Are Loyalty and Resistance to Change the Same Thing? - Saying Goodbye to the Family Minivan

We once had a minivan. It was spacious and practical and thoroughly uncool.

For nine long years, that minivan was part of the family. It saw us through cramped car seats, then on to booster seats, and finally to epic Rock/Paper/Scissor battles for the privilege to ride shotgun. It was the first vehicle my son drove, the one that survived the little fender bender he caused in the parking lot of Waffle House on his sixteenth birthday. It was also the vehicle my daughter first tenuously steered with caution and trepidation, the one that helped her gain confidence to eventually venture out onto the highway.

That minivan carted home thousands of bags of groceries, family christmas trees, garden supplies, and new bicycles. It hauled this family and all of our luggage to upstate New York (to visit family), to Cleveland, Ohio (to visit friends), to Gatlinburg, Tennessee (for a karate tournament), to Stone Mountain, GA (where it almost drove away without one of our children). It toted camping gear and beach gear and karate gear and dirty laundry to the laundromat when our dryer croaked. It made family trips to the wilderness and to big cities, along back country roads and six-lane highways.

Along the way it acquired a new engine and picked up a few quirks. The passenger sliding door didn't close quite right unless shoved with muscular force. The air-conditioning quit working about two years ago, a great thing during muggy Southern summers ... very character-building. The defroster only worked when turned on full-blast. There was a crack in the windshield that kind of resembled a swan stretched out in flight, and an ant colony that had moved into the center console, making it's living on leftover car snacks and spilled or forgotten juice boxes.

But it was ours. Paid in full. Part of the family with all of its smudgy fingerprints and dog hair and stained floor mats and that petrified cheeseburger rammed between the seats.

Nine years is a long time for a rough family of six to maintain a vehicle, especially one that has been ridden hard and put away wet. The vehicle should have been let out to pasture (or something else more humane) long ago, but we don't give up easily in this family.

This weekend we finally succumbed and purchased a new vehicle. It's not a minivan (So now I can be the cool mom, right?). As we filled out the paperwork on our brand new "wagon" (It's really not any cooler, is it? Well, dang!) a pattern started to emerge.

How long have you owned your current vehicle? ...9 years.

How long have you been at your current residence? ...12 years

Your part-time job?...almost 7.

Mr. Webb, how long have you been teaching school? ... 22 years.

With each answer, the "product specialist" (just a non-threatening term for "car salesman") seemed genuinely surprised. Apparently people in this day and age don't stick with things quite so long, but remember, we've never been ones to give up easily.

Some might call it loyalty, commitment, fidelity. Some might call it a resistance to change.

But aren't they the same thing, differing faces of the same coin? It proves that you can put a positive or negative spin on just about anything.

We didn't want to give up on that van, so we pumped money into new engines and extensive transmission work, prolonging a life that just wanted to end. It cost us several hot North Carolina summers with no air conditioning and an extended hassle of impatient waiting after the keyless entry gave up the ghost. We paid for our loyalty with inconvenience after inconvenience after inconvenience. It makes me wonder if loyalty in such extreme circumstances is a virtue or a vice.

And now we have a shiny new (to us) vehicle with AC and power windows and cruise control that actually work. We have a view out the windshield unobscured by swan-like cracks snaking their way across our field of vision. We have doors that don't have to be slammed and a reliability that we haven't experienced in at least a handful of years. I wonder how long it will take us to release the nervous tension we've grown accustomed to holding as we cruise down the highway.

I should be happy, right?

And yet, I felt heavy and sad as we drove away from that car lot. As the back of that van with its "Proud Army Parent" and zombie family stickers across the back window grew smaller and smaller in the rear view, I realized that leaving behind that van was like closing a chapter, a chapter I'm not sure I'm ready to close, because I can still see those tiny faces smiling (and sometimes screaming) at me from their carseats in the back. I can still smell the sour juice boxes and the stale french fries. I can still hear laughter and silly songs and "Are we there yet?" questions. I can still see my son's face the first time he rode shotgun. I can still see my daughter's white knuckles the first time she gripped that steering wheel.

I am loyal to those things, committed to those values that are somehow expressed in those memories. There was joy and patience and strength and a large measure of grace there. It is those things that make me resistant to change, that make me want to hold on just a tiny bit longer.

