It is very unlikely that A. A. Milne had read Henry David Thoreau’s Transcendental writings or followed them when he was writing Winnie the Pooh and The House at Pooh Corner. It is also unlikely that Milne in writing simple stories for his son ever intended to create a guidebook for living the perfect Transcendental life. Winnie the Pooh is a character who is never exactly right, exactly wrong, or exactly sure of his stance on any level of existence(Arbaugh-Twitty 1). Pooh lives by simple means and by simple rules, and his lifestyle can be contrasted with the lifestyles of his friends Rabbit, Tigger, Piglet, Owl, and Eeyore. Winnie the Pooh is a Transcendentalist and is an impeccable example for anyone who wants to live a happy and harmonious life with him or herself and nature, free from needless worry and materialism.
Thoreau, just like Pooh, lived alone in the woods with quite a few friends not far but not overly close. He lived frugally; he ate only what he caught or grew for himself, built his own home, and spent his spare time walking about the forest and studying nature and gaining insight. Pooh never realizes that he is gaining insight, and he may not actually be doing so, but it doesn’t really matter because either way he is innocent and free from complication unlike his friends(Arbaugh-Twitty 1). Pooh is content as long as he visits his friends every so often, has food to eat, and something to hum to entertain himself. Pooh doesn’t worry about planting a garden and gaining materialistic success like his friend Rabbit, nor does he worry about the endless pursuit of useless knowledge like Owl, constant pessimism and depression like Eeyore, or Piglet’s nervous insecurity that comes from not having a grasp on his true self(Arbaugh-Twitty 1).
Confucius once said “to know that we know what we know and that we do not know what we do not know, that is true knowledge”(Thorough 9). Pooh is referred to as “A Bear of Very Little Brain”(Milne 50); and yet his clear and simple thought process gives his plans much more success than Rabbit’s and Owl’s more complicated ideas. Pooh doesn’t have much knowledge at all; however it is Pooh who usually ends up on top(Hoff, Pooh 16). When Eeyore loses his tail Pooh goes out and finds it. First he goes to Owl who babbles on about “customary procedure”(Milne 50) and confuses Pooh with his extensive knowledge of nothing. When Pooh finally goes outside to begin searching with Owl’s plan, he notices that Owl’s bell-rope is actually Eeyore’s tail. Pooh’s naive brilliance always seems to take him farther than Owl’s intelligent ignorance(Arbaugh-Twitty 2). Thoreau had strong dislike for people who have extensive knowledge and yet have no common sense to use it. Useless knowledge is like a luxury that has no place in the natural, spiritual, and intelligent world of the forest. Owl lives in luxurious knowledge, but his spirituality is no where near Pooh’s. Pooh is poor in knowledge but rich in wisdom. Owl is a member of what Thoreau calls “that seemingly wealthy but most terribly impoverished class of all”(Arbaugh-Twitty 14).
Eeyore’s knowledge is for the sake of complaining about something(Hoff, Pooh 16). He is a pessimist and is a constant dark cloud over everyone else’s sunny day. He is constantly pondering and contemplating and the only answers that he finds are negative. “Sometimes he [thinks] sadly to himself, ‘why?’ and sometimes he [thinks] ‘wherefore?’ and sometimes he [thinks] ‘inasmuch as which?’- and sometimes he [doesn’t] quite know what he [is] thinking about”(Milne 45). His constant dark depression is a direct result of his constant thinking about and questioning everything. Eeyore’s attitude toward life gets in the way of wisdom and happiness and prevents any sort of real accomplishment(Hoff, Pooh 16).
In The House at Pooh Corner Rabbit’s cousin Small gets lost and Rabbit spends a large amount of time coming up with search plans. Rabbit’s knowledge is for the sake of appearing clever(Hoff, Pooh 16). He is constantly planning clever and complicated plans, but his schemes never seem to do much good. Pooh comes up with a much simpler plan. His plan isn’t actually successful, but while daydreaming he inadvertently finds Small. Instead of wasting time thinking about the different ways of doing something Pooh just does it. This goes along perfectly with Thoreau’s idea that “[a person] should not play life, or study it merely..., but earnestly live it from beginning to end” (Hoff, Pooh 48). Pooh finds Small with no help from Rabbit’s extravagant planning. If the search had been left to Rabbit and his organization, Small might never have been found.
Pooh’s attitude toward life, like Thoreau’s, seems trivial, immature, and slightly unrealistic, but however childlike and simplistic it is, it is incredibly successful. While in the woods Thoreau and Pooh both live lives free of want. Their lives are full of simple joys, grand thoughts, and lots of friends. Some of Pooh’s friends can even be compared to Thoreau’s, and others can be compared to different groups in society. Owl, the great thinker and genius who never fully expresses himself is Ralph Waldo Emerson. Eeyore, the dark and pessimistic cloud over the peaceful forest who has given up on the world is Hawthorne or Melville(Arbaugh-Twitty 3). Rabbit is similar to the materialistic society which is constantly working and cannot even comprehend of simply doing nothing.
Piglet represents the people who are torn between the worlds of Pooh and Rabbit and are not quite sure where the ideal lies. Piglet is attracted to the natural and more spiritual world of Pooh but he also feels that he should be busy working like Rabbit. More than anything in the world Piglet wants to do what is right, but at the same time he longs for security which is only achieved by constant work and worry(Hoff, Piglet 26). Influenced by Owl’s brain and Eeyore’s pessimism Piglet is confused and a bit lost and ends up going back and forth between each world. Without the constant anxiety Piglet’s life could be the perfect combination of materialism that is necessary to survive in the modern day and the natural spirituality that is a part of every person(Arbaugh-Twitty 4). Piglet is able to embrace the fact that he is very small and use it for the good of others(Hoff, Piglet 50). He accepts that he is not quite as clever as Rabbit or Owl or as simple as Pooh. He simply tries to do the best that he can with what he has, living in a nice medium between the Transcendentalism of Pooh and the materialism of Rabbit.
