Lessons from George McFly
A teen forces himself out of bed on Monday morning. A new week at school has begun. He gets dressed and puts on the new jacket his mom bought him over the weekend. She knew something was wrong but he wouldn’t talk about it.
He looks in the mirror, a slight smile on his face hoping today would be better. He grabs his bag and talks himself into stepping out the door.
He walks into school, a small bit of confidence from his new clothes, hoping they won’t noticed it’s the cheaper knock-off version of a popular style. But soon, his spirit is crushes. There they are. Why does their locker have to be near his?
His heart pounds as he walks to his locker and it begins. Before they even open their mouths, he sees a note on his locker. The bullying has begun again and he wonders, “When will this end?”
According to a website devoted to statistics on bullying, 71 percent of students reported in 2010 that bullying was an ongoing problem. The top grades for bullying are fourth and eighth grades and 282,000 students reportedly are attacked in high schools in the United States each month.
Bottom line, this is a problem.
Most of us who are children of the 1980s remember “Back to the Future.” Marty’s dad was bullied by Biff and it created a life of low self-esteem and lack of motivation to be more because he was convinced he couldn’t. When Marty changed the past and his dad stood up to the person he feared, his entire future changed.
When bullying wasn’t a part of his life, he had a new confidence and felt like he could accomplish anything.
While a fictional account, it paints a picture of what many kids who are bullied go through. Bullying creates a pattern of self-doubt, depression and worthlessness that continues throughout their lives, often making them targets of bullying in the workplace or in personal relationships when they get older.
Some might say teens are overreacting, but in case you haven’t noticed, a teenage brain hasn’t always developed coping skills and their first reaction is usually an emotional one. Because of this complex make up of their brains, even the smallest amount of bullying can send them over the edge.
Bullying through words hurts enough, but sometimes bullying goes further, to physical attacks or abuse. It is often an ignored subject or something a child will hide because it hurts their pride or they are afraid the bullying will intensify.
One of the biggest problems is that often bullies thinks they are “cool” for hurting others. They get a rush or puffed up ego from being able to cause someone to fear them. And even worse, they gain followers.
I might not know many things, but one thing I know for sure is bullying is not cool. It’s not even close. Getting joy from the pain of others is nothing to brag about. It’s selfish, cruel and just plain dumb.
What’s cool is the kid who stands up for those being bullied. The person who says enough is enough. If there were more people like that in schools and in the world in general, maybe the statistics would change.
My biggest question is, who will you be?
http://www.thenewsenterprise.com/content/lessons-george-mcfly
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Thursday, October 13, 2011
This Week's Column
Pinterest: An obsessive new distraction
My mind is fluttering in about 50 different directions. I have so many ideas, but I can’t seem to focus on any of them.
I blame my newest social networking obsession for this. Yes, I’m often on Facebook, I tweet and watch funny videos on YouTube but lately, thanks to a friend, I discovered Pinterest.
Pinterest is a virtual bulletin board for sharing ideas and website links to them. You get to create multiple board topics and “pin” the links and photos of the things you find on those boards. It’s the sophisticated, organized cousin of bookmarking.
Why does this contribute to my lack of focus? Because of the amazing randomness of the ideas and topics to look at while perusing the site.
While this column is not intended to be an endorsement for the site, I feel like I need to explain my obsession.
For example, on the board I titled “Yum” I have virtually “pinned” recipes for delicious looking lasagna cups, cheddar bacon ranch pull-apart bread, mini mac and cheese pies and a fresh tomato mozzarella tart with basil garlic crust. Can you see why the board is called Yum? And then there are dessert ideas — Mini German chocolate cakes, cinnamon rolls on a stick with dipping sauce, and chocolate chip cookie and Oreo brownies, just to name a few.
Most of the time I have no idea who these recipes came from but when I click on them they link me to a website that explains how to make these delectable treats.
And then there are the craft ideas. Christmas decorations, instructions on how to make a gift bag out of newspapers and layered dessert plates made out of dollar store stove burner covers are a few things I’ve discovered.
I’ve also learned how to make a pet bed out of an old suitcase and a kid’s kitchen set out of an old pressed wood desk.