The new vehicle doesn't yet feel like ours. It's like a new pair of shoes that hasn't yet been broken in - tight, unfamiliar, almost alien. I suppose it will take time to make new memories in this one. I'll admit that I'm slightly disappointed that I will never snap my children into car seats or pull over to soothe a crying child or sing "The Wheels on the Bus" an excruciating number of times in this new "wagon".

But doesn't the word "wagon" already make it sound like we are going on an adventure?

The Raising of Voters and Decent Men

Yesterday, I walked with my 18 year-old son up to our county's Board of Elections office (Yes "walked"... sometimes there are perks to living in a small town aside from the rampant gossip and unsolicited advice about how to raise your children) where he filled out the required paperwork and became an official registered voter.

I'll admit that I'm pretty proud. This is kind of a momentous occasion for me.  It means that I have now successfully reared an adult who does his own laundry, is gainfully employed, and is a registered voter.  He still lives with his parents, but by most standards he would be classified as a responsible adult. I'm feeling like a fairly successful parent.

He noticed I was kind of beaming on the way back home. When I tried to explain how proud I was that he was so socially and politically engaged, so well-informed and culturally awake, he just shrugged insisting it was no big deal.

"Mom, if voting made any difference, they wouldn't let us do it."

That's my son.

I'm not sure if I'm more proud that he quoted Mark Twain or that he's so inherently cynical. (But seriously, with me for a mother, could he have turned out any differently?)

It might be true.  It often seems like one small vote doesn't make much difference. Candidates are largely chosen by the media and big contribution dollars from wealthy and politically powerful corporations. We find ourselves choosing constantly the lesser of two evils, which is still a vote for evil.  The system isn't so much broken as it is rigged.

Still, our vote is our only power, however small it might be. The ballot box is the microphone that allows our tiny individual voices to be heard.  It's the only real chance we have to make change.  Climate change marches, Occupy movements,  million man marches, petitions to deport Justin Bieber... they are all just senseless chatter.  The voting booth is where voices are really heard.

Yes, my son is skeptical and cynical.  And he is convinced that our government has already been bought and paid for, that our politicians are just dogs loyal to the corporate hands that feed them, constantly turning deaf ears to the voices of their constituents.

He realizes that trusting politicians is dangerous, that believing the post-election world will magically conform to their campaign promises is naive.

He understands that American foreign policy is based on the meddling and corrupt economic self-interests of a giant bullying war machine and that it has been for more than a hundred years.

He sees that his peers are complacent and easily distracted by shiny fads and flashy electronic toys and the crazy antics of celebrities, and he understands that is just how the government likes things.

He gets how easily manipulated the masses are by government propaganda and promises of safety and security, while completely missing the bigger more important picture of dying liberty and personal rights and the smothering weight of taxes, and taxes, and more taxes.

He loves his country and he hopes for something better.  So he will still vote even though he is embarrassed and disgusted by what his government has become.

H.L. Mencken, early 20th century journalist, once said, "Every decent man is ashamed of the government he lives under."

I can at least rest assured that I've raised a decent man.

My Kid, The Button-Pusher

I have a kid who pushes my buttons…I mean really, seriously, and almost continuously pushes my buttons.  If there is a button to be pushed, he will find a way to push it.  In fact, sometimes I wonder how his fingers aren’t sore (From all the button pushing…kinda like George Jetson).  It’s like he can just walk into a room and suddenly he has somehow annoyed the snot out of me.

Most of the time, I can’t even tell you specifically what he’s doing wrong.  But I’ve tried everything from reasoning to bribery to isolation to outright yelling and….yes, even corporal punishment.  And he continues to push my buttons….and I have continued to lose emotional control and wonder what I’m doing wrong.  What do I do to handle him?  How have I failed this child?  What can I do to change him?  I’ve seen it as one of my greatest failings as a parent.

And it is one of my greatest failings as a parent; if not THE absolute biggest failing on my part….because the problem isn’t him at all.  It’s me.

The questions I should be asking aren’t about what I can do to mold this child into what I believe he should be.  He is his own person with his very own unique personality.  How horribly and completely selfish of me to want to completely change someone just to make my life easier.