Pooh never condemns anyone or anything and neither does Thoreau. Thoreau merely points out faults in society, says why he doesn’t agree with them, and offers an alternative solution. He teaches moderation, tolerance, and acceptance. Walden is not so much a handbook to living the perfect Transcendental life as it is a suggestion for an alternative to the materialistic lifestyle(Arbaugh-Twitty 5). Thoreau recognizes that this lifestyle is not for everyone, and the forest needs Rabbits and Owls and Eeyores just as much as it needs Poohs. Winnie the Pooh, like Thoreau, never condemns Rabbit, Owl, or Eeyore; he merely wonders why they are the way they are. He accepts them and their lifestyles and continues living his own life they way that he wants.
The parallels between Winnie the Pooh and Thoreau are unclear at times and yet somehow still strong. Henry David Thoreau’s Walden is timeless, still avidly read over a hundred years after it was written, just as is Winnie The Pooh. Transcendentalism is built upon nature, honesty, simplicity, and love and respect for the self and friends. No one is a closer representation of the Transcendental ideal than Winnie the Pooh(Arbaugh-Twitty 6). Pooh knows many truths that will never come from Owl’s or Rabbit’s brain simply because their minds are filled with self-absorption and materialism. Pooh and the Transcendentalists could change the world if only the Owls and Rabbits of the world would stop studying, working, and worrying long enough to think about what matters and listen to the innate truths that are lying in nature and hidden within the mind behind mounds of materialistic clutter.
12.06.2009
a literary criticism: My Papa's Waltz
Theodore Roethke’s “My Papa’s Waltz” describes the unique relationship between Roethke and his father. Theirs is a relationship combining love and fear—a young boy loves and longs for the approval of his father, but simultaneously cannot escape the harshness that is contained in his father’s love. “My Papa’s Waltz” is not about an innocent dance of a small child with his father, but neither is it an account of blatant child abuse. On the contrary, there is a careful line drawn between these two which is very much influenced by Roethke’s own childhood experiences.
The whiskey on your breath
Could make a small boy dizzy;
But I hung on like death:
Such waltzing was not easy (Roethke 451).
This first stanza contains several words with negative connotations, but the denotations of these words are not necessarily negative. The “whiskey on [his father’s] breath (ibid)” automatically raises suspicion because the link between alcohol and child abuse have recently become widely documented, but when the poem was written in 1948, the connection between these two was essentially unheard-of (Smith 4). At that time, to have a drink was considered completely normal, or perhaps even a sign of masculinity. Roethke couldn’t have possibly imagined writing to an audience that is conditioned to notice even the slightest signs of alcoholism. The whiskey is not what Roethke intended to use as negative in this stanza; instead, “dizzy (Roethke 451)” is intended to be negative. If the boy were made dizzy from dancing, then the word would have the playful meaning it usually has, but instead the dizziness is caused by the father’s breath, implying that the father must be very close to the boy’s face—perhaps yelling, or just speaking in a way that is intimidating.
Next, the word “death” is of course negative, but in the context of “[hanging] on like death (Roethke 451),” a negative connotation simply doesn’t make sense. If a person is scared of dying, then he will hang on “for dear life,” not “like death.” If a person hangs on “like death,” then it is a loose hold, probably relatively limp. A person hanging on “for death” is certainly not in fear of losing his life. The darker side enters with the word “such.” With the absence of the word “such,” the line “such dancing was not easy (Roethke 451)” loses its somber meaning. “Such” implies that Roethke and his father are not doing regular old dancing. This is a different kind of dancing—a more sinister kind of dancing that is rough and relatively frightening for the boy.
We romped until the pans
Slid from the kitchen shelf;
My mother’s countenance
Could not unfrown itself (Roethke 451).
Theodore Roethke grew up in Michigan, where his father and uncle owned a greenhouse business. Roethke worked alongside his father in the greenhouse from a young age, and for that reason had a very unique relationship with his father (ROSENTHAL 263). They enjoyed spending time together, but his father was often a bit “demanding, distant, and cold (Baechler 419).” The waltzing, according to the second stanza, is rowdy and rough. The father so roughly waltzes his son around the kitchen that pans slide off the shelf, and while the mother openly disapproves of the activity she does nothing to stop it. It seems that if the child were being abused, his mother would do something more than just frown.
Even though the mother doesn’t necessarily approve of the disruption of her kitchen, she also doesn’t want to disrupt the father-son bonding that the moment creates (Smith 3). The father has kind of a mixture of tenderness and brutality, and the boy Roethke is both joyful and afraid (ROSENTHAL 264). There might be some amount of apprehension in the mother’s mind, but not enough to make her stop what’s going on. Whatever tensions may be present, the central emotion in this poem is the love, however warped it may be, between the father and son (Baechler 419).
The hand that held my wrist
Was battered on one knuckle;
At every step you missed
My right ear scraped a buckle (Roethke 451).
The third stanza, without correct background information, is misleading as to Roethke’s intent. A hand that is “battered on one knuckle” probably implies that the person to whom the hand belongs is a tough and rowdy person, probably gets into fights fairly often and wouldn’t be opposed to occasionally beating his child or wife. For the average person, this stereotype is probably true, but that is not the case with this father, Otto Roethke. Otto Roethke was “a Prussian through and through (ROSENTHAL 264).” He was manly, strong, and firm. He worked hard every day in his very successful greenhouse business to provide for his family. He probably did have various bruises and scrapes, all from working outdoors. Theodore Roethke always viewed his father as “the man who made the flowers grow… the man who established law and enforced it (ROSENTHAL 264).” Otto Roethke was firm, certainly, but a child-beater he was not.
