation coefficient even is!” you tell him. You have been trying to study for your Stats exam for a week; math has never been your thing. The Fox tries, for the third time, to explain it to you but you don’t understand. He is reading Lolita for class, but he doesn’t mention which one.

You try for the fifth time to find the reciprocals of the best fit line, but you end up with a number that you know isn’t right. You decide that you need a break so you decide to head downstairs and grab a coffee.

“Hey, I’m going downstairs to gr-” but he stops you, and asks where you are going. You don’t know how to respond; this response is so out of left field that you mumble something in response. When you finally gather your thoughts you tell him that you are just going to grab a coffee.

You walk away and notice that the girl to your left is staring; the spat was louder than you wanted. When she sees you looking at her she quickly looks away. You take another look back at the Fox and walk away, this time with all of your stuff. You tell him that you have a meeting with a professor that you forgot about. You tell him that you will see him later and leave before he can say anything.

The next day you are still thinking about the Fox in the library. He exhibited an anger that you didn’t know he had inside of him, as if you leaving for a minute in some way you saying that you didn’t want to be around him. You tried crafting an apology text about four times before deciding that you don’t know what to say. You tell yourself that if you bring it up it will just make things weird between the two of you, so you decide to say nothing about it.

You hear a knock at your door and before even getting up from the couch you know it’s the Fox. You are excited for your date, but even since the library fiasco you haven’t seen or even talked to him. You feel the nervousness rise in your stomach before you reach the door, you see your hand shaking as you reach for the knob. You almost turn around and pretend you aren’t home, tell him something about how you forgot, but you don’t. You open the door and there he is, holding a bouquet of flowers-lilacs, your favorite. You are genuinely shocked by this gesture, you half expected him to not even show up. Here he was, flowers in hand, smile on his face, and wearing nice clothes (nice for the Fox). You can’t help but smile, you feel it creep across your face before you are even aware that it’s there.

“You didn’t have to do all of this” but he stops you, he grabs your hand and tells you that he’s sorry for blowing up the other day. You want more than anything to move forward, to forget about the library and have fun on the date, so you do.

When the Fox takes a left on Hemmingway, you are confused.

“Isn’t the movie theatre the other way?” you ask him. He tells you there has been a change of plans, that he is taking you somewhere else instead. You decide to go along with it all, look out the window and watch civilization as it disappears behind you.

You drive for much longer than you expect, you haven’t seen a building in about 25 minutes. The only thing that you have seen for the last three miles are a few random houses and some barns, but beside that it has been nothing but fields.

“Where are we even going?” you ask him, and once again he tells you it’s a surprise. There is a part of you that is getting suspicious. He was so weird to you not even two days ago, now he is acting like nothing happened at all? You want to move on, you want to leave that day behind with the civilization you left, but you can’t.

“Where are we?” you ask the Fox. He tells you that when he was younger he used to come here all of the time. He hands you a silk scarf that he tells you to put it around your face. You are hesitant at first, but after a few seconds of contemplation you comply. He asks if he if he can do it for you, so you hand the scarf back to him. When he wraps the red silk around your eyes he sneaks a kiss on the back of your neck. You can’t help but dive deeper into him, wanting nothing more than to be as close to him as you can be. You are snapped out of this fantasy when he tugs on the back of the scarf, pulling harder than you are comfortable with. You let out a slight moan of pain that the Fox seems to ignore completely.

“Ow” you say again; attempt to get him to listen. Once again, he doesn’t respond.

Five minutes later he tells you to take off the blindfold. When you do, you are met with not only the most beautiful view you have seen in a long time, but a full picnic already set up. He must have come earlier and set all of this up. You turn to him, clear shock on your face. He doesn’t even say anything; he just leans in to kiss you. In this moment you are continuous; a love that you can feel all over. You have never felt like this. You want to yell at the top of your lungs, tell the world that you are in love, that you found someone who loves you as deeply as you love him, but you don’t. This time, you are content. You have made all of the right decision, you forget the library, you forget the Greenies, you forget yourself. You are the Fox; the Fox is you. Here on this cliff the two of you are one.

On the drive back you can’t help but see the beauty in everything around you. The scene that played out not even two hours ago has been reinvented. A glow surround everything you do, nothing can ruin this moment.

He asks you if you want to head back to his apartment, and you tell him yes. You can’t see yourself leaving him, you want to remain in this beauty.

The Fox’s apartment is a weird mix of exactly what you expected and nothing like what you expected. You don’t notice much, a couch, some photos that you assume that the Fox took, and a dead plant in the corner.

“it’s nice” you tell him; a half lie. You plop down on the couch that seems about as old as him. You hear the Fox say something, but you don’t hear him. You ask him to repeat it, and when he does you hear frustration in his voice. He asks if you want any wine. You want to say no, to kindly refuse and say you are fine with water, but you don’t. When the Fox returns with two glasses you notice more about him than you are used to. You thought you understood him, but after tonight, after seeing where he lives, you realize you don’t know anything about him. You take a sip, you hate wine but you don’t want to disappoint so you paint on a grin and take another.

The Fox gets up to go to the bathroom, you use this time to investigate the apartment further. You look at the cement gray walls and notice dents and holes in the dry wall. You walk up to one and trace the outer rim with you finger. You feel the ridges and grooves when you hear the door open behind you. He tells you that they are from when they were bringing in furniture when they were moving in. When you look around the room you don’t see anything that could make this shape, some part of you tells you that this isn’t true. You dismiss this as the alcohol hitting your system and move on.

You finish your glass, then another, and another. You are so caught up with the Fox that you don’t notice until your third glass that things feel different. You don’t drink a lot, but you have drank more than this before and you have never felt like this. You didn’t eat much at the picnic, but you feel that something is wrong.

You look at a fake text on your phone, and give some tired excuse that you have to head home. You tell him that you can walk, that you aren’t far from your place. The Fox stops you, puts down his seemingly untouched glass and reaches for you. You aren’t sober, but enough to be shocked. He tells you that you are the most beautiful thing he has ever seen, that you can trust him. You want to believe this.

He traces your inner thigh, and you freeze. You feel your brain and body begin their war and both sides are losing. Your brain is screaming for you to leave but the message to your body is lost in transit. You look to the clock as your last savior, the red fluorescents taunt you, laugh in your face and turn their heads-9:42. The Fox whispers something in your ear, but you don’t hear it. Your body is gone but your mind isn’t, you have a few seconds to think, to come up with some solution, to try anything, but you can’t.

When you wake up you are naked next to the Fox. You aren’t sure how you got here, you aren’t sure what happened but something feels wrong- like a shirt a size too small. The Fox is asleep next to you, his bare chest revealed by the baby blue cotton sheets. You can smell the Fox on you, can still feel his hand on your leg, but the harder you work the less you remember. You look down at the body that no longer feels like yours, it can’t be. Yet, the Idaho shaped birthmark on your left arm, the scar on your left knee, and the fingernails bitten down to the base, are all there. You notice the clock to your left-10:14. You grasp for the last 32 minutes, but they aren’t there, they never will be. You feel as if there are five pound weights on your hands and feet, light enough to carry but heavy enough to notice.

When you try to get out of bed, you can’t. Something is chaining you to this moment. You can’t tell if it’s the fear of the unknown or the need to understand, but both are equally terrifying. When you finally rise, you feel a part of you remain; the one the Fox took, the one you will never get back. You want nothing more than to yell, to cry, to scream, but you don’t. You just go back to sleep.

