Word Challenge

I joke a lot that “I don’t do Readers’ Digest” well. If you are not familiar with “Readers’ Digest” then you won’t understand the correlation that I am trying to make. For those of you smitten with the tiny, square magazine filled with quick and easy real-life tales of s/heroism, drama and comedy, as well as the basics of health, nutrition, wellness and finances whittled down into a few pages, scattered with some witty humor and cute cartoons on several pages, you hopefully understand what I am trying to say about myself:  I may be short in stature, but my stories are usually long and detailed, not abridged and edited for quick review. I like words and I like to use a lot of them.

So I am going to challenge myself to put out some quicker, shorter bursts of musings and creativity. My goal is to write something in these next few posts that will challenge my verboseness, confining myself to many fewer words than I normally allow. I’m not even sure what I will be writing about, but we can both be assured that it will be something I know, that moves me to grab a pen in the middle of the night and scribble on the pads of paper on my nightstand, there for that “emergency,” or to tap away at this keyboard. I’m curious if I can feel just as passionate in fewer words.

My first goal was 250 words. Done.

When Protocol Defies Logic

I am a born rule-follower. I drive the speed limit on city and country roadways, often using cruise-control to ease the stress of staying within the limit. When I stand in line, I don’t approach the counter until asked to do so. I wait for the host or hostess to seat me in a restaurant. You will never find me in the express lane at the grocery store with more than the accurate number of items allowed in my hand-cart. I don’t believe in the motto “Rules were meant to be broken.” I largely believe that rules keep order and quell anarchy. I live with anxiety and for me that means that I become anxious with situations, people and things that I can not control. For me, rules are the antithesis of anxiety. Rules give me comfort…

Except when rules are just rules and serve no greater purpose. When rules and regulations degrade into accepted protocol and cease to serve the safety, convenience or learning model that they were designed to protect, help or educate, they have passed their expiration date and need to either be revamped or abolished altogether. I cannot stand protocol for protocol sake.

In the wake of 9/11, many places and organizations sought to tighten their entryways and limit the flexibility and accessibility of their environments in the name of safety. Airports and airlines demanded more stringent identification documents as well as limiting and eliminating certain items and materials from passing through security checkpoints and ending up on airplanes. Similarly, many businesses, especially those run by the government, required identification and recorded knowledge of people entering and leaving their buildings.

I wouldn’t argue the relevance of these rules and protocols in serving a greater good to know who is “in the building” at any given time, and therefore being able to track who is affected by activities within the building, as well as who might be responsible if something goes wrong. Unfortunately, when the protocol is established without a plan for execution that covers all the bases, then the protocol is simply protocol for protocol sake, and does nothing to actually enhance the security it is trying to elevate.

In 2002 I was still working in undergraduate admissions at Framingham State (College) University. At a mini-fair hosted by Holliston High School in Holliston, MA, admissions counselors were not allowed in the building until they showed a picture ID and gave their name to the guidance staff member seated at the front door of the school. Then and now, I would not argue the decision to ask adult strangers entering a high school to show identification and write their names in a log book. What concerned me was the relevance of that ID and name on that day. The high school did not have a list of names of the college representatives who were expected to show up that day. They had no way of knowing that the person showing the ID was the counselor assigned to that school, or if that counselor indeed did work for that college. The protocol lacked a key element:  it didn’t have anything to balance the check it was making.

Recently I encountered a similar protocol quandary. My seventeen year old daughter applied for and got a job with Panera Bread. As part of a condition to be employed, Miranda was asked to get a Work Permit.  We were told that the work permit needed to come from her home school district. We live in Sturbridge but Miranda does not attend Tantasqua Regional High School. Several times over the phone and in person we were asked by representatives at the high school and the superintendent’s office, “Does she go to school here?” When I answered, “No” I was then asked, “Does she live in the district?” To which my answer was, “Yes, we live in Sturbridge.”

A work permit does not come from the high school that the students attends. It is granted by the school district in which the student lives. So it really doesn’t matter if the student goes to school there. The initial first question should be, “Does s/he live in the school district?”

Furthermore, there is a place on the work permit for a parent to sign their permission for the child to work. Why isn’t the work permit solely between the parent and the child and the employer? Why does the school system even need to be a part of the work permit process? If someone else should be knowledgeable of a student working, taking hours away from their studies, then why isn’t the work permit signed off on at the school the student attends?