Are you getting the picture? Along with all the things I find and pin, I can see what all my friends are discovering and pinning as well.
The problem I run into is that the site not only has cute ideas for things to make but also offers ideas for my home, kitchen and wardrobe. I want to try them all. This is probably why I haven’t made a single craft or recipe from the site yet.
I’m sure the newness that has me pulled in so many directions will wear off soon, I’ll get focused and I’ll actually attempt to create some of the things found on the site.
But for now, my brain is jumping. Cookies, design ideas, Christmas crafts. Oh, the possibilities.
http://www.thenewsenterprise.com/content/pinterest-obsessive-new-distraction
My mind is fluttering in about 50 different directions. I have so many ideas, but I can’t seem to focus on any of them.
I blame my newest social networking obsession for this. Yes, I’m often on Facebook, I tweet and watch funny videos on YouTube but lately, thanks to a friend, I discovered Pinterest.
Pinterest is a virtual bulletin board for sharing ideas and website links to them. You get to create multiple board topics and “pin” the links and photos of the things you find on those boards. It’s the sophisticated, organized cousin of bookmarking.
Why does this contribute to my lack of focus? Because of the amazing randomness of the ideas and topics to look at while perusing the site.
While this column is not intended to be an endorsement for the site, I feel like I need to explain my obsession.
For example, on the board I titled “Yum” I have virtually “pinned” recipes for delicious looking lasagna cups, cheddar bacon ranch pull-apart bread, mini mac and cheese pies and a fresh tomato mozzarella tart with basil garlic crust. Can you see why the board is called Yum? And then there are dessert ideas — Mini German chocolate cakes, cinnamon rolls on a stick with dipping sauce, and chocolate chip cookie and Oreo brownies, just to name a few.
Most of the time I have no idea who these recipes came from but when I click on them they link me to a website that explains how to make these delectable treats.
And then there are the craft ideas. Christmas decorations, instructions on how to make a gift bag out of newspapers and layered dessert plates made out of dollar store stove burner covers are a few things I’ve discovered.
I’ve also learned how to make a pet bed out of an old suitcase and a kid’s kitchen set out of an old pressed wood desk.
Are you getting the picture? Along with all the things I find and pin, I can see what all my friends are discovering and pinning as well.
The problem I run into is that the site not only has cute ideas for things to make but also offers ideas for my home, kitchen and wardrobe. I want to try them all. This is probably why I haven’t made a single craft or recipe from the site yet.
I’m sure the newness that has me pulled in so many directions will wear off soon, I’ll get focused and I’ll actually attempt to create some of the things found on the site.
But for now, my brain is jumping. Cookies, design ideas, Christmas crafts. Oh, the possibilities.
http://www.thenewsenterprise.com/content/pinterest-obsessive-new-distraction
Thursday, September 29, 2011
This week's column
Duke the fierce and grumpy
Most of the time, most people find themselves cheering on the little guy.
When David faced and defeated Goliath, everyone cheered, “Way to go, Dave.”
When a small band of rebel forces took on the galactic empire in “Star Wars,” we all yelled, “Use the force, Luke.”
When Rocky took on Apollo Creed, we joined the chant and yelled, “Rocky, Rocky, Rocky.”
When the underdog defeats the No. 1 team in any sport, we all suddenly become fans.
When 300 Spartans battled Xerxes’ hordes, many took on the rallying cry of fighting against the odds. OK, well maybe that one is a stretch and the only reason I cheered on the Spartans when I saw “300” was because it starred Gerard Butler who, as I’ve admitted several times, is my celebrity crush.
But back to the little guy, which brings us to the tale of one foot tall Duke the Corgi who might be one little guy who should leave well enough alone.
I took Duke to Glasgow to a Woofstock pet event where my brother’s vet clinic, Animal Clinic of Glasgow, had a booth. Duke and I walked around, got a few treats, signed up for a few games and Duke even got his picture taken.
We tried one game with a pool full of tennis balls. Kind of like a duck pond game. If the dog removed a tennis ball they got a prize. Duke sat down next to the pool and looked at me like he was thinking, “Are you kidding me? This looks too much like a bath.”