The next morning the Fox makes you breakfast, scrambled eggs with a side of cherry tomatoes. You eat it because you don’t know what else to do.

You walk home and you can barely feel your body moving, you keep looking down to make sure that your legs are still there. A rope you cannot see if pulling you home, auto-pilot has kicked in and it will stay that way.

You watch as people pass and give you smiles. You want nothing more than to fall to the group, to sob on the sidewalk, to have people stare, but you don’t. You return each smile you get.

Classmates watch as you drag your feet across the sidewalk, taking it one step at a time because you don’t think you can handle anything more than that. You long for the bed that will no longer feel like your own when you hear someone call your name. It’s the dude from your Chemistry class last semester, but you can’t remember what his name is. He calls your name again, but when you see him you feel the tears coming before you can stop them.

There is a beauty in being anonymous, but sometimes that is the last thing that you want. On the inside you are screaming for someone to save you, longing for someone to walk up and just say, I’m sorry, but sometimes that person never comes. On the outside, you are still as the sea, no sign of shore, no lighthouse to guide you, just you and 32 minutes that you will never remember.

The next few days pass in a haze. You walk through water, feeling yourself dissolve along the way. You watch as life passes on without you; friend wave, papers get submitted, classmates raise their hands, answer questions, and life moves on. The earth keeps revolving, but yours doesn’t. Three days ago yours stopped. You start by skipping one class, then another, then stop going all together. Your grades drop, you lose friends, and you stop going to the Greenies.

You don’t find resolution, there isn’t any. Just 32 minutes that you will never get back. 32 minutes that you can’t remember, yet, will never forget. When you drop a vase you can glue it back together, but you aren’t a vase.

You look out the window to see Rhonda watering her tomatoes in her backyard, picking them each off of the vine, one by one. You wonder what her secret is.

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marketerarena-blog · 6 years

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Five Wild Days Aboard a New England Squid Boat

Corey Harris wasn’t concerned about the storm. The captain of Rhonda Denise, a 77-foot commercial trawler, he’d been stuck in port all week, as two nor’easters, in early March, slammed the New England coast back-to-back. Now a third brewed offshore. But Harris saw an opportunity. “We’ll thread the needle between the storms,” he told me over the phone. We’d catch as much squid as possible, then haul ass back to port before the next system hit. Bring seasickness medicine, he added. “It’ll be rough—but worth it.”

The Ultimate New England-Style Clambake

On the Thursday of our departure, the Port of Galilee, in Point Judith, Rhode Island, was full of boats but empty of people. If you’ve eaten calamari at a seafood shack or a little red-sauce joint, odds are it crossed the dock here in Point Judith. In 2016, the village’s 119 vessels landed 22.6 million pounds of squid, valued at $28.6 million—its best haul to date. It’s the 15th-highest-earning seaport in the country and first in squid on the Atlantic seaboard. By all measures, it’s the calamari capital of the East Coast. And with ongoing downturns in cod, flounder, and haddock, scores of commercial fishermen, not only here but also up and down the New England shore, now depend on squid to stay afloat in a notoriously unpredictable industry.

Harris met me in the parking lot. Among the local fishermen, he’s one of “the few young guys worth a shit,” a longtime captain told me. He’s also something of an anomaly. The salutatorian of his high school, in Babylon, New York, he dropped out of his university’s predental program, in 2007, to work on trawlers, drawn to fishing for reasons that he can’t quite explain. Soft-spoken and ambitious, with a tight red beard, he started as a deckhand on Rhonda Denise, made captain by age 22, and became a co-owner a few years later. Now, at 31, he’s still 20 years younger than the majority of guys on the dock. “The storms have kept most boats in,” he told me. “There’s no fish on the market. Prices will be high.” There was no need to worry about the weather, he added—as long as we made it back by Monday.

Rhonda Denise cruises close to shore. Michael R. Shea

WIND AND FLECKS of snow ripped through the rigging as Rhonda Denise headed south, rolling through 12-foot seas. In summer, female Atlantic longfin squid lay eggs by the millions in the warm waters off Rhode Island. But in winter, they amass on the edge of the continental shelf, more than a hundred miles offshore. So that was where we were going.

By sundown, the four of us aboard were alone, with nothing but ocean for miles around. These long hauls are worth it for Harris. Ninety percent of the seafood that Americans consume is imported. But Atlantic longfin squid are so superior in taste, texture, and resilience when cooked that demand outstrips supply, giving local captains an uncommon edge in the industry. The price of squid seldom dips, staying at $1.50 a pound or better, and that’s no small change when you haul in 10,000 pounds a drag.

The Absolute Beginner's Guide to Fly-Fishing

Morning came quickly, Harris flipped on the bunkroom light at 5. Once dressed and topside, the crew—brothers Ryan Smith, 24, and Dave Smith, 26, both bearded and stocky—began stacking plastic totes on the deck, unfazed by the 10-foot seas that had me stumbling. Ryan is the shorter and quieter of the two. He started working with Harris in 2017, when a DUI charge left him needing a job that didn’t require driving. He’d hardly missed a trip since and was on track to make $80,000 by the end of 2018. Dave, a recovering alcoholic, was a more recent hire, after he’d bounced from ship to ship for several years. Still, he expected to make $70,000 in 2018, a good living for a 26-year-old, much less one 16 months sober. “This is the best boat I’ve ever been on,” he told me. “I’m not going to screw it up.” Working with Ryan is certainly an appeal; on his chest Dave has a tattoo of the two of them as teenagers. “He’s my brother,” he explained. “I love him.”

More than 100 miles offshore, brothers Dave Smith (left) and Ryan Smith clean monkfish on Rhonda Denise. Michael R. Shea

The pair soon took its place behind a giant winch and let a spool of net and cable as large as a tractor tire play out into the sea. Once submerged, the net would open to 15 feet tall, 135 feet wide, and 120 feet long; drag along the ocean floor; and—the crew hoped—find squid, fluke, and other keepers. The technique is called bottom trawling, and Harris is fortunate to have the permits to do it. For decades, environmental groups have criticized the practice, claiming that it bulldozes the ocean floor. Though the long-term sustainability of the method remains up for debate, the government has dialed back quotas for finfish, like flounder and haddock. The price of federal permits has also skyrocketed, which has prevented many young guys from breaking into the business; lucky for Harris, Rhonda Denise already had permits when he became a co-owner.

An hour and a half later, 5,000 pounds of fish, a pile the size of a Camry, dropped into a squared-off pen midship. Dave rolled his eyes and groaned; Ryan said nothing. It was a mixed bag that fishermen call swill—butterfish, fluke, dogfish, lingcod, sea robin, weakfish. Squid, to the crew’s disappointment, weren’t here in large number. Turning this pile into dollars would take work.

A longfin squid. Michael R. Shea

Harris and Dave climbed onto the mound and started tossing dogfish and sea robins overboard. Nearby, at a waist-high conveyor belt, Ryan sorted the keepers—squid, whiting, monkfish—into large red laundry baskets.

They worked quickly; fish zipped by. Harris pushed the pile onto the conveyor with a broom, then I took a turn. We filled 54 baskets, 60 pounds apiece, then switched to totes until the remainder disappeared. Below deck, Dave shoveled some of the boat’s 20 tons of ice into cardboard boxes to store the catch.

The storm was rolling south from Nova Scotia. Any breakdown, delay, or trouble, and we’d be in seas as tall as the ship was long.

