Month: May 2016

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Harambe’s Death and Mom Shaming Unite the Internet!

It started with a zoo, a young boy, a gorilla, some untamed curiosity, and ended with a gun shot heard ’round the Internet.  Harambe, the 17 year old Silverback gorilla from the Cincinnati Zoo was dead and the young boy who worked his way into his habitat was safe, but the story was not a happily ever after one.

Some folks complained about zoos being sinful bastions of man’s evil. Some folks complained about a gun being used on the gorilla instead of a tranquilizer or another form of pharmacological restraint.  Some folks wondered where Dad was.  Lots and lots and lots of folks agreed that Mom was a sorry excuse for a parent, clearly negligent and at fault, and personally responsible for the death of the gorilla.

Sigh.

Mom shaming has become the newest national past time, universally practiced (often by fellow mothers), and cheap entertainment.  Grab the popcorn, prop up the feet, and read the comments. Who can use the most vile language to speculate what a horrible person mom must be?  Who can get the most “likes” on their comment describing the massive flaws of a woman who nearly watched her child die an unspeakable death?

Here’s my POV about what happened in the Cincinnati Zoo over the weekend:  I officially have no opinion because I wasn’t there.

I did not personally witness a mother’s negligence, so have no ability to comment on that.  I did not personally witness or debrief the team of zookeepers who opted to fatally harm the gorilla in question, so have no ability to comment on that.  I will not personally cast any blame whatsoever having not been anywhere near the events in question or having stood in any of the important shoes in question, namely those of parent, child, or zookeeper.  I would add gorilla to that mix, for all you folks who love animals more than humans (and I know this exists and is a thing — no judgment from me, as humans suck much of the time), but, you know, gorillas don’t wear shoes, yo.

See how easy that is?

Sadly, so much of the Internet doesn’t see the merit in my restraint.  Mom has quickly become this week’s online public enemy number one.  In my own circles, I saw shade thrown mostly by fathers or women without children.  In other online circles, the hatred towards mom was much more democratic — young, old, mothers, fathers, those with kids, those without kids.

I read a little, but for the most part just kept scrolling.  What is it about us that we need to proclaim, in writing and publicly, how awful we think other people are, especially in the face of their personal tragedy?  It’s not enough to assume that mom is already feeling, no doubt, horribly responsible for a child that could have easily died on her watch, we need to revile her openly, aggressively, gleefully, almost.

It’s like the Walk of Atonement from Game of Thrones.  This mother was metaphorically forced to walk amongst her Internet commenters and simply absorb the hate that was thrown her way.  And as awful as that endless mob of ugly was in King’s Landing for Cersei Lannister, I wonder if a single commenter that cast judgment about the Cincinnati Zoo mother’s parenting abilities might consider that she would be aware of the hate cast her way.

We shame moms openly, without concern.  Where was Dad?  Not on the radar, as it was Mom at the zoo with the very active and curious four year old, not Dad. Though, full disclosure, I did see a friend post a UK story about how Dad has a rap sheet for gang violence and drug use.  Somehow, this news, too, is more reflective of what a horrible parent mom is, for choosing such a man to father her children.

Every one of our transgressions is only a click away, folks, which is sort of my point.  Let thee without sins cast the first stone.  Isn’t that what Jesus taught?  Man, I’m not even religious and know that.  For every commenter who speculated about how qualified the Cincinnati Zoo mom is to be a parent, take a deep breath and consider your own parenting flaws.  For every commenter who posted about how mom is personally responsible for the death of Harambe and should be made to literally pay for his death, take a deep breath and consider the concept of flow charts and chains of command.

Let’s stop engaging in the gleeful mom shaming that is so rampant on the Internet.  When you are baited by news outlets craving the next big story, have your thoughts and opinions, by all means, but perhaps refrain from sharing them online, adding to this growing culture of mom v. mob.  For all you know, the next time a mistake is captured on someone else’s cell phone, it might be yours.  And you know when it is, you’re moments away from that virtual Walk of Atonement.

