Life as a grownup often seems like an asylum filled with inmates gone wild. For some grownups, the inmates come disguised as their children.
Now, when inmates take over an asylum those in authority have one of two choices -- take it back, or run for cover.
But at times, life in the asylum becomes so tiring for mom and dads that they've come up with a third choice for dealing with the inmates.
They become one of them.
It's somewhat like the Stockholm Syndrome -- when hostages sympathize with their captors and begin siding with them.
That's when things get ugly.
I recently had the pleasure of seeing this firsthand when I decided to treat myself to a manicure and pedicure at a nearby salon. I had anticipated a relaxing afternoon where my most important decision would be what color I wanted my fingernails and toenails painted.
Instead it turned into two hours of sheer torture orchestrated by an 11-year-old boy who held the salon full of patrons at bay while he waited for his mother, grandmother and their friend to finish their appointments.
His antics included skating up and down the row of pedicure stations blowing kisses to the women having their nails done. Is it really necessary for children to own shoes with little wheels on them?
He also had a voice that had the potential of rupturing the eardrum of every dog within a mile. And he used it to make the demands necessary to free his hostages:
"I wanna go to McDonald's! I wanna go to McDonald's! I wanna go to McDonald's!" he screeched.
At one point he went outside and began licking the glass door for everyone inside to see.
The owner shot him a look that said "Stop that, you brat!"
But instead of reprimanding the boy, the three women who brought him to the salon laughed and celebrated his "cuteness."
Then, as if an afterthought, the mother said, "Baby, stop that. I'll take you to McDonald's when we're done here."
Well now, isn't that an example of Perfect Parenting 101! Celebrate and reward bad behavior. Give in to your kids' demands!
I don't know about you, but every time I'm rewarded for something, I tend to do more of it.
Well, this kid was no rocket scientist, but since he'd been promised a trip to McDonald's for making his mom laugh, he kept looking for ways to get even more attention while continuing to terrorize everyone in sight.
When I was his age, just one look from my grandmother would be enough to shut me up. She was barely 5 feet tall in high heels. But I loved her dearly and respected her because she wasn't afraid to be a grownup around me. Yet, my grandma never laid a hand on me or raised her voice. She didn't have to. If I pushed too much for attention, she let me know that wasn't necessary to win her affection. Her love was unconditional.
Children of all ages crave unconditional love. When they act out and demand attention, what they're asking for is love, not submission.
So, instead of a trip to McDonald's, reward your children with something that might surprise them ... a hug. Letting them share things that interest you will bring you closer. But for the sake of everyone else in the room, don't bring an 11-year-old boy to a nail salon where he'll be bored out of his mind.
Parents, it's time to take back the asylum.
Saturday, June 03, 2006
Friday, June 02, 2006
Katrina’s Ground Zero: Nine Months Later
Back To 'Normal' After The Storm
WAVELAND, Miss. -- When I told friends and coworkers I’d be spending Memorial Day weekend in Waveland and Bay St. Louis, Miss., their blank stares said it all. I might well have announced I was visiting Saturn for a holiday picnic on one of its outer rings.
It was pretty much the same reaction the media gave to both of those towns in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina last August. While neighboring cities like New Orleans, La., Biloxi and Gulfport, Miss., and Mobile, Ala. were getting all the attention, Waveland and Bay St. Louis were practically ignored.
Yet on the morning of Aug. 29, 2006, the tiny towns of Waveland and neighboring Bay St. Louis were ground zero for Hurricane Katrina. It was the same spot where, in 1969, category 5 Hurricane Camille came ashore.
As Katrina’s eye passed over Waveland last summer, it was hard to imagine that in less than six hours its damage would far surpass Camille’s devastation. Homes that had withstood Camille’s might were toppled by Katrina’s waves and swallowed by the Gulf of Mexico.
All that remained along seven miles of shoreline once lined by majestic antebellum homes were the toppled pilings on which they’d been built. Nine months later, what remains looks like an abandoned game of giant pickup sticks.
It wasn’t until CNN’s Anderson Cooper and Kathleen Koch -- a former resident of Bay St. Louis -- started reporting from there that the world knew the plight these towns had suffered.
In October, NBC’s Brian Williams visited the Ferry/Smolensky family, who have lived in the area for generations. As he walked down the completely devastated Coleman Avenue, the former heart of downtown Waveland, he asked Jane and Louie Smolensky why they were staying.
“We've been here since ’45,” said Jane Smolensky. “This has been our family home since then, and I'll always hopefully have it.”
I had the privilege of spending Memorial Day weekend with the Ferry/Smolensky family, a close-knit group of people who have been my friends for nearly nine years.
I attended a sunset gathering on the beach where services are held every Sunday morning in front of the slab that was once St. Clare’s Church. I heard Mayor Tommy Longo tell the story of how money from donations is tied up in so much bureaucracy that it still hasn’t gotten to the people who need it most.
I listened to stories of frustration. It seems that everyone you meet wants to tell you what it was like during ‘the storm.’ It’s a kind of therapy for those who stayed behind. But Katrina's forgotten victims don’t feel sorry for themselves and their anger, if there is any, is drowned out by their hospitality.
There’s nothing like a shrimp boil and an ice cold beer to help you forget you're surrounded by FEMA trailers and the shell of a house that's still months away from being called home again.
I lived in a FEMA trailer for two days and learned how to never, ever feel sorry for myself.
When I returned from my trip, everyone wanted to know if everything on the Gulf Coast of Mississippi was back to normal after Katrina.