By the time we finished packing the first haul, the net was full again and ready to be brought up. This kind of mixed-bag fishing can wreck a crew, Harris told me. “It takes an hour and a half to sort a pile like that, and our net fills up every 50 minutes.” A lot of boats don’t bother with this type of fishing, he explained, since they end up throwing back more than they catch and the prices for the keepers can swing widely. “That’s why guys like squid,” he said. “It’s big, clean bags, and the price is set.”

It was well past midnight before we broke for dinner. Everyone was exhausted, but Harris remained upbeat. On his phone he played a video of his 4-year-old son, Brody, who has cerebral palsy, trying to rock climb at a gym. His grandparents had wanted to take him, Harris explained. But he hadn’t liked the harness. “We can get a different one, but they’re expensive,” Harris added. “Everything for special-needs kids is so damn expensive.” The cost of raising a son with disabilities is, in no small part, why he pushes himself as hard as he does. In fishing, pay is directly tied to effort, and effort is measured in pounds.

With squid in short supply, Dave Smith watches as a 12,000-pound bag of scrip—worth as much as $20,000—hits the deck. Michael R. Shea

The Top Spots For Fishing in America

BY SUNUP MONDAY, after two days of mixed- bag fishing, the forecast had changed. The nor’easter wouldn’t make landfall until Tues- day, buying us more time. But not much. The sea was flat—the quiet before the storm.

Dave and Ryan killed time on the deck while Harris positioned the boat for another drag. Dave leaped into the air and attempted a jump kick. “See that?” he said to Ryan, as he threw karate chops to the left and right of his head. “Too fast. Too fast. What, what?—sucka.”

Comedy is necessary to endure the grind of these trips. The crew stays in rubber boots and bibs for 10, 12, even 16 hours at a time, as they push and sort fish, haul nets, toss bycatch, box keepers, and make counts. They sleep in two- hour shifts, once or twice every 24 hours, until they’re needed again.

“One more drag, then we’re scupping,” Harris said. “Everyone loves scupping. It means we’re going home.”

“I freaking hate scupping,” Dave said once Harris was out of earshot. “It’s a shit-ton of work, and they might be 25 cents a pound.”

For decades, scup, or porgy, were as reliable and profitable as squid are today. Then after a few bad years, the government limited catch quotas, leading to a boom in farm-raised tilapia. The scup came back, and the harvest limits remain high today. But the commercial market has never fully recovered. Should the same fate befall squid, captains like Harris would surely go under—a looming concern, compounded by worries about bottom-trawling bans, like one passed in April on the West Coast.

The crew chows down after a hard day at sea. Michael R. Shea

We made three tows, each bigger than the last—6,000 pounds, 8,000 pounds, 12,000 pounds. Scup the size of dinner plates filled the net. “If these things are two bucks,” Harris said, “this is a $20,000 bag.” Or it might just as easily be worth $3,000. Either way, we raced to get through the pile, all hands pushing or sorting fish. The storm was rolling south from Nova Scotia. Any breakdown, delay, or trouble, and we’d be in seas as tall as the ship was long. Harris set the pace—hustling about, throwing dogfish, hosing baskets, moving totes—as the crew tried to keep up.

By 2 a.m., the last basket was dumped below deck, and we sat around the galley for a customary final night’s steak dinner. The guys were excited, for a hard job well done, a potential payday, home. But, mostly, they were just beat. The ship motored through the night. When we reached the Point Judith at 7 the next morning, the dock hummed with activity. The nor’easter had been upgraded to a major winter storm; we’d beat it in by six hours.

Dockside, Harris worked a small crane, while Ryan and Dave attached cartons of fish to a conveyor that ran 90 yards from the ship to the heart of Seafreeze, one of the largest commercial processors on the coast. All told, we’d caught 625 boxes of fish, or 41,520 pounds. That meant, in five days, and only three of fishing, the crew had netted $80,000 in seafood. After expenses and the boat’s cut, the brothers each made $9,000, and Harris pulled in $13,000. “We killed it,” he said, standing in Seafreeze, attaching little tags to the cartons, bound for the Fulton Fish Market, in the Bronx, New York.

I asked what was next.

“Home,” he said. “Sleep.”

This story appeared in the September 2018 print issue, with the headline, “Here’s the Catch.”

https://askfitness.today/five-wild-days-aboard-a-new-england-squid-boat/

#fitnessblog

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rhondanicole · 6 years

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Black Music Month: Artists and Albums that Matter to Me

June is #BlackMusicMonth, an annual celebration of African Americans’ innumerable contributions to the American–and global–musical landscape. Each day this month, I’m highlighting some of my favorite artists and albums.

Day 11

Michael Franti + Spearhead, Stay Human

My literal introduction to Michael Franti + Spearhead came during my sophomore year at SMU, when I [accidentally] met the band in Hughes-Trigg Student Center. It was late 1994, and Franti et al were making the college tour circuit in support of their debut album, Home (Franti had released an album some years earlier with his former band, Disposable Heroes of Hiphoprisy). One of the Program Council committees had arranged for the band to come to campus; up to that point, I had never heard of them. As a member of Program Council, however, I felt it my duty to at least go and see who and what they were all about, and support my comrades in student event programming. When I strolled into the Student Center and saw this group of cute guys standing around, I thought they were students visiting from another school and immediately rushed over to attempt whatever level of flirting my awkward 19-year-old self could muster. After a round of introductions, however, I realized these weren’t “new boys,” but an even more interesting collection of musicians. Some chit chat and displays of my dimples later, and I headed off to class (maybe. Was I really going to class?) with tickets to their show later than night in Deep Ellum, where they’d be opening for Digable Planets.

At that same time, I was also a DJ on the campus radio station, KPNI. So I was doubly excited to receive not one but 2 Spearhead promotional CDs, along with 2 promo posters, at the studio. One CD featured various mixes of Home’s lead single, “People in da Middle,” while the other offered a handful of takes of one of the album’s other standout tracks, “Hole in da Bucket.” I added these tunes to my DJ Lady Echo playlist and, from then on, considered myself a fan of Spearhead.

But then, life happened, and for some reason, I all but forgot about MFSH not long after. In fact, I completely missed the release of their second album, Chocolate Supa Highway, in 1997. Maybe it was because I was no longer doing a radio show, or, even more likely, because by the time that album dropped, the band was beginning to lose its footing in the hip-hop landscape of that time thanks to the commercialization of so-called “gangsta rap.” Groups like Spearhead, Digables, and Arrested Development, which had enjoyed a good amount of room on the airwaves and on wreckastow shelves in the early ‘90s, had quickly been replaced by harder, heavier hip-hop acts who countered the formers’ Black empowerment, peace, love, and positive vibes with grimy tales from the proverbial hood. And while Chocolate certainly attempted to adapt to this shift, it doesn’t appear that audiences were all that interested. And that’s a shame, because songs like “Gas Gauge,” which tells the story of a young Black kid shot by police all because he was trying to get his wallet from the glove box, and smoldering tracks like “U Can’t Sing R Song” and “Comin’ to Gitcha,” both of which carry some serious R&B vibes, could have worked on urban radio at the time.