When the process was complete, a complete stranger in the Tantasqua/Union 61 School District gave Miranda permission to work, without knowing anything about Miranda as a student or a person. What exactly did Tantasqua give her permission to do that I or her father could not have given on our own? I would encourage the necessity of a work permit if it came from the town administrator’s office, as knowledge of the young residents of town who are impacting the community, commerce and their own educations and family lives. In rare circumstances I’m sure there are situations of students being taken advantage of by either their families or the employer, and there should be a checks and balances system to protect minors.

Rules, regulations, protocols, guidelines – it doesn’t matter what you call them as long as you follow them – seems to be the philosophy of some ordinances. If these directives are to achieve what they are designed to achieve then they need to be vetted for inaccuracies, redundancies and ineffective steps that delay, harm, negate or completely avoid the intended result. Give me a rule that makes sense and I will follow it to a “T.” But unfortunately if you give me a rule that has me running around in circles to achieve nothing better than wasting my time, then I will have to declare foul and label myself a rebel. Or at least label myself confused and frustrated. 

Are You in the Choir?

 It’s a very simple question:  who really listens when we speak up?

Is it the white guy in your neighborhood who calls all black men he meets “Brother” and attempts to shake hands with a hand-clasp while he leans in for the shoulder bump? Is it the woman that followed my teenage girls around American Eagle, pretending to fold clothes after everything my daughters touched, or didn’t touch at all? Is it my husband’s former boss who refused to give him an advance during a very difficult financial year, but gave an advance seven out of twelve months in the same year to the white salesman in the company that was the #2 to my husband’s #1 status? Or is it the husband and wife who don’t have any close black friends, in fact nearly no black friends at all, that showed up to the Black Lives Matter rally held in my town?

I’d like to believe that all of them are listening. I’d like to tell myself that the more we speak up, the more people will take notice. I want to believe that the people that are in need of the eye-opening information are the ones pricking up their ears, pausing as if E.F. Hutton were about to speak, and taking note of the necessary information to rid themselves of stereotypes and assumed beliefs. My heart wants to believe that they will recognize themselves in the ignorance they see on television, stop to question it, and make a concerted effort to change.

Unfortunately, I am either too cynical or too much of a realist to believe any of that. I believe that the people who are listening are the ones that have the “least” to learn. The people that are taking notes, questioning themselves and those around them, and putting themselves in vulnerable places to have to admit their own ignorance publicly, are more than likely to be the people who already have spent time learning about other cultures and races and trying to live a life of tolerance, acceptance and less judgement.

This doesn’t meant that these people don’t have anything to learn. Most of them do. Their hearts may already be in the right place, but their experiences leave them neglectful of the certainty upon which to take a stand and be heard alongside of us. They aren’t ignorant in the negative sense of the word, they just don’t know.

They don’t know what is offensive. They don’t know what micro-aggressions are. They don’t know what it feels like to be afraid in a group of your peers simply because your skin color is different. They don’t know the challenges of biting your lip in certain circumstances and knowing when it is time to speak up. They don’t know about being on the receiving end of hatred and disgust. They just don’t know.

So we welcome them to our fights. We applaud them for standing up. We thank them for cheering us on. We compliment them for their honesty. We encourage them to not sit back down. We pray that they will bring more like-minded enforcements.

Like any process, the dialogue of change that develops into actions of dissection, examination, possible destruction and the reconstruction of something better, takes time, effort and patience. It also takes people willing to be a part of that process. That means people willing to do the preaching and people willing to sit in the congregation and be healed. There are plenty of us willing to stand up and be heard. There are also plenty of people willing to walk in the door, take a seat and be show the light. It can happen in one day, or it may take several. Some people will walk back out the door and never come back. Most will come back, hoping to find a greater understanding and more answers to the many questions that arose from the first time they sat down. It’s okay if you don’t get it the first time. It’s okay if it doesn’t feel “natural.” It’s okay if it feels hard and vulnerable. All good change requires moments of uncomfortableness when the mind and body are getting used to something different. The key is to not give up. The power is in believing…

Believe that the world can be a better place for everyone.

Believe that all people are created equal.

Believe that we are stronger together than divided.

Believe that our racial and ethnic differences add more beauty to this world than any one race or culture could produce on its own.

Believe that we are all brothers and sisters and each of us deserves the support of that human family to not only survive, but to thrive.

If you have stepped inside, please take a seat. And thank you for coming. If you have already declared yourself as a member, congratulations for returning, and not giving up. If you aren’t sure what to say or do, don’t worry. We will guide you.

A church is a very quiet place without its choir. We need you.