Theodore Roethke’s account of his “right ear [scraping] a buckle (Roethke 451)” is by no means proof of beating. Just about any person with a normal childhood can remember standing on the tops of his or her parent’s feet, who would then walk awkwardly around while the child clung to his parent’s hands or held fistfuls of his parent’s shirt. In such a position, the boy’s head would be waist-level, so that whenever the father “missed [a step](Roethke 451)” or lost his balance, the boy’s ear would “[scrape] a buckle” on his father’s belt(Smith 3). Although this moment of son waltzing with Papa is without a doubt a positive memory for Roethke, there is also something vaguely frightening about it. The whiskey breath, dizzying speed, the powerful father who cannot be criticized by the mother, and the noisy, beating “romp(Roethke 451)” of the waltz all combine to create an activity that is fun and exhilarating because it is somewhat frightening(Smith 4).
You beat time on my head
With a palm caked hard by dirt,
Then waltzed me off to bed
Still clinging to your shirt (Roethke 451).
The fourth and final stanza contains the lines that confirm for many the abusive nature of “My Papa’s Waltz,” as well as the lines that confirm for many its innocence. Many make the assertion that to place the word “beat” in a narrative involving a child without question implies beating the child. This cannot, however, be true because of the direct object “time.” Roethke’s father was beating time, keeping rhythm, and certainly not beating his son. To ignore an intentionally placed direct object is entirely absurd. The father’s hand “caked hard by dirt” only further reinforces the fact that Otto Roethke was a hard-working, responsible, good father who only wanted to enjoy a little time with his son before sending him off to bed. He doesn’t even take time to clean up because he wants to enjoy a few minutes with his son doing something really fun. It’s almost time for bed, so the father does everything he can to get his son riled up rather than calmed down for sleep (Smith 2).
The father’s tight hold on his son’s wrists is mirrored by the son “clinging to [the father’s] shirt (Roethke 451),” giving the image of a fatherly power than can’t be resisted, but also a child that doesn’t want to resist (Smith 5). The father’s power is kept in check by his desire to maintain an intimacy with his son. In the same way that whiskey on the father’s breath would have been unimportant in 1948, the fact that he “[waltzes his son] off to bed (Roethke 451)” is even more noticeable as an extraordinary moment of connection (Smith 5). After beating his child, a father might carry him off to bed, and after being beaten, a child might cling to his father’s shirt; however, these two would more than likely not both occur. Both actions signify an attachment, but in the case of an unhealthy relationship although both might be attached, only one person needs to give signs of such attachment. For these reasons it is clear the father and son have just had a very fun and loving, though perhaps a bit frightening, experience.
While there is no evidence in “My Papa’s Waltz” to suggest actual beating, there are many details that suggest a kind of danger and a hint of underlying violence (Smith 5). Otto Roethke was an honest but rough man, and his relationship with his son was both tender and frightening. While Theodore Roethke’s father would never intentionally harm him, he did have a sort of tough love, and Roethke had an appreciation for his father’s violent affection. “My Papa’s Waltz” is a fantastic poem that effectively shows the fine line between actual danger and exhilarating terror.
The whiskey on your breath
Could make a small boy dizzy;
But I hung on like death:
Such waltzing was not easy (Roethke 451).
This first stanza contains several words with negative connotations, but the denotations of these words are not necessarily negative. The “whiskey on [his father’s] breath (ibid)” automatically raises suspicion because the link between alcohol and child abuse have recently become widely documented, but when the poem was written in 1948, the connection between these two was essentially unheard-of (Smith 4). At that time, to have a drink was considered completely normal, or perhaps even a sign of masculinity. Roethke couldn’t have possibly imagined writing to an audience that is conditioned to notice even the slightest signs of alcoholism. The whiskey is not what Roethke intended to use as negative in this stanza; instead, “dizzy (Roethke 451)” is intended to be negative. If the boy were made dizzy from dancing, then the word would have the playful meaning it usually has, but instead the dizziness is caused by the father’s breath, implying that the father must be very close to the boy’s face—perhaps yelling, or just speaking in a way that is intimidating.
Next, the word “death” is of course negative, but in the context of “[hanging] on like death (Roethke 451),” a negative connotation simply doesn’t make sense. If a person is scared of dying, then he will hang on “for dear life,” not “like death.” If a person hangs on “like death,” then it is a loose hold, probably relatively limp. A person hanging on “for death” is certainly not in fear of losing his life. The darker side enters with the word “such.” With the absence of the word “such,” the line “such dancing was not easy (Roethke 451)” loses its somber meaning. “Such” implies that Roethke and his father are not doing regular old dancing. This is a different kind of dancing—a more sinister kind of dancing that is rough and relatively frightening for the boy.
We romped until the pans
Slid from the kitchen shelf;
My mother’s countenance
Could not unfrown itself (Roethke 451).
Theodore Roethke grew up in Michigan, where his father and uncle owned a greenhouse business. Roethke worked alongside his father in the greenhouse from a young age, and for that reason had a very unique relationship with his father (ROSENTHAL 263). They enjoyed spending time together, but his father was often a bit “demanding, distant, and cold (Baechler 419).” The waltzing, according to the second stanza, is rowdy and rough. The father so roughly waltzes his son around the kitchen that pans slide off the shelf, and while the mother openly disapproves of the activity she does nothing to stop it. It seems that if the child were being abused, his mother would do something more than just frown.
Even though the mother doesn’t necessarily approve of the disruption of her kitchen, she also doesn’t want to disrupt the father-son bonding that the moment creates (Smith 3). The father has kind of a mixture of tenderness and brutality, and the boy Roethke is both joyful and afraid (ROSENTHAL 264). There might be some amount of apprehension in the mother’s mind, but not enough to make her stop what’s going on. Whatever tensions may be present, the central emotion in this poem is the love, however warped it may be, between the father and son (Baechler 419).
The hand that held my wrist
Was battered on one knuckle;
At every step you missed
My right ear scraped a buckle (Roethke 451).