It would be May of 2001 before we heard anything new from Michael Franti + Spearhead, and the album that would introduce them into the new Millennium was the presciently titled Stay Human. The album opens with “Oh My God,” a soulful, pensive tune that seems to pick up where Marvin Gaye’s “What’s Going On” left off. The whole of Stay Human finds Franti’s passion for tackling topics of social justice through song intact, but this time, more focused and disciplined--a noticeable contrast to his previous albums. Between the tracks are a series of segues featuring two characters, Brotha Sunshine (Franti) and The Nubian Poetess, as hosts of a non-profit radio program aimed at “what the others won’t play and what they definitely won’t say.” At the heart of this fictitious radio show is conversation about the pending execution of Sister Fatima, a woman convicted of murder and upon whose execution rests the fate of a deeply contested gubernatorial race (the governor is played by none other than Woody Harrelson). Throughout the album, the radio hosts discuss the case as new evidence has emerged suggesting Sister Fatima is not guilty.

youtube

Of course, most of us remember 2001 for the horrific events of 9/11, and although Stay Human dropped several months before that life-altering September day, one can’t help but draw eery parallels between the album’s political urgency and the political climate of the time. One of Franti’s greatest accomplishments as a songwriter is his ability to take songs weighted with social commentary and make them light and fun, without losing the songs’ message. Stay Human’s title track is an excellent example of this, with MFSH singing “all the freaky people make the beauty of the world” while also talking about human condition issues such as starvation and the fears people experienced as we headed into Y2K. “Do Ya Love” takes on same-sex marriage years before the conversation became serious platform fodder for presidential campaigns, and “Love’ll Set Me Free” finds Franti taking on the perspective of someone who’s been incarcerated and separated from his loved ones with empathy, heart, and nuance.

One of the album’s most poignant tracks, “We Don’t Mind,” is a protest song for the 21st century. The album’s climatic final radio segue is jarring and unexpected, but lays the groundwork for the final track, “Skin on the Drum.”

youtube

In the years since Stay Human’s release, Michael Franti has become a bonafide international rock star, thanks in large part to the surprise hit, 2008′s “Say Hey (I Love You).” For many an OG Spearit (MFSH’s nickname for their fans), the more recent releases lack the cohesive, socially conscious through-lines of his earlier works. Following Stay Human, the pop-tinged but still political Everyone Deserves Music delivered a high-energy mix of hip-hop and rock, and 2006′s Yell Fire! kept the embers aglow with its infusion of reggae. 2008′s All Rebel Rockers, the album that gifted us with the aforementioned “Say Hey,” seemed to mark the end of the directly political Franti, and usher in a new era of MFSH which would focus more on relationships--both personal and romantic, and global, encompassing various aspects of the human condition. Perhaps this is due to the dramatic shift in our own political landscape, considering that Franti’s early ‘00s albums were released during the Bush era while albums from 2008 and beyond came during President Obama’s time in office (Franti even released a tribute to POTUS after his first election). And so, although the world continued to stare down any number of social and political urgencies during the comparatively less chaotic Obama years, it would appear that Franti decided to turn his attention a bit more inward, with 2010′s Sound of Sunshine, 2013′s All People, and 2016′s SoulRocker moving further and further away from the themes set out on Stay Human.

Even still, it’s no coincidence that Franti’s latest tour and documentary film are both named Stay Human. The false sense of security we grew too comfortable with during the Age of Obama gave way to unadulterated bullshit, so perhaps Franti’s return to the themes he first explored in 2001 couldn’t have come a moment too soon.

--Rhonda Nicole

#Black Music Month #Michael Franti #Michael Franti + Spearhead #politics #Barack Obama #Power to the Peaceful #Stay Human #Rhonda Nicole #Bohème Rockstar

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zipgrowth · 7 years

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From Personalized Math to Micro-Schools, This NewSchools Cohort Is Reimagining Learning

How do you find educators who want to completely rethink our notions of what a school is and design something entirely new?

That was the question gnawing at Scott Benson two years ago when he ran into his friend—and fellow senior leader in education—Aylon Samouha in a hallway at the iNACOL conference in Orlando.

“Aylon was in the early phase of founding what became Transcend Education,” says Benson, a managing partner for NewSchools Venture Fund. “And I asked him, ‘Aylon, how are you thinking about building pipelines for the kinds of teams that are reimagining education?’ And he said, ‘Good question. I’ve been thinking about it, but I’m not sure I have a good answer.’”

Scott Benson NewSchools Venture Fund Twitter: @scottb_edu

So their two organizations decided to work together, creating The Collaborative—a ten-month, intensive professional-development experience for ten school districts and charter school management organizations from across the country.

The ten teams met once each in San Francisco, Austin, and New York City and also worked with Collaborative staff and consultants locally over the course of the 2016-17 school year. At the end of the program, each had a plan of action.

A second iteration of The Collaborative started last month. Today, NewSchools and Transcend released a case study that looks at the first Collaborative. EdSurge talked to Benson about some of the findings in that study.

EdSurge: What did the school districts and charter networks typically focus on in the redesign work?

Scott Benson: I’ll give you three examples.

First, let’s talk about Gestalt Community Schools, which is a charter management organization in Memphis, Tennessee. They had already begun a process of designing a new middle school, called Nexus Middle School, to be a STEM-based school that incorporated personalized learning. They entered the program with a real desire to focus deeply on what it meant to have a more effective personalized learning experience in math—including everything from curriculum design and the use of technology to the roles of teachers and students in the classroom and the adoption of “passion projects.” They wanted to think about the entire school model, with an initial lens on math, but also thinking about the school holistically.

Second, there’s an organization called Hiawatha Academies in Minneapolis, Minnesota. And a lot of their focus was on making sure that they listened to their students, teachers, families and their community in an authentic way. They invited all of these stakeholders to be a part of a large team that came together to design a new middle school to be opened in 2018. And there was a big focus on how to make the curriculum speak to students while allowing them to express their own interests, desires and passions.

They wanted to think about the entire school model, with an initial lens on math, but also thinking about the school holistically.

And then there’s the Spring Branch (Texas) Independent School District, which made a long-standing middle school its focus. They started with this idea of doing a fundamental redesign of the entire school and they may ultimately go there. However, their innovation for this coming year is a micro-school, a school within a school, that will allow them to test different components of a new kind of model. These include self-directed learning time, expeditions and executive coaches. In addition, the district is running its own version of the program for ten other schools in the district in hopes that others will follow a similar path.

Were there any elements that all the participants wanted to introduce to their schools?

There’s a consistent theme around interdisciplinary learning, trying to figure out how to more effectively collaborate across different subject areas. They are all keen to use technology to help personalize learning for students. And the last thing is increased opportunities for students to engage in leadership opportunities.

You used a lot of approaches—visits to innovative schools, guest speakers, readings, etc.—to get your first cohort thinking about substantive change. Which seemed the most effective triggers?

Number one, listening. Taking the time to listen to students, taking a step back and hearing from a wide variety of voices with an ear toward what is leading these students to success and where are the gaps and the limitations of the way that we are currently doing things.

Number two, just being in a cohort-based experience is powerful. Doing this alongside others over a course of time that allows you to develop real, authentic professional relationships with a wide variety of people is valuable.

Number three, undoubtedly learning visits to schools and other organizations. No one went to a school and said, “This is it. I simply have to implement this particular model.” More often it was the case that people were inspired by different elements of different schools. They would then come back as a team and talk about how they might incorporate those elements into their vision.

THE COHORT—The ten school districts and charter school organizations that participated in the first NewSchools + Transcend Collaborative are:

Camino Nuevo Charter Academy

Citizens of the World Charter Schools

District of Columbia Public Schools

Excel Academy Charter Schools

Gestalt Community Schools

Hiawatha Academies

KIPP: Houston Public Schools

Spring Branch Independent School District

Tulsa Public Schools

Yes Prep Public Schools

Tell us about some of the outcomes that most excited you.