Then something strange happened. Little, tiny, squatty Duke ran toward a German shepherd, growling. Everyone around us just stopped and looked down at him.
I think the shepherd was laughing inside at the thought of this tiny challenge.
My first response probably wasn’t very maternal.
“What are you thinking? Do you see the size of that dog? He can eat you,” I said as I looked down at him.
After that point, he decided to be grumpy and growl at every dog that passed, especially the German shepherds. I guess that day proved that Duke is actually a people dog and not a big fan of dogs outside his immediate circle. He’d be a great therapy dog for people but would probably spend the day in the dog house if he went to puppy daycare.
So for the rest of the event, Duke was in my brother’s booth, in time out.
We did win second prize for the dog that traveled the farthest, but I scratched his name out of the Mr. Woofstock competition because he became Mr. Grumpy Britches.
Regardless of Duke’s sudden bad mood, we did have fun visiting my brother and it looked like the rest of the dogs enjoyed themselves.
The moral of Duke’s story is that sometimes when the underdog takes on a giant the story is retold and cheered by many. But sometimes the little guy should just back down before he gets eaten by a German shepherd.
http://www.thenewsenterprise.com/content/duke-fierce-and-grumpy
Most of the time, most people find themselves cheering on the little guy.
When David faced and defeated Goliath, everyone cheered, “Way to go, Dave.”
When a small band of rebel forces took on the galactic empire in “Star Wars,” we all yelled, “Use the force, Luke.”
When Rocky took on Apollo Creed, we joined the chant and yelled, “Rocky, Rocky, Rocky.”
When the underdog defeats the No. 1 team in any sport, we all suddenly become fans.
When 300 Spartans battled Xerxes’ hordes, many took on the rallying cry of fighting against the odds. OK, well maybe that one is a stretch and the only reason I cheered on the Spartans when I saw “300” was because it starred Gerard Butler who, as I’ve admitted several times, is my celebrity crush.
But back to the little guy, which brings us to the tale of one foot tall Duke the Corgi who might be one little guy who should leave well enough alone.
I took Duke to Glasgow to a Woofstock pet event where my brother’s vet clinic, Animal Clinic of Glasgow, had a booth. Duke and I walked around, got a few treats, signed up for a few games and Duke even got his picture taken.
We tried one game with a pool full of tennis balls. Kind of like a duck pond game. If the dog removed a tennis ball they got a prize. Duke sat down next to the pool and looked at me like he was thinking, “Are you kidding me? This looks too much like a bath.”
Then something strange happened. Little, tiny, squatty Duke ran toward a German shepherd, growling. Everyone around us just stopped and looked down at him.
I think the shepherd was laughing inside at the thought of this tiny challenge.
My first response probably wasn’t very maternal.
“What are you thinking? Do you see the size of that dog? He can eat you,” I said as I looked down at him.
After that point, he decided to be grumpy and growl at every dog that passed, especially the German shepherds. I guess that day proved that Duke is actually a people dog and not a big fan of dogs outside his immediate circle. He’d be a great therapy dog for people but would probably spend the day in the dog house if he went to puppy daycare.
So for the rest of the event, Duke was in my brother’s booth, in time out.
We did win second prize for the dog that traveled the farthest, but I scratched his name out of the Mr. Woofstock competition because he became Mr. Grumpy Britches.
Regardless of Duke’s sudden bad mood, we did have fun visiting my brother and it looked like the rest of the dogs enjoyed themselves.
The moral of Duke’s story is that sometimes when the underdog takes on a giant the story is retold and cheered by many. But sometimes the little guy should just back down before he gets eaten by a German shepherd.
http://www.thenewsenterprise.com/content/duke-fierce-and-grumpy
Thursday, September 15, 2011
This week's column
My memories of 9/11
As the 10th anniversary of 9/11 was observed over the weekend, many have recounted where they were or how they felt that day and in the time that followed.
I had recently graduated from Seminary and was about to move home from Louisville. I went to work like any other morning to input data at a library collection agency in Southern Indiana. Some called us the library police.