The third stanza, without correct background information, is misleading as to Roethke’s intent. A hand that is “battered on one knuckle” probably implies that the person to whom the hand belongs is a tough and rowdy person, probably gets into fights fairly often and wouldn’t be opposed to occasionally beating his child or wife. For the average person, this stereotype is probably true, but that is not the case with this father, Otto Roethke. Otto Roethke was “a Prussian through and through (ROSENTHAL 264).” He was manly, strong, and firm. He worked hard every day in his very successful greenhouse business to provide for his family. He probably did have various bruises and scrapes, all from working outdoors. Theodore Roethke always viewed his father as “the man who made the flowers grow… the man who established law and enforced it (ROSENTHAL 264).” Otto Roethke was firm, certainly, but a child-beater he was not.
Theodore Roethke’s account of his “right ear [scraping] a buckle (Roethke 451)” is by no means proof of beating. Just about any person with a normal childhood can remember standing on the tops of his or her parent’s feet, who would then walk awkwardly around while the child clung to his parent’s hands or held fistfuls of his parent’s shirt. In such a position, the boy’s head would be waist-level, so that whenever the father “missed [a step](Roethke 451)” or lost his balance, the boy’s ear would “[scrape] a buckle” on his father’s belt(Smith 3). Although this moment of son waltzing with Papa is without a doubt a positive memory for Roethke, there is also something vaguely frightening about it. The whiskey breath, dizzying speed, the powerful father who cannot be criticized by the mother, and the noisy, beating “romp(Roethke 451)” of the waltz all combine to create an activity that is fun and exhilarating because it is somewhat frightening(Smith 4).
You beat time on my head
With a palm caked hard by dirt,
Then waltzed me off to bed
Still clinging to your shirt (Roethke 451).
The fourth and final stanza contains the lines that confirm for many the abusive nature of “My Papa’s Waltz,” as well as the lines that confirm for many its innocence. Many make the assertion that to place the word “beat” in a narrative involving a child without question implies beating the child. This cannot, however, be true because of the direct object “time.” Roethke’s father was beating time, keeping rhythm, and certainly not beating his son. To ignore an intentionally placed direct object is entirely absurd. The father’s hand “caked hard by dirt” only further reinforces the fact that Otto Roethke was a hard-working, responsible, good father who only wanted to enjoy a little time with his son before sending him off to bed. He doesn’t even take time to clean up because he wants to enjoy a few minutes with his son doing something really fun. It’s almost time for bed, so the father does everything he can to get his son riled up rather than calmed down for sleep (Smith 2).
The father’s tight hold on his son’s wrists is mirrored by the son “clinging to [the father’s] shirt (Roethke 451),” giving the image of a fatherly power than can’t be resisted, but also a child that doesn’t want to resist (Smith 5). The father’s power is kept in check by his desire to maintain an intimacy with his son. In the same way that whiskey on the father’s breath would have been unimportant in 1948, the fact that he “[waltzes his son] off to bed (Roethke 451)” is even more noticeable as an extraordinary moment of connection (Smith 5). After beating his child, a father might carry him off to bed, and after being beaten, a child might cling to his father’s shirt; however, these two would more than likely not both occur. Both actions signify an attachment, but in the case of an unhealthy relationship although both might be attached, only one person needs to give signs of such attachment. For these reasons it is clear the father and son have just had a very fun and loving, though perhaps a bit frightening, experience.
While there is no evidence in “My Papa’s Waltz” to suggest actual beating, there are many details that suggest a kind of danger and a hint of underlying violence (Smith 5). Otto Roethke was an honest but rough man, and his relationship with his son was both tender and frightening. While Theodore Roethke’s father would never intentionally harm him, he did have a sort of tough love, and Roethke had an appreciation for his father’s violent affection. “My Papa’s Waltz” is a fantastic poem that effectively shows the fine line between actual danger and exhilarating terror.
12.03.2009
it's been two years today
If there’s one person in the world who ever truly loved me, it was my Grampa. He loved me, and I knew it. I never doubted it. He thought I was great, smart, beautiful, and he loved my hugs. He always told me that I gave the best hugs in the world, and he told me I was the prettiest girl he ever saw. Grampy once asked that, if reincarnation existed, if I would wait for him to come back and grow up so that he could marry me, because I was just so beautiful. I never doubted any of his compliments, because he had no reason to lie to me. My parents could compliment me, but I’d always think that they had to say those things because I was their daughter. And with other people, no matter how much I wanted to believe them, I’d always think they that had some ulterior motives for complimenting me. But Grampy? He had six children, 13 grandchildren, five great-grandchildren, and countless friends… what possible reason could he have for going out of his way to give me a big head? None. He really thought the world of me, and I really thought the world of him.
Even without the compliments that followed, I used to love to give him hugs. He thought that I was the greatest hugger ever, but the fact of the matter is that I learned from the best. His hugs were strong and lasted for a good twenty seconds. He’d squeeze, he’d kiss my cheek, and hold on tight. He was so strong. Even when he was old and weak, his hugs were still strong. He always smelled good, like soap and old man’s cologne… not exactly a smell I would expect to enjoy, so maybe it was just a good smell because it was his. Everything about that man was filled with love. His voice, his smile. When he’d see me walk in the door, or when he came to visit and he saw me, his eyes and smile would light up, he’d be so excited to see me. “Sarah!” I wish you could hear his voice. So strong, deep, and loving. Shaky towards the end, but still full of life and love. If he was sitting, he’d instantly get up and come over to give me a big strong hug. Towards the end it’d be difficult for him to get up, but he’d do it. He’d always get up to hug me.
Yeah, I believe in Heaven. He’s there. He was a man of faith, of great faith, and now I have faith that he is with Jesus. He’s happy. He doesn’t hurt anymore. His head may still be bald, but it’s not covered with band-aids from having cancer scraped off. He no longer has scabs peeling and bleeding from his constant excruciating treatments. He doesn’t hurt anymore. He’s rejoicing in Heaven over his Savior, who he loved in life and loves now. The One who made him capable of loving me so much. I saw him when he was dying. I saw him when he couldn’t get up anymore, when he couldn’t smile and say my name.