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Motherlines

When I was in college I took a literature course about African American women writers.  Zora Neale Hurston, Alice Walker, Toni Morrison, Maya Angelou, Gwendolyn Brooks — so many amazing writers.  One of the central themes of the class was something the professor called “motherlines.”  Her theory was that these writers used the lessons we learn from out mothers as a tool in their writing, a literary device.

I was nineteen at the time, so I read the books, loved the class, but really didn’t fully understand the concept of motherhood, let alone motherlines.  But lately, man, motherlines is heavy in my day-to-day.  I feel my Mom in so many ways, that same Mom who died eleven years ago, just a few months into my first pregnancy.  It’s comforting, actually, as I carry a sense of guilt about how I grieve my Mom, compared to how I grieve my daughter and Dad.

Our daughter was born five months after my Mom died.  I spent the end of that pregnancy both grieving and prepping.  It was an odd combination.  There were tears and sleepless night writing thank you notes to friends and family, but there was so much joy, too.  I just couldn’t collapse into sadness the way I imagined I might.  Then just a couple years later, our baby, then a young toddler, was diagnosed with her own cancer.

My Mom got lost in the shuffle of that.

More than missing my Mom, I often felt a relief that she never had to live to see her granddaughter die.  When she was alive, my Mom often said that the worst way to die was a brain tumor.  We would see a news story about them or a famous person might be diagnosed and there would be my Mom, “Oh, that’s a terrible way to go.” I sometimes wonder if my Mom knew on some unconscious level that she hated brain tumors so much because both she and her namesake granddaughter would die from them.  Magical thinking, I know, but still.

After my Dad’s death last year, I feel my Mom’s absence in a completely different way.  It’s much more potent to me.  I feel her, often, as I pass through my days.  The connection feels strongest as I mother and mark the milestones of childhood.  A few weeks ago my niece celebrated her First Holy Communion, and, BAM, there was my Mom, dancing through my memories, mothering me as I celebrated my own first communion that May day in 1977.

Yesterday I stopped by a small store to buy my oldest son a Cub Scout shirt and hat.  BOOM, there was my Mom again, just floating through my thoughts.  My brother was a Cub Scout and my Mom and a neighbor managed their den.  I was a very little one at the time, so kind of tagged along to all the meetings.  I remember how she ironed my brother’s blue shirt and neckerchief and adjusted them just so before meetings.

Cub Scout

The connection I felt was visceral and I am so grateful for it.

My years as a mother never overlapped with my Mom’s life and those two things — my life with my Mom and my life as a mother — always felt very separate and distinct.  But now, mothering my boys as they grow into older boys, well, I feel the connection and her presence.  It is a very welcome surprise.  There is a thread, not always apparent, that exists that connects my Mom and I as mother and daughter, and now as mothers — my very own motherline.

I hope to learn from her, remember what she taught, allow her to guide me as I walk this path of motherhood on my own.  It can be lonely, motherhood.  Feeling my Mom these past few months has helped.  Eleven years is a long time apart.  I am so glad she’s back and keeping me company.

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15 Wedding Gifts Still In Use After 15 Years of Marriage

So the husband and I celebrated 15 years of marriage last week.  It was lovely, actually.  We spent a weekend in the small town where we got married, showed the boys the opera hall where our ceremony was held,  had a spontaneous vow renewal, enjoyed a fancy dinner and show.  Really lovely.  And, then, you know, it’s Monday again and the chaos of day-to-day life resumed.

As I was emptying the dishwasher, it struck me that I was putting away dishes and glasses and silverware that were gifted to us for our wedding.  I took a quick survey of the things in our lives that we use regularly that we’ve had for 15 years.  Sure enough, there were 15 of them.  BLOG POST.

When you get married, or commit matrimony, as my Dad always used to say, so much of the focus is on the wedding day and not all the days that will follow.  Equally skewed are the things we register for when we get married — fancy things that rarely get used and sit tucked away in their original packaging.  I took some flak for not registering for china or silver, but I don’t regret it for an instant.  I love to use these things and I love that they’ve been part of our day-to-day lives for fifteen years.

What better gift to give than one that gets used?  Think about that, brides-to-be, as you prepare for your own wedding.  My advice to you is to spend as much time thinking about the marriage as the wedding.  And grateful thanks to all who gifted us these things.  We think of you often!