In terms of its impact on what these schools are actually doing, nine of the ten are moving forward in some way with new innovations they weren’t planning to do before the program. So that’s a success.

Among this group, there were some—like Hiawatha, Gestalt and Citizens of the World (a charter network with six schools in three regions)—that used this opportunity to radically rethink the way they are operating at least one school over the coming year. Others were more comfortable making smaller adaptations.

Is there anything from The Collaborative experience that can be generalized for other schools or organizations that might be contemplating school design change?

Absolutely. One lesson we took away is that having a lens on equity in the design process is a helpful frame. You can look at it in a number of ways. We did it through empathy interviews with students and families, and that helped our school leaders develop empathy for the end user.

Our second lesson is to push people out of their comfort zones a little bit.

How’d you do that?

We did this a lot, but one way was through an exercise we called “The Probable Versus the Possible.” The way this worked was you had teams imagine they continued to do everything they’re doing now. What would be the probable outcome for students in their schools? Typically you would see a line of incremental improvement. “We’re getting better,” they’d say, “but we’re not getting better fast enough.” Then we’d ask them to imagine not just the probable but the possible. Where might they go if somehow they had a step change in improvement with some kind of newfangled technology or new curriculum or better student engagement?

That exercise proved powerful for a lot of people and helped them create a case for change.

Any takeaways about the people doing the work or how to support them?

We found that the composition of the team—making sure you have the right people on the bus, a team that is engaged in this work and that has the time to really focus on it—is instrumental. And having that team not just design in the abstract but actually having tangible goals that are time-bound.

The second point is around customized coaching. If people expect that teachers will just go to a seminar, learn about something, and walk away and then magic will happen—I’m not sure that theory of change works particularly well. We found that the combination of in-person experiences alongside custom coaching and an ongoing support mechanism between these sessions was valuable.

We found that the combination of in-person experiences alongside custom coaching and an ongoing support mechanism between these sessions was valuable.

So my advice back to the broader field is don’t expect teams to create breakthrough innovations after a single big event. Try to find ways to keep the conversation alive, continue supporting and pushing people along their journey because they’re going to need that support.

Collaborative Learning

It wouldn’t be an educational exercise without homework. Here are some of the readings and other materials that Collaborative participants were asked to study last year:

Readings The End of Average, chapters 1 and 2, by Todd Rose “Our High School Kids: Tired, Stressed, Bored," by Greg Toppo, USA Today "The 17 Great Challenges of the 21st Century," adapted from The Meaning of the 21st Century: A Vital Blueprint for Ensuring Our Future, by James Martin Google’s Moonshot Summit “Developing Student Agency Improves Equity and Access,” by Rhonda Broussard “The Revolution Will Be Tweeted," by Teaching Tolerance Staff “Unlearning is Critical for Deep Learning,” by Jal Mehta “Beyond the Viral Video: Inside Educators’ Emotional Debate About ‘No Excuses’ Discipline," by Elizabeth Green “The Science of Learning,” by Deans for Impact “An Answer to the Crisis in Education,” an excerpt from Montessori: The Science Behind the Genius, by Angeline Lillard. Why Students Don’t Like School, by Daniel Willingham Helping Children Succeed: What Works and Why, by Paul Tough "Developmental Stages of Infants and Children," Wisconsin Child Welfare System “Racial Identity Development,” an excerpt from Talking About Race, Learning About Racism: The Application of Racial Identity Development Theory in the Classroom, by Beverly Daniel Tatum “Subtractive Schooling, Caring Relations, and Social Capital in the Schooling of U.S.-Mexican Youth,” by Angela Valenzuela Viewings Sir Ken Robinson: Changing Education Paradigms Andrew McAfee: What will future jobs look like? Sugata Mitra: The Child-Driven Education Sugata Mitra: Build a School in the Cloud Nadine Burke Harris: How Childhood Trauma Affect Health Across a Lifetime Podcasts Education and Skill for the Fourth Revolution Audio A Conversation About Growing Up Black, by Joe Brewster and Perri Peltz A Conversation With White People on Race, by Michèle Stephenson and Blair Foster From Personalized Math to Micro-Schools, This NewSchools Cohort Is Reimagining Learning published first on http://ift.tt/2x05DG9

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dudence-blog · 7 years

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Dear Dudence for 2 October 2017

On a Monday where a mad man kills almost 60 people, one of the last surviving members from Easy Company (Band of Brothers fame) passed away, and Tom Petty was taken off life support it’s a day which calls for something a bit different. So my gin and tonic in hand and a heavy heart it’s off to answering questions from people who didn’t ask them of me.

I am writing as a final act of desperation. For a year now, I have had very strong romantic feelings for one of my friends. She is smart, engaging to be around, caring—I have never felt quite like this about any crushes I’ve had before. The issue: she has been dating my twin sister for about a year now.

Dear Troubled Twin, my God, even BadPru’s twincest is lackluster. Sorry, that is unfair to you. You have a problem and you’re looking for advice, not to be a data point in the “NuPru is not good at this”. From your letter I’m assuming you’re young (referring to previous romantic feelings as “crushes”, semester abroad). Unless you’re planning to shoot the president in an effort to impress Jodie Foster your twin sister’s girlfriend, don’t go to therapy (and if you are planning for former please stop and contact a therapist). You’re a young person dealing with the normal sort of crush that people with a limited history of relationships have. You’ve idealized this woman in a way which is preventing you from seeing anyone else in a similar light. The good news is you’re doing the right things; dating other people, doing other things, reminding yourself that it’s a dick move to hit on your sibling’s girlfriend. Don’t go out on dates to show yourself that you’re over your crush. Go on dates because you like the person you’re dating enough to want to go out on a date with them. View them as themselves, not on the Twin Sister’s Perfect Girlfriend spectrum. Also, while my extensive internet research would make you think that telling your sister’s girlfriend you have the hots for her will end awesomely I have a sneaking suspicion I’m not really going to the best sources. So don’t tell them how your feeling. I’m thinking there’s a coin flip between “trouble both of them to know they’re hurting me” and “get really creeped out by you obsessing about their relationship for a year”. If the coin lands on the edge then my internet research was right and it’s “lingerie tickle fight”. This is not per se unhealthy; it’s part of finding your way through life, relationships, and love. It’s time you stopped pretending to move on and actually move on.

My husband and I have been together for a decade but for various monetary reasons are not legally wed. I have stayed out of his relationship with his daughter “Jessica.” I don’t think highly of her—she has been given every advantage in life and squandered it.

Dear Out of the House, oof. I’m sure that somewhere the plan “going to school to become a stylist” has gone swimmingly, but my god the number of times I’ve heard that statement and then two years later it remains the plan, and even further from completion, doesn’t make me disagree with your assessment of the situation. I’d like to find a silver-lining in this situation for you, but I’m just not seeing it. You don’t include the usual “I love my husband but,” you’re not a fan of his daughter, summing your description of her husband would be “sub-cromulent”, and it’s “her son” not “grandson”. I’d have to say your plan to go with an ultimatum is about your best course of action. A therapist may or may not be a good idea, but I bet a lawyer would be a much, much, much gooder one. You and your husband share a house and who knows what those monetary reasons encapsulates. But whatever they are I’d bet they’re an issue which could either bite you, or him, in the ass if not handled right if you need to dissolve your relationship. Your offer to support them for a few months is a perfectly reasonable one, and one which could be the basis of a suitable compromise if everyone was interested. At the end of the day you need to look out for yourself. This is a duty you didn’t sign up for, got into stupidly, and you see how it is likely going to become an all-consuming vortex of suck which will drain you emotionally and financially.