It’s been a couple years, but I cry about him still, on occasion. I don’t cry because he died, but because I don’t know if I can wait another fifty or sixty years until I see him again. He was an incredible man and I’m thankful every day for all the time that I did have to spend with him. He hurt so much, and I’m glad, with every piece of myself, that he’s happy now; and I look forward to the day when I’ll see him again.
Even without the compliments that followed, I used to love to give him hugs. He thought that I was the greatest hugger ever, but the fact of the matter is that I learned from the best. His hugs were strong and lasted for a good twenty seconds. He’d squeeze, he’d kiss my cheek, and hold on tight. He was so strong. Even when he was old and weak, his hugs were still strong. He always smelled good, like soap and old man’s cologne… not exactly a smell I would expect to enjoy, so maybe it was just a good smell because it was his. Everything about that man was filled with love. His voice, his smile. When he’d see me walk in the door, or when he came to visit and he saw me, his eyes and smile would light up, he’d be so excited to see me. “Sarah!” I wish you could hear his voice. So strong, deep, and loving. Shaky towards the end, but still full of life and love. If he was sitting, he’d instantly get up and come over to give me a big strong hug. Towards the end it’d be difficult for him to get up, but he’d do it. He’d always get up to hug me.
Yeah, I believe in Heaven. He’s there. He was a man of faith, of great faith, and now I have faith that he is with Jesus. He’s happy. He doesn’t hurt anymore. His head may still be bald, but it’s not covered with band-aids from having cancer scraped off. He no longer has scabs peeling and bleeding from his constant excruciating treatments. He doesn’t hurt anymore. He’s rejoicing in Heaven over his Savior, who he loved in life and loves now. The One who made him capable of loving me so much. I saw him when he was dying. I saw him when he couldn’t get up anymore, when he couldn’t smile and say my name.
It’s been a couple years, but I cry about him still, on occasion. I don’t cry because he died, but because I don’t know if I can wait another fifty or sixty years until I see him again. He was an incredible man and I’m thankful every day for all the time that I did have to spend with him. He hurt so much, and I’m glad, with every piece of myself, that he’s happy now; and I look forward to the day when I’ll see him again.
You didn't really think this one through, did you?
On my way home from Starbucks today I saw a bumper sticker on a car that said:
If you can read this, thank a teacher. If you're reading this in English, thank a solider.
At first glance I thought "okay, it's just somebody who loves America and likes to show off their patriotism." But then... wait... "that doesn't even make sense! At ALL!" English has been the language of the world for longer than America has even been a huge power. The British Empire spread English all over the rest of Europe and into Asia and Africa hundreds of years ago. English is going to be what things are written in...almost no matter what.
The last time that the world... or, okay, let's focus on America... was in "danger" of POSSIBLY being taken over by another country that would have led to the speaking of another language was about 60-70 years ago. World War II. Hitler's Nazi Germany has been the ONLY attempt to take over the world in such a way that could have potentially decreased the speaking of English. And... Mr. Bumper Sticker... in case you didn't notice, most of the people who stopped that from happening are dead. That was a long time ago. The ones who are still living are VETERANS, not SOLDIERS. SOLDIERS are currently fighting in the Middle East, against people who have absolutely no interest in forcing us to speak another language.
There have been disputes in the USA about whether street signs should be in English and Spanish, for the ever-growing Spanish-speaking minority (soon to be majority), but that hasn't even happened. Street signs may be kept English, but a Spanish speaker can totally choose to put a Spanish bumper sticker on his or her car. So... man with the silly bumper sticker... if you want me to thank a soldier that your bumper sticker is in English, is it because without some soldier YOU would have been raised as a member of the minority in the US? Mr. WASP? Really?
If you can read this, thank a teacher. If you're reading this in English, thank a solider.
At first glance I thought "okay, it's just somebody who loves America and likes to show off their patriotism." But then... wait... "that doesn't even make sense! At ALL!" English has been the language of the world for longer than America has even been a huge power. The British Empire spread English all over the rest of Europe and into Asia and Africa hundreds of years ago. English is going to be what things are written in...almost no matter what.
The last time that the world... or, okay, let's focus on America... was in "danger" of POSSIBLY being taken over by another country that would have led to the speaking of another language was about 60-70 years ago. World War II. Hitler's Nazi Germany has been the ONLY attempt to take over the world in such a way that could have potentially decreased the speaking of English. And... Mr. Bumper Sticker... in case you didn't notice, most of the people who stopped that from happening are dead. That was a long time ago. The ones who are still living are VETERANS, not SOLDIERS. SOLDIERS are currently fighting in the Middle East, against people who have absolutely no interest in forcing us to speak another language.
There have been disputes in the USA about whether street signs should be in English and Spanish, for the ever-growing Spanish-speaking minority (soon to be majority), but that hasn't even happened. Street signs may be kept English, but a Spanish speaker can totally choose to put a Spanish bumper sticker on his or her car. So... man with the silly bumper sticker... if you want me to thank a soldier that your bumper sticker is in English, is it because without some soldier YOU would have been raised as a member of the minority in the US? Mr. WASP? Really?
12.02.2009
To Circumcise or not to Circumcise- written Spring 2007
I’ve babysat and been a nanny for the past five or six years, so I’ve changed a lot of diapers and given a lot of baths in my day. It didn’t take me long to notice the difference in genitalia from baby boy to baby boy. Most are circumcised, but a substantial amount are not. Around the time that I noticed the physical difference and therefore realized what “circumcision” really is, I remembered all of the verses that I had read or learned in church or in Bible Class at the Christian school I went to- verses equating “the uncircumcised” with “the unholy.” I started, at a very young age, considering the options that I will one day have as a mother. To circumcise, or not to circumcise? Aside from the fact that God, in the Torah and the Bible, commands the Jewish People be circumcised (or the Muslim people in the Koran), what difference does it make, really?