Perhaps instead I should be asking, “Why do I have so many buttons that are so easily pushed?”  Instead of constantly searching for ways to change my child, the more appropriate course would be to seek what I can change about myself.  I’m reacting too much to little insignificant things my child does.  And they are little things.  In the grand cosmic scheme of things this is by most standards a good child.  He’s intelligent, (usually) polite, loving, and generous.  He’s not out vandalizing the neighborhood or putting the smack-down on other kids.

This is really a problem with me, not with my kid, because as much as I might fume and attempt to control him, there’s only one person on the face of this planet that I have an ounce of control over.  And that is one hundred percent me. I may not be able to choose my son’s behavior, but I can certainly choose my reactions to that behavior.  I am the adult here, after all.  If I invested as much energy into controlling my reactions to his personality quirks and my anxiety over his “button pushing” as I have spent trying to transform my child into something he is not…well then I might actually accomplish something (as opposed to continuing to bash my head against this immovable wall and producing one frustrated and stressed out kid in the process).  

Then, feasibly, there might not be any more buttons to push….and then he can go pester someone else instead…

Except his brother, because that just opens up a whole other grisly can of worms…

You Are Society (AKA Change Begins With The Person In The Mirror)

2013 is quickly drawing to a close while 2014 lurks just around the corner waiting to pounce on us in some New Year's ambush.  It's freaky how fast time flies this time of year.  (Wasn't it just Halloween a few days ago?)  Time to write out those New Year's resolutions.

Personally, I hate them (New Year's resolutions, that is).  The term screams of failure.  Every January tens of thousands of people make promises to themselves to lose weight or save money or not yell at their kids only to fall flat on their faces in failure and defeat about the time March rolls around (if they are lucky enough to make it THAT long).  Something about the New Year's resolution just begs to be broken. Statistically speaking you have about an 8% chance of actually achieving resolution success (Which also means, you have a 92% chance of failing, but I like to think positively.  It's one of my New Year's resolutions.) It's super easy to set inspiring and life-changing goals just as the New Year starts with all kinds of shiny promise and potential...but it's a lot harder to not fall back into our old ways of thinking and acting just as the newness fades and the tarnish of our lackluster "normal" lives catch up with us.

Does this mean we shouldn't set goals for change as the new year rolls through?  Of course not.  We absolutely should set goals and lay out our dreams for change and self-improvement every single chance we get...because...well change and self-improvement are worthwhile endeavors.

Too often we sit back and bemoan all of the ills of society.  We'll blame society for everything from our expanding waistlines to our frivolous spending habits.  "Society" becomes this big vague mass of evil responsible for all the ills of the world.  It's just because we, as individuals shudder and balk at taking any personal responsibility for our shortcomings (and that's probably Society's fault, too).

And I am thoroughly guilty of shaking my fist in Society's general direction on a regular basis (what self-respecting blogger who specializes in social commentary wouldn't?).  But here's the big problem...WE are society, each solitary individual one of us....me...you...Uncle Joe...your nosy neighbor down the street.  We are each a part of this big nebulous amorphous thing we generically refer to as Society.  Society by it's definition is nothing more than a collection of individuals.  And as much as any individual might resist the major influences and authorities of organized civilization, nothing short of sporting a loin cloth and heading into the mountains Bear Grylls style truly removes you from it (and even then it would have a lasting influence on you).

So you can sit around like a couch potato casting blame on Society for all the evils in the world around you, but it doesn't absolve you of responsibility. Society is made up of millions of individual human beings just like you and me.  If we waste all of our energy cursing the world at large, nothing changes. To make society better we must first change ourselves. (Start with the guy looking back at you from your bathroom mirror.  Just don't take any selfies.)

Mahatma Ghandi once said, "You must be the change you wish to see in the world."  (Wise man that Mahatma.)

And since I'm jumping on the inspirational quotes bandwagon, here's another one:  "It is better to light one small candle than to curse the darkness."

We can each be one small candle.  We can be an example for someone else.  And even if our individual light flickers by March first, maybe we'll still be able to catch a glimpse of someone else's off in the dark distance.

So be strong.  Be successful.  Be healthy.  Read a book.  Be kind to a child.  Rescue an animal.  Plant a garden.  Think for yourself.  Save some money.  Pay off your debt.  Cultivate a happy marriage.  Choose morality...and happiness...and gratitude.

Be a light.  Change yourself.