My “aunt Rhonda,” my mom’s best friend who lives several states away, has recently come out as an avid member of the alt-right movement, along with the rest of her family. This was shocking, considering they seemed to be otherwise for years. Her eldest son, “Tom,” and I were also friends, but now he’s turned out to be the biggest fanatic of the bunch, and the one who radicalized the rest.

Dear Alt-right Former Friend, just fucking unfriend the guy. There are two ways you can go about this. You could do it like a rational adult, simply click the “unfriend” option and move on with your life. Or you could do it like an anti-hero whose secret power is fueled by creating the maximum amount of drama possible. Before you unfriend him explain exactly why you’re doing it, tag everyone you both know, go into detail about why you’re taking this stand. Believe it or not there is not a requirement for you to remain friends through social media with someone who you don’t want to be friends with. Heck, there’s a pretty good chance the dude you hate actually has you unfollowed and would not give a second thought to you unfriending them. And even if they do you get the satisfaction of expressing your distaste for his politics while he gets the chance to talk on his page about his “keeping it real” is driving away the “snowflakes”. Heck, if that happens it’s a win-win! As for the fallout on your mother’s relationship your mother and Aunt Rhonda are grown women. Your mother, presumably, knows about Rhonda’s change in politics, maybe she doesn’t even consider a change and it’s something she’s known for years. I know it might be hard to believe, but there was a time in history where people really did tolerate people who didn’t agree share their every ideological bent. Your social media friending or not won’t cause something to happen which wasn’t going to happen anyway.

My wife and I were student athletes who met and married after getting MBAs. For 32 years we have lived an active, health conscious, monogamous life together. Roughly 60 days after our 31st anniversary I was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. With treatments and luck, I have 12 to 24 months. We both know what reality is.

Dear Letter from Dying Husband, this is the plot of some movie with Leonidas when he was wearing more than a loincloth. It was actually pretty cruel what he was doing. I’m not saying what you’re thinking of is cruel, I’m just putting it out there. I think the idea of leaving some mementos for your wife to read or watch after you’ve died is a wonderful and touching gesture. I’d highly recommend discussing it with her, letting her know your intent, and deciding with her the best way to go forward. Maybe she decides she’d appreciate those letters on the significant days of your life together. Maybe she’d rather get them at once and allow her to decide the circumstances where she reads them. If you do decide to go the “anniversary letter” route, please make sure she knows how to stop them in case it does become something less wonderful in reality than it sounded during your last years together.

I live in a cul-de-sac with several families the same age as my two girls. We all do mutual birthdays and celebrations, except for “Lydia.” Lydia has five children and on most days lets them run wild and unsupervised, and the kids barge in on neighbors. I have bit my tongue over having several of Lydia’s children (my youngest is friends with two of them) show up at my back door asking for dinner this summer. I have brought it up with Lydia, only to have her dismiss it.

Dear Cheapskate, just let me go ahead and disagree with Newdie and say she is totally wrong that kids don’t do things because they’re jerks. Yes, kids do things because they’re jerks, this is because kids, just like everyone else, can be jerks. I doubt your daughter’s age-appropriate friends brought her a dirty teddy bear in a brown paper bag because they’re jerks, but I can totally see a teenager doing it. Again, because kids are jerks. All that being said Lydia might just be one of those parents who is doing the bare minimum needed to bring up a litter of kids without any one them being obviously horrible people. That she is devilishly taking advantage of your kindness by sending her kids on activities without the ability to feed themselves. That she shoves them out the door to crash neighborhood parties or family dinners so that she doesn’t have to deduct from her lotto and cigarettes budget. Or she is financially stressed and really can’t provide the sort of comforts for her kids that you can provide for hers. I empathize with not wanting to provide it for her kids; it’s can be hard enough to do it for you own. I would suggest having another conversation with Lydia, but instead of it being about how you’re not going to support her children, think of it from a point of view that Lydia might not actually be able to do what you think she should. People hate admitting to financial problems. Most folks would rather talk with their parents about their sex life than talk money. If she isn’t able to get a present for your daughter’s birthday, or put enough food on the table for 5 children including two teens, might knowing this make you rethink your attitude towards her children and their actions? It doesn’t make you and your cul-de-sac responsible for providing for them, but it might not be worth the feuding. If Lydia tells you to mind your fucking business then snorts a line of blow off a hooker’s ass using a rolled up benjamin to do it go ahead and feud though.

I’m from another country and only have a few friends here. My friendship with “John” is really important to me. I recently broke up with my longtime girlfriend and he has been here for me a lot. John, another friend, and I have a group chat and the other friend sent some porn images as a joke, and I responded with some too.

Dear Best Friend’s Wife is Angry Wife Me, you should apologize. There’s at least three different things going on here, and the healing power of “and” almost certainly is exerting its blessings as well.

Humor is pretty culturally specific. Even if you’ve been in a country for a while you might miss the boat on some jokes.

Did you escalate the porn joke? For example, did your mutual friend send a titillating picture of Scarlett Johansson and you hilariously joined in a 35 minute long compilation of Japanese fetish game show videos?

Is there something inappropriate about you sending “John” joke porn? Had you previously expressed an interest in “John”? Are you of the opposite sex? Or of the same sex and that’s how he goes?

I’m sure there’s other issues at play (how did his wife find out about the joke?) but those are the three that jump out at me in how it relates to her reaction to you. If you can reach out to the wife and apologize.

My question is about how long to hang on. My ex-husband and I got along great and still hung in the same group until he got married again and he and/or his wife decided I had to go. Although I had usually been the one to throw parties and invited everyone, the ex and wife then began to do so without inviting me.

Dear Ex-Husband Got Friends in the Divorce, I’m with NuPru in not actually understanding what you’ve been excluded from. Hate to say it but “ex-wife not being invited to parties with new wife” is really kind of the default position. If your friends are choosing your ex and his new wife over you in all times except when you specifically invite them it’s worth discussing it with the friends. It could be none of them realize that, collectively, they’ve chosen your ex over them. Everyone assumes everyone else is going to see you the rest of the time and they’ve never put together that they’ve cut you out. Maybe they are all colluding to deny you their friendship, but if you don’t ask them it’s a bit premature to make plans to move on.

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carbonargonlithium · 7 years

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The Short Version of This Is: Not to be cliché, but sometimes love really is right in front of you and you don’t even know it.

This is a long post. Somewhat funny, but only because I wrote it stream-of-conscious. Sorry if it’s annoying, you can stop after the story about “Poop” if you want to avoid any sap or rambling.

Before I get too far into this, I’m gonna start by mentioning that Joe has been taking cold medicine regularly for the last couple of days, so part of me wants to say that what he said was because of that, but in reality, it’s just because he’s a shit head.

This morning, as we do every third Friday of the month, we drove out to the bank, and then drove back towards home and about ¾ of the way home, the sky opens up into a torrential downpour. We were already in the car so I just asked Joe to drive me to school. He agreed (he’s literally never not agreed to), mostly because I forgot my umbrella at the bowling alley last Friday, and haven’t retrieved it yet. We’re driving to school and I look at him and say “What should I write a blog post about today?” thinking, naively, that he’d give me a serious answer.