There are very few people in the world who could make a logical case in favor of female circumcision, more commonly known as Female Genital Mutilation, but male circumcision was adopted into the world as a normal practice ages ago. When a baby boy is born, his parents decide his name, his place of residence, what he eats and drinks, what he wears, and whether or not he is circumcised. Circumcision goes back thousands of years to Ancient Egypt, and is typically an important part of the Jewish and Muslim faiths. In the United States in the early twentieth century, cleanliness became associated with wealth, and a circumcised penis was generally thought to be cleaner. At that time about twenty-five percent of men in the United States were circumcised. In the nineteen-thirties the military began requiring soldiers to be circumcised, and by the nineteen-forties and fifties, nearly all males in the United States were circumcised (Pantley).
If not for religious reasons or requirements for the military, the decision of whether or not to circumcise has often been based on what is considered “normal,” so that the boy will be like his father or like everyone else, to avoid embarrassment. In the mid-twentieth century, studies were commonly twisted to always show the positive elements of circumcision, and never the negative. Many parents thus circumcised their children for religious reasons, many for reasons based on skewed studies, and many parents circumcised their children because it was the normal, accepted thing to do. In recent decades, studies have shown pros and cons of infant circumcision, so now it is in the hands of the parents to decide which pros and which cons are most important. Thirty years ago, almost one-hundred percent of infant boys in the US were circumcised, but that number has decreased to only sixty percent, so favoritism of circumcision is clearly decreasing.
Historically, one of the largest arguments for circumcision was cleanliness. The foreskins of intact penises are susceptible to infections, and an eliminated foreskin will eliminate the problem. The other side of this argument is that simple hygiene just as easily eliminates the problem, and removing the foreskin is essentially expecting and accepting that the boy won’t grow up to have very high personal hygienic standards. It’s not hard to keep an intact penis clean; it just needs to be washed regularly, no different than any other body part.
Another argument in favor of circumcision is that uncircumcised men are three times more likely to get penile cancer than circumcised men (Natural Family Online), but this can easily be combated with studies that show the close relationship between penile cancer and sexual promiscuity. It is true that of the men with penile cancer, more are uncircumcised than circumcised, but most would never have been at risk for the disease if they had never engaged in promiscuous and unprotected activities. Many other diseases are like this, too; people are more susceptible to a disease because of something they can’t control, but the disease would never become an issue if they didn’t do something to prod it along. For example, my grandfather died of lung cancer caused by asbestos poisoning. It was a tragedy, but the asbestos never would have created cancer if my grandfather hadn’t willingly weakened his lungs by smoking cigarettes for many years.
A condition known as Phimosis is a rare but real reason for having a circumcision. When Phimosis is present it is impossible for the foreskin to retract, making infection of the foreskin extremely likely (MedicineNet). When Phimosis is present in an infant, a circumcision is performed and complications are usually avoided; however, when Phimosis happens as an adult, the circumcision procedure is much more painful and complications are much more likely. In the case of an adult who has developed Phimosis, perhaps his parents could be blamed for not circumcising him as an infant, but the condition is so uncommon that treating everyone for it as an infant would be overcautious at best.
Aside from the unlikely, there are no real medical reasons for removing the foreskin; and conversely, there are no real medical reasons not to remove the foreskin. Some parents choose not to have their sons circumcised because of the possibility of their sons retaining painful memories of their circumcisions, but modern medicine now allows for the use of painkillers. Claims have been made that the removal of the foreskin desensitizes the penis, making sexual activities less pleasurable, but studies have offered no proof of this. Some parents hesitate to make a life-changing decision without the consent of their infant, but circumcisions in later life can lead to complications, and making major decisions for an infant is the nature of parenthood.
With the millions of baby boys that are born daily, millions of decisions are constantly being made. To circumcise, or not to circumcise? I don’t know what I’ll do when I have kids. Thankfully, I have plenty of time to decide. Some parents should put more thought into a decision like whether or not to circumcise their son. Other parents should probably put less thought into it, since each option has both valid and invalid arguments. One thing’s for certain: I don’t want my son (in the locker-room setting) to be made fun of over something as insignificant as a foreskin (or lack thereof). Until the majority changes or ceases to matter, parents are probably going to keep having their sons circumcised… even if it makes no medical difference.
There are very few people in the world who could make a logical case in favor of female circumcision, more commonly known as Female Genital Mutilation, but male circumcision was adopted into the world as a normal practice ages ago. When a baby boy is born, his parents decide his name, his place of residence, what he eats and drinks, what he wears, and whether or not he is circumcised. Circumcision goes back thousands of years to Ancient Egypt, and is typically an important part of the Jewish and Muslim faiths. In the United States in the early twentieth century, cleanliness became associated with wealth, and a circumcised penis was generally thought to be cleaner. At that time about twenty-five percent of men in the United States were circumcised. In the nineteen-thirties the military began requiring soldiers to be circumcised, and by the nineteen-forties and fifties, nearly all males in the United States were circumcised (Pantley).
If not for religious reasons or requirements for the military, the decision of whether or not to circumcise has often been based on what is considered “normal,” so that the boy will be like his father or like everyone else, to avoid embarrassment. In the mid-twentieth century, studies were commonly twisted to always show the positive elements of circumcision, and never the negative. Many parents thus circumcised their children for religious reasons, many for reasons based on skewed studies, and many parents circumcised their children because it was the normal, accepted thing to do. In recent decades, studies have shown pros and cons of infant circumcision, so now it is in the hands of the parents to decide which pros and which cons are most important. Thirty years ago, almost one-hundred percent of infant boys in the US were circumcised, but that number has decreased to only sixty percent, so favoritism of circumcision is clearly decreasing.