Normal? Picture this.
Go stand on any corner of Dixie Highway in Fort Lauderdale and face east. Now, imagine all the buildings in between are gone and through the unobstructed view you can see the waves lapping on the shore of the Atlantic Ocean over two miles away.
That’s what normal looks like in Waveland and Bay St. Louis, Miss.
That’s what a 36-foot storm surge can do – wipe away what once was your life in an instant.
And but for the grace of God, luck, or a wobble in another direction, that’s what any city along the eastern and Gulf coasts of the United States could have looked like after Katrina – after any major hurricane for that matter.
It’s a picture we should all keep front and center in our minds as we enter hurricane season 2006.
Let's not forget that just four days before it wiped parts of the Gulf coast off the map, Katrina made landfall as a category 1 hurricane near the Miami-Dade and Broward County line.
Nine months after Katrina, almost nothing remains of Waveland and Bay St. Louis. Nothing is the same as it was. Those who live there will tell you that nothing will ever be the same. Nothing, that is, except the spirit of the people who have chosen to stay -- a spirit that offers a beacon of hope among the ruins.
As we enter yet another hurricane season, may the stories and the people of Waveland and Bay St. Louis offer a warning to those who have grown complacent and lost respect for these powerful storms.
And should we ever have to face their plight, may we face our challenges with the same courage, grace and determination as the residents of the forgotten towns of Katrina’s ground zero.
WAVELAND, Miss. -- When I told friends and coworkers I’d be spending Memorial Day weekend in Waveland and Bay St. Louis, Miss., their blank stares said it all. I might well have announced I was visiting Saturn for a holiday picnic on one of its outer rings.
It was pretty much the same reaction the media gave to both of those towns in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina last August. While neighboring cities like New Orleans, La., Biloxi and Gulfport, Miss., and Mobile, Ala. were getting all the attention, Waveland and Bay St. Louis were practically ignored.
Yet on the morning of Aug. 29, 2006, the tiny towns of Waveland and neighboring Bay St. Louis were ground zero for Hurricane Katrina. It was the same spot where, in 1969, category 5 Hurricane Camille came ashore.
As Katrina’s eye passed over Waveland last summer, it was hard to imagine that in less than six hours its damage would far surpass Camille’s devastation. Homes that had withstood Camille’s might were toppled by Katrina’s waves and swallowed by the Gulf of Mexico.
All that remained along seven miles of shoreline once lined by majestic antebellum homes were the toppled pilings on which they’d been built. Nine months later, what remains looks like an abandoned game of giant pickup sticks.
It wasn’t until CNN’s Anderson Cooper and Kathleen Koch -- a former resident of Bay St. Louis -- started reporting from there that the world knew the plight these towns had suffered.
In October, NBC’s Brian Williams visited the Ferry/Smolensky family, who have lived in the area for generations. As he walked down the completely devastated Coleman Avenue, the former heart of downtown Waveland, he asked Jane and Louie Smolensky why they were staying.
“We've been here since ’45,” said Jane Smolensky. “This has been our family home since then, and I'll always hopefully have it.”
I had the privilege of spending Memorial Day weekend with the Ferry/Smolensky family, a close-knit group of people who have been my friends for nearly nine years.
I attended a sunset gathering on the beach where services are held every Sunday morning in front of the slab that was once St. Clare’s Church. I heard Mayor Tommy Longo tell the story of how money from donations is tied up in so much bureaucracy that it still hasn’t gotten to the people who need it most.
I listened to stories of frustration. It seems that everyone you meet wants to tell you what it was like during ‘the storm.’ It’s a kind of therapy for those who stayed behind. But Katrina's forgotten victims don’t feel sorry for themselves and their anger, if there is any, is drowned out by their hospitality.
There’s nothing like a shrimp boil and an ice cold beer to help you forget you're surrounded by FEMA trailers and the shell of a house that's still months away from being called home again.
I lived in a FEMA trailer for two days and learned how to never, ever feel sorry for myself.
When I returned from my trip, everyone wanted to know if everything on the Gulf Coast of Mississippi was back to normal after Katrina.
Normal? Picture this.
Go stand on any corner of Dixie Highway in Fort Lauderdale and face east. Now, imagine all the buildings in between are gone and through the unobstructed view you can see the waves lapping on the shore of the Atlantic Ocean over two miles away.
That’s what normal looks like in Waveland and Bay St. Louis, Miss.
That’s what a 36-foot storm surge can do – wipe away what once was your life in an instant.
And but for the grace of God, luck, or a wobble in another direction, that’s what any city along the eastern and Gulf coasts of the United States could have looked like after Katrina – after any major hurricane for that matter.
It’s a picture we should all keep front and center in our minds as we enter hurricane season 2006.
Let's not forget that just four days before it wiped parts of the Gulf coast off the map, Katrina made landfall as a category 1 hurricane near the Miami-Dade and Broward County line.
Nine months after Katrina, almost nothing remains of Waveland and Bay St. Louis. Nothing is the same as it was. Those who live there will tell you that nothing will ever be the same. Nothing, that is, except the spirit of the people who have chosen to stay -- a spirit that offers a beacon of hope among the ruins.
As we enter yet another hurricane season, may the stories and the people of Waveland and Bay St. Louis offer a warning to those who have grown complacent and lost respect for these powerful storms.
And should we ever have to face their plight, may we face our challenges with the same courage, grace and determination as the residents of the forgotten towns of Katrina’s ground zero.
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