“Poop.” Was the answer I got. Poop. I just stared and he glanced at me (he’s driving, mind you), cracks a smile and says “People order our patties.”

I looked away and stared out the front window bitterly because my 24-year-old boyfriend just made a SpongeBob joke at me, and I wasn’t sure whether I was more annoyed at him for making the joke, or myself for understanding the joke. This post isn’t going to be about poop, but it is going to be about how this “poop”-y head became my Joseph. I would be lying if I tried to tell you about the first time I met Joe, because it was probably sometime in 2012, and if you read my last post, you know that memories of 2012 are somewhat spotty at best. And at the time, it wasn’t really that relevant, because I didn’t ever formally “meet” Joe. He just existed, or more specifically “JoeMerry” existed.

Maybe it’s a normal crux of having a common first name, but I’m pretty sure that every time someone referred to my now-partner back then, he was referenced as “JoeMerry” (or “Moe Jerry” but that name came a little bit later). He was a member of the bowling team at Florida State (my alma mater, for those of you that don’t know), and so I knew him, pretty much by proxy. I have no memories of ever really communicating with him before August 2nd, 2015.

Oh wait that’s a lie. I have two memories of Joe before we started “talking” as the cool kids would say. I’m not sure, chronologically, which one happened first, as I can only put a rough date on one of them. Wait…..

There’s three memories. Three times that “JoeMerry” and I interacted before “JoeMerry” became just Joseph. (it won’t shock you to know there’s an explanation for calling him by his full name too, I have an overthought explanation for everything, it drives my mother insane)

1. JoeMerry is in Crenshaw while I’m working over the summer of 2014 (the first summer I stayed at FSU). I complain, audibly, about needing a notebook and being at work and unable to go purchase one. JoeMerry offers me one out of his car (he apparently just had a stack of them), goes and gets it for me, and hands it to me. I think I still have that notebook somewhere.

2. JoeMerry is in Crenshaw in November of 2014, right before thanksgiving break, and I realize I need to go get a package out of my apartment complex office, before they close, or I won’t be able to get it before the break. It is pouring outside. JoeMerry offers to go pick it up for me, and I deal with the technical side of getting him permission to do that, he goes, and then returns with the package (my first ever Liverpool kit, which now is incredibly funny). I think I bought him a kit kat.

3. Sometime, undated, I was sitting out at the table beside the desk at Crenshaw (sorry if you’re unfamiliar, but there’s a table with four chairs near the entrance to the bowling center I used to work with. You walk around the edge of the counter and can sit at it.) There are people occupying the other three chairs, and we are all conversing. JoeMerry enters Crenshaw and doesn’t have a place to sit. I jokingly pat my lap, and much to my surprise, he sits down on my lap.

I’ve already rambled for 804 words, so if you’re bored, this is a good place to stop. The tl;dr version of this story is: I “met” the man I love in the place I worked for 4 years, two days before he was leaving Tallahassee for good. Things worked out better than expected.

Joe is simultaneously one of the most distractible and un-distractible humans alive. I’m not sure if anyone is still reading at this point, but it’s the truth. He either is distracted by literally everything or literally nothing can pull him away from whatever he’s focusing on. The day that he and I actually spoke at length for the first time, was a day that I’m pretty sure the people he was bowling with wanted to kill him for getting distracted (by me) and not bowling when it was his turn (because he was talking to me).

I’m not sure exactly what we talked about. It was random stuff, I think that was the day after a Rhonda Rousey fight? Which I didn’t care about but I think it came up. Somehow, we got onto the topic of “Ant Man” and how Joe wanted to go see it. Without thinking, really, I said that I would like to see it too, and could go with him.

I’m not really sure that either of us knew what the results of this movie date would be, but I’m pretty sure I was the more oblivious of the two. I didn’t let myself get my hopes up. I asked him if he knew it was a “date” and in his opinion, it was just the catalyst: the event allowed for us to start talking (facebook friends, exchanged phone numbers) which enabled us to start down what he refers to as “the romantic path.”

I’m a perpetually early person. I literally show up early to everything. But, much to my surprise, I walked into the Tallahasee Mall, towards the AMC and lo and behold, JoeMerry is sitting on a bench waiting for me. This definitely threw me for a loop. We saw the movie. I definitely considered holding his hand. I did not hold his hand because there was no way “JoeMerry” had come to see a movie with me because he liked me. We said our goodbyes, I’d see him the next day. Then began the “weird” portion of this whole situation. Joe didn’t say a word to me the entire time he was at league on Tuesday night (I was working). I don’t even remember if he bought a drink from me that night. But after league wrapped up, he disappeared for a minute (apparently packing the things from his locker up) and then came back in to say goodbye to me. And then he hugged me.

And then I didn’t hear from him for three weeks or so. I went about my life and didn’t think too much of it. Stuff happened in my life in those three weeks, and I had a lot going on, getting ready to do graduate applications, taking the GRE, dealing with a sprained ankle, and a ton of other stuff. I think we might have briefly discussed that he had made it home safely, and that he was job hunting. But mostly, we didn’t really talk.

After the GRE, during the brief break between summer and fall, I did what a lot of people do, which was try to relax and spend time with friends. I was 21, I didn’t have work or school, and I decided to partake in drinking with friends. Here’s the problem with that scenario: Joe is awful at texting. So when we were texting, there would be very long breaks in the conversations (because video games, I now know). And what that resulted in several times, was Joe texting me back after I was drunk. Which I guess I should be thankful for? Because I definitely wouldn’t have said the silly things I said, and gotten the responses I did, were it not for that. I would have gone on believing that it was entirely platonic. We talked about job hunting, video games, and soccer. I had no real reason to assume anything but platonic interest. Until drunkCJ got to text Joe. Then I learned that….I was wrong.

It's a mandatory rule of every relationship I’ve ever been in ever that the first thing I do upon entering a relationship is give way too much information and do everything in my power to push the person away.

It didn’t work. We still spoke, with a lot more frequency now. He got mildly better at texting, he got a job, and we got to work planning his first trip back to Tallahassee. He was coming to Tallahassee for one of the bowling team’s qualifying weekends. School started, work started back up and life continued as normal, except now, I was eagerly awaiting the last weekend in September.

From the very first time it ever happened, I was always displeased with the amount of time it took Joe to drive from Pensacola to Tallahassee. I’m pretty sure I can do it at least a half hour faster than he can, even though we take identical routes. But he arrived. And we went on our first official date, and things weren’t realistically perfect, but in hindsight I only remember how happy I was. I remembered the suspense of seeing how people would react, to me dating ~JoeMerry~. What happened, amusingly, is that people began to see me as a real person behind the desk. They asked me how I was and acknowledged me outside of Crenshaw. I was more than just a face behind the counter to them. But none of that really mattered compared to how Joe treated me. How trusting, and caring, and understanding he was.

I could probably write a lot more about our actual relationship, and about Joseph himself. I could write about how his favorite color is heather grey, and how when he smiles, he has deep smile lines already, which just tells me he’s spent a lot of time smiling. I could tell you about how he loves apple juice above practically every other beverage in the world, or how he can magically eat an entire batch of brownies in two days. I didn’t know it, back in September of 2015, but I had met the person who would love me through some of my worst days, and some of my best days.

But I’ll save those for future posts. For now, I’ll stop here, at the end of how JoeMerry became Joseph, and eventually I’ll tell you more about the poopyhead making SpongeBob references at 8:45am in traffic in Pittsburgh.