Historically, one of the largest arguments for circumcision was cleanliness. The foreskins of intact penises are susceptible to infections, and an eliminated foreskin will eliminate the problem. The other side of this argument is that simple hygiene just as easily eliminates the problem, and removing the foreskin is essentially expecting and accepting that the boy won’t grow up to have very high personal hygienic standards. It’s not hard to keep an intact penis clean; it just needs to be washed regularly, no different than any other body part.
Another argument in favor of circumcision is that uncircumcised men are three times more likely to get penile cancer than circumcised men (Natural Family Online), but this can easily be combated with studies that show the close relationship between penile cancer and sexual promiscuity. It is true that of the men with penile cancer, more are uncircumcised than circumcised, but most would never have been at risk for the disease if they had never engaged in promiscuous and unprotected activities. Many other diseases are like this, too; people are more susceptible to a disease because of something they can’t control, but the disease would never become an issue if they didn’t do something to prod it along. For example, my grandfather died of lung cancer caused by asbestos poisoning. It was a tragedy, but the asbestos never would have created cancer if my grandfather hadn’t willingly weakened his lungs by smoking cigarettes for many years.
A condition known as Phimosis is a rare but real reason for having a circumcision. When Phimosis is present it is impossible for the foreskin to retract, making infection of the foreskin extremely likely (MedicineNet). When Phimosis is present in an infant, a circumcision is performed and complications are usually avoided; however, when Phimosis happens as an adult, the circumcision procedure is much more painful and complications are much more likely. In the case of an adult who has developed Phimosis, perhaps his parents could be blamed for not circumcising him as an infant, but the condition is so uncommon that treating everyone for it as an infant would be overcautious at best.
Aside from the unlikely, there are no real medical reasons for removing the foreskin; and conversely, there are no real medical reasons not to remove the foreskin. Some parents choose not to have their sons circumcised because of the possibility of their sons retaining painful memories of their circumcisions, but modern medicine now allows for the use of painkillers. Claims have been made that the removal of the foreskin desensitizes the penis, making sexual activities less pleasurable, but studies have offered no proof of this. Some parents hesitate to make a life-changing decision without the consent of their infant, but circumcisions in later life can lead to complications, and making major decisions for an infant is the nature of parenthood.
With the millions of baby boys that are born daily, millions of decisions are constantly being made. To circumcise, or not to circumcise? I don’t know what I’ll do when I have kids. Thankfully, I have plenty of time to decide. Some parents should put more thought into a decision like whether or not to circumcise their son. Other parents should probably put less thought into it, since each option has both valid and invalid arguments. One thing’s for certain: I don’t want my son (in the locker-room setting) to be made fun of over something as insignificant as a foreskin (or lack thereof). Until the majority changes or ceases to matter, parents are probably going to keep having their sons circumcised… even if it makes no medical difference.
12.01.2009
Flying with Julia Doten
Much of my initial intrigue with Julia Doten, her mother, and her daughter stemmed about ten years ago when I met her daughter Ripley, who has been my best friend for many years. I believe that the most common response to “Hi, my name is Ripley” is simply “really?” My best friend’s name is Ripley Elizabeth Doten. When I asked Ripley, at the age of eight, where her name came from, she replied “it was my grandmother’s name.” That didn’t make sense. As unusual as a name like that is, it would have been exceedingly more unusual sixty years ago. Eventually the truth came out that although her grandmother was called Ripley, it was actually her middle name, taken from her own mother’s maiden name.
In the 1960s there were a grand total of twelve women aviation instructors in all of New England, and Ripley Miller was one of them. “Mom never let anyone tell her what to do,” says Julia. Ripley balanced the tasks of raising a family, working as a pilot, promoting women in aviation, and being a leader in the International Organization of Women Pilots. Julia clearly inherited her mother’s ambitious nature, for she has accomplished a number of things, including becoming a published author. In her book A Long White Scarf, Julia recounts the story of her mother’s life, combining it with personal childhood memories. She tells a brief story about her last encounter with her mother, “she opened her top drawer, and gave me a small box which contained a charm for my charm bracelet, engraved with my birth date from nine days ago. She explained that it had taken her a while to find the right one, and then have it engraved. I think I hugged her. Then she left for work” (Doten 130). Julia and her mother didn’t say goodbye.
Ripley worked delivering cargo out of Boston, and that night she never came home. Her plane went down over Boston Harbor, but it was several days before the plane and Ripley were found (Doten 131). Because of the days of searching, Julia and her siblings never really got a period of mourning. They didn’t want to cry while there was still hope, and by the time the search was over too much time had already passed. Julia went back to high school and on with life.
Julia says that when she was a little girl, she wanted to be a ballerina when she grew up. Next she wanted to be an archeologist, and then an architect. In high school, Julia took lots of drafting classes, feeling safe following in the tracks of her father’s civil engineering business. When she finished high school, she went to work for an insurance company, which wasn’t too gripping or thrilling, but it was a job. After a few years, Julia went out and got her Pilot’s License, knowing that her mother would have taught her to fly, had she been able to. She also has worked for her father’s civil engineering business, designing parts of houses, and parts of different locations around her hometown of Wilmington, MA. She tells me that, whether out of fear or comfort, it always seemed easiest to follow in her parents’ footsteps (Doten, Julia).
While it may have been easier to do what her parents had done, Julia has managed quite a few of her own accomplishments. She modeled occasionally, and after getting married went to Northern Essex Community College to study business. She is now a published author. Modeling and writing were and are her own things, separate from her parents. She says that writing the book about her mother was therapeutic; it was a way of putting all of those memories in order, and a way of dealing with emotions that had been left unexamined.