#02 #20170818 #beeb

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sfleclare-blog · 7 years

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How to confront someone with Alcoholism?

I had planned on making dog sweaters today. Instead I found myself responding to a few critiques with a writing group I work with. I had just finished and was prepared to gather my sewing supplies when my phone rang. On the other end was a very dear friend of mine with a very perplexing problem. Now this friend of mine is a little powerhouse of a woman, with a professional cutthroat job in which she is known as a ball buster. So imagine my dismay while she cried on the other end. As she told me her story all I could think of is where is Ann Landers when you need her, or Rhonda Byrne ( author of the secret) or the Dalai Lama for that matter, because as her story unfolded like a daisy awakening in the sunlight, I knew she was in a real pickle. I say pickle but that is making light of the matter. In reality it is a life or death situation and so, like the friend I am I gave her every ounce of attention I could muster. I listened for hours and offered all the advice I could and then like a lightening strike I told her that I could blog her story, leave out any and all personal details. She's in another state for goodness sake and maybe others might have insight or wisdom into her conundrum.

So this is her story.

She comes from a family of nine children. She dearly loves her parents but they have not always had the best relationship. On occasion it has even been quite tumultuous especially with her mother. There have even been times when they've gone through periods of at least a year without speaking. Her mother hasn't spoken to her for the last six months. My friend feels bad about it and has even admitted perhaps it was all her fault. She is what you'd call a straight shooter and it sometimes gets her into trouble. Not that she's really wrong, or angry, or mean. She's just painfully honest and sometimes forward but she has high morals and values and sometimes forgets it's not all black or white. As we all know from the title of the famous book there are 50 Shades of Grey, and that is the truth!

So my friend recently went to a family birthday party where she saw her mother. Their meeting was tensed and awkward but cordial. The problem according to my friend is that both her parents are alcoholics. Her mother had suffered a heart attack several years ago and a few other health problems. Now she shakes uncontrollably. My friend said when she saw this her heart almost stopped. Her mom has had tremors for the last few years but this was the worst she'd seen it. My friend confided to me that she hasn't been able to sleep since that day. She's so worried that her mother is going to die that she can't stop thinking about it. So with her professional mindset she researched the internet and read every addiction website she came across.

She said these websites gave her confidence and hope. She was determined. And like the ball of fire she is, set her plan into action. She started calling her brothers and sisters in the hopes of constructing a positive intervention. You know like the ones on TV where loved ones tell addicts how much they love them and how they want them to live as long a life as they possibly can.

I raised my eyebrows and cringed as I wondered if she'd ever seen the end of those shows. I've seen a few and I promise you they don't always end pretty. Alcoholism is an addiction, plain and simple. It can also be likened to an illness. It's just not always feasible for alcoholics, or even addicts to come to grips with the truth. Seeing the truth means looking within and there are many reasons for people in general to not want to look. Low self esteem is one of those reasons. Sometimes people just don't like what they see in the mirror. Another reason is co dependance. Many times couples are alcoholics because if they were sober they might not be a couple any longer. I did some research myself and found that couples where both are alcoholics is a situation that is the hardest to become sober. Unfortunatly, if one falls off the wagon the other falls off as well. But my friend was determined.

The first calls she made to four of her siblings were met with positive results. They had felt the same way but had been uncertain as to how to approach their parents. A few had tried on their own and were swiftly met with a social guillotine from the parents who became distant and aloof. You can lead the horse, or horses in this matter, to the troth but you can't make them drink.

Her well to do parents spend most of their time in Florida and commute between the East and West Coast. The first four sibling were on board but the last fou siblings were vehemently against going to the parents. Some of their comments were, "You've known they've been alcoholics for years why now?" Another was, "Where were you a year ago?" And another was, "Why can't you do it yourself? Why do you need backup?"

My friend was undeterred, She felt like the right course of action was to confront them with or without her other siblings approval. That determination crumbled when she spoke to her oldest son. Her and her husband raised him to have high morals and values but through circumstance (her husband is actually his stepfather) he has had a very close yet occasionally tumultuous relationship with his grandparents. He is a single father who lives at their California home nearly rent free and relies heavily on that situation.

He asked her some of the same questions her other siblings had asked her. He also stated that she was hardly around and doesn't have to deal with the after math. He also said that they won't change anyway so why bother and then with a knife to her heart he relayed something she had confided only to her son. My friend admitted to me that in anger she had told her son that if she never spoke to her parents again she would be ok. As my friend sobbed over the phone she explained that she was so upset that her mother hadn't spoken to her that she blurted the statement out to her son. But I imagine my friend isn't alone in the world. I think many of us say things we don't always mean especially when we've been hurt by the people we love. Then my friend said she had an epiphany, she realized that there were two camps of family members. Camp number one had no financial ties to her parents. These were the ones that vehemently wanted to see their parents live long healthy sober lives if possible. They were willing to do what it takes to help them in their sobriety. They were willing to risk that their parents may hate them. That they may disown them and disinherit them forever. It was a risk they were willing to take for a possible greater good. For life, if you will, as opposed to death, these sibling were willing to do what it takes.

The other camp were the ones that relied financially on her parents or had something to gain (financially or even emotionally). The ones who weren't willing to risk being cut off or being alienated. My friend said she could tolerate that from some of her siblings. Some of them had faced huge obstacles in their lives physically and even emotionally. A few have had on again off again substance abuse issues. One is even an alcoholic. She knew they might be against it. What she didn't expect was her own son to justify his reasons for her to not go to her parents. She didn't expect him to take the low road. She didn't expect him to not see that making the right choice is not always the easy choice.

She continued sobbing on the phone and explained that all the confidence she had quickly went down the drain with her sons disapproval. The truth of the matter is, good mothers will always put their children first. They will protect them and shield them from all the bad in life if they can. They will take a bullet for their kids. They will stay up all night, many nights through their lives and take their temperatures, cry with them when they have a broken heart and go without new clothes for as long as it takes so their children always have the best. So that they always come first.

So I thought of my writing and I told my friend.

Heroes are made and not born. Heroes face obstacles head on and overcome them. Heroes stand in the face of danger and live to tell the tale. Heroes never take the low road, they always take the high road. A hero is a hero because no matter what the odds, no matter who stands against them, if they are naked and drawing their last breath. A hero will always fight to do the right thing, to make the right choice and to take every risk possible. They do this because overcoming all obstacles like Frodo at the end of, "Lord of the Rings," makes you a hero. Because there is a greater power and a greater reward at the end, at all our ends. There is a greater good that we all have to face. I know I want to have a clear conscience when I meet my maker and I advised my friend that although I think she should bear it in mind, the choice, a truly difficult one, is all hers.

I asked my friend if she could give her parents a message what would she say?

Her reply, "I love you. I want you to live long healthy lives. The road to recovery may not be the easy one but there is a beauty in seeing the world with truly sober eyes even if just for a day."

“Sometimes you can only find Heaven by slowly backing away from Hell.” – Carrie Fisher

“I understood, through rehab, things about creating characters. I understood that creating whole people means knowing where we come from, how we can make a mistake and how we overcome things to make ourselves stronger.” – Samuel L. Jackson

I thought these quotes were fitting.

Please leave my friend advice on what you would do? She really needs it. And if you can send her positive vibes I know she would appreciate it. She's really a great gal.

Writer On The Ranch

S.F. leClare

#alcoholism #Rhonda Byrne #heroes #ann landers #dalai lama #Samuel L. Jackson #Carrie Fisher

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