I have been told again and again by the younger Ripley about her mother Julia’s constant need to know where she is, all the time. To an eighteen year old girl this can be irritating, but there are reasons for what seems to Ripley to be paranoia. Julia never got a chance to say goodbye to her mother, and on top of that, her mother was missing for several days. In the constant coming and going of daily life, telling your family where you’re going and saying “goodbye” every time you leave the house can easily become a nuisance, but to Julia it’s extremely important. “Just say goodbye before you leave,” is all Julia asks.
“I asked God to never again let someone important to me die without saying goodbye” says Julia. This must have been racing through her head this past September when her brother told her “Dad crashed his plane and it’s really bad” (Doten, Julia). Julia’s father, my best friend’s grandfather, like his wife also an accomplished pilot, had crashed his plane. Julia says that for her, when a crisis happens, the only things to do are believe that everything will be alright, and keep busy. This must come from being a mother, I think. You have to keep smiling, if only for the sake of your children. She was right in believing that everything would be okay; he is okay. Ken Miller, her father, is alive and getting better daily, thanks in no small part to the constant care and attention from his daughter, affectionately known by him as “Julie.”
Julia’s mother, Ripley, worked in a highly male-dominated profession, and according to Julia, would never let anyone tell her what she could or couldn’t do. Ripley’s daughter, Julia, has continued her mother’s tradition. She wanted to be on the cover of a magazine, and she did it. She wanted to be a mother, and she did it. She wanted to write a book, and she did it. Julia Doten. A daughter, a model, a student, a civil engineer, an author, and the mother of my best friend. Through her life, Julia has been many different things to many different people, but perhaps the most important thing to consider is this: what does Julia Doten think of herself? She says “I think of myself as an artist.” She may not be as quite an accomplished pilot as her parents, but Julia has flown, even soared with everything she has set her mind to. It is clear to me that, whether in parenting, modeling, engineering, or writing, Julia has always made an effort to create something beautiful, and she has thus far been extremely successful.
In the 1960s there were a grand total of twelve women aviation instructors in all of New England, and Ripley Miller was one of them. “Mom never let anyone tell her what to do,” says Julia. Ripley balanced the tasks of raising a family, working as a pilot, promoting women in aviation, and being a leader in the International Organization of Women Pilots. Julia clearly inherited her mother’s ambitious nature, for she has accomplished a number of things, including becoming a published author. In her book A Long White Scarf, Julia recounts the story of her mother’s life, combining it with personal childhood memories. She tells a brief story about her last encounter with her mother, “she opened her top drawer, and gave me a small box which contained a charm for my charm bracelet, engraved with my birth date from nine days ago. She explained that it had taken her a while to find the right one, and then have it engraved. I think I hugged her. Then she left for work” (Doten 130). Julia and her mother didn’t say goodbye.
Ripley worked delivering cargo out of Boston, and that night she never came home. Her plane went down over Boston Harbor, but it was several days before the plane and Ripley were found (Doten 131). Because of the days of searching, Julia and her siblings never really got a period of mourning. They didn’t want to cry while there was still hope, and by the time the search was over too much time had already passed. Julia went back to high school and on with life.
Julia says that when she was a little girl, she wanted to be a ballerina when she grew up. Next she wanted to be an archeologist, and then an architect. In high school, Julia took lots of drafting classes, feeling safe following in the tracks of her father’s civil engineering business. When she finished high school, she went to work for an insurance company, which wasn’t too gripping or thrilling, but it was a job. After a few years, Julia went out and got her Pilot’s License, knowing that her mother would have taught her to fly, had she been able to. She also has worked for her father’s civil engineering business, designing parts of houses, and parts of different locations around her hometown of Wilmington, MA. She tells me that, whether out of fear or comfort, it always seemed easiest to follow in her parents’ footsteps (Doten, Julia).
While it may have been easier to do what her parents had done, Julia has managed quite a few of her own accomplishments. She modeled occasionally, and after getting married went to Northern Essex Community College to study business. She is now a published author. Modeling and writing were and are her own things, separate from her parents. She says that writing the book about her mother was therapeutic; it was a way of putting all of those memories in order, and a way of dealing with emotions that had been left unexamined.
I have been told again and again by the younger Ripley about her mother Julia’s constant need to know where she is, all the time. To an eighteen year old girl this can be irritating, but there are reasons for what seems to Ripley to be paranoia. Julia never got a chance to say goodbye to her mother, and on top of that, her mother was missing for several days. In the constant coming and going of daily life, telling your family where you’re going and saying “goodbye” every time you leave the house can easily become a nuisance, but to Julia it’s extremely important. “Just say goodbye before you leave,” is all Julia asks.
“I asked God to never again let someone important to me die without saying goodbye” says Julia. This must have been racing through her head this past September when her brother told her “Dad crashed his plane and it’s really bad” (Doten, Julia). Julia’s father, my best friend’s grandfather, like his wife also an accomplished pilot, had crashed his plane. Julia says that for her, when a crisis happens, the only things to do are believe that everything will be alright, and keep busy. This must come from being a mother, I think. You have to keep smiling, if only for the sake of your children. She was right in believing that everything would be okay; he is okay. Ken Miller, her father, is alive and getting better daily, thanks in no small part to the constant care and attention from his daughter, affectionately known by him as “Julie.”
Julia’s mother, Ripley, worked in a highly male-dominated profession, and according to Julia, would never let anyone tell her what she could or couldn’t do. Ripley’s daughter, Julia, has continued her mother’s tradition. She wanted to be on the cover of a magazine, and she did it. She wanted to be a mother, and she did it. She wanted to write a book, and she did it. Julia Doten. A daughter, a model, a student, a civil engineer, an author, and the mother of my best friend. Through her life, Julia has been many different things to many different people, but perhaps the most important thing to consider is this: what does Julia Doten think of herself? She says “I think of myself as an artist.” She may not be as quite an accomplished pilot as her parents, but Julia has flown, even soared with everything she has set her mind to. It is clear to me that, whether in parenting, modeling, engineering, or writing, Julia has always made an effort to create something beautiful, and she has thus far been extremely successful.
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