After the first plane hit, the receptionist told us she received a phone call saying an airplane had hit the World Trade Center. We all thought it was a small plane and was an accident. Then she got a second call about the second plane.
We all huddled in our conference room on a fuzzy television that barely had a signal.
We all stood there, speechless, as the first tower crumbled. Shock would be the best word to describe it.
The days that followed were a bit of a blur. The television stayed on in my apartment, constantly tuned into news coverage to see if anyone survived.
From my apartment I could see planes heading in and out of the airport, but the skies that week were empty, no blinking lights. Except for one night. Any other time it wouldn’t have stood out, but a single plane was flying in the night’s sky. I found out the next morning it was a small plane that had been given permission to fly medical supplies to New York.
I remember seeing the tired and worn rescue workers on the news and wanted to drive to New York and give them a hug or bake them cookies, anything. Most of us will never know what they went though. What they saw, smelled and heard.
The end of that week I was scheduled to move home, commuting to Indiana while trying to find a church job. Home was such a welcome thought. I kept thinking as I watched things unfold on television that I would soon be home. Home seemed like a safe place.
In the years that followed many things changed. We went to war and I encountered people’s lives touched by the results of 9/11. Brave families at home with fear behind their eyes.
I also took my first plane trip in the post 9/11 era. I wasn’t scared of terrorist or crashing. I became paranoid that my suitcase wasn’t packed right or my shoes looked suspicious. A strange kind of paranoia in a post 9/11 world.
The date 9/11 later developed a happier significance for my family. Three years after the attacks my cousin’s twin boys were born on that date. Something like that takes a bit of the edge off the impact of just saying “9/11.”
But on the tenth anniversary, I remembered it all again. The strange feeling of hope through sadness brought the same tears as it did 10 years ago, when bravery wore a uniform or a fireman’s hat or came from ordinary people in a tower, in a government building, on a plane.
Images still shake the heart and stir emotions. It’s hard to watch old footage where the towers can be seen rising in the distant New York skyline. It’s almost haunting.
But for me, in the midst of the hurt of that day, God’s love remains. Many might find that a strange reality, but in the days and weeks following the attacks it’s a comfort to which many ran. The day after the attacks I walked into my little office building in Southern Indiana to find every co-worker holding hands, regardless of where they were in their faith, praying.
It’s a day that will never be forgotten. A day when simple words become a mantra.
“Let’s roll.”
No, I don’t think any of us will ever forget.
http://www.thenewsenterprise.com/content/my-memories-911
As the 10th anniversary of 9/11 was observed over the weekend, many have recounted where they were or how they felt that day and in the time that followed.
I had recently graduated from Seminary and was about to move home from Louisville. I went to work like any other morning to input data at a library collection agency in Southern Indiana. Some called us the library police.
After the first plane hit, the receptionist told us she received a phone call saying an airplane had hit the World Trade Center. We all thought it was a small plane and was an accident. Then she got a second call about the second plane.
We all huddled in our conference room on a fuzzy television that barely had a signal.
We all stood there, speechless, as the first tower crumbled. Shock would be the best word to describe it.
The days that followed were a bit of a blur. The television stayed on in my apartment, constantly tuned into news coverage to see if anyone survived.
From my apartment I could see planes heading in and out of the airport, but the skies that week were empty, no blinking lights. Except for one night. Any other time it wouldn’t have stood out, but a single plane was flying in the night’s sky. I found out the next morning it was a small plane that had been given permission to fly medical supplies to New York.
I remember seeing the tired and worn rescue workers on the news and wanted to drive to New York and give them a hug or bake them cookies, anything. Most of us will never know what they went though. What they saw, smelled and heard.
The end of that week I was scheduled to move home, commuting to Indiana while trying to find a church job. Home was such a welcome thought. I kept thinking as I watched things unfold on television that I would soon be home. Home seemed like a safe place.
In the years that followed many things changed. We went to war and I encountered people’s lives touched by the results of 9/11. Brave families at home with fear behind their eyes.
I also took my first plane trip in the post 9/11 era. I wasn’t scared of terrorist or crashing. I became paranoid that my suitcase wasn’t packed right or my shoes looked suspicious. A strange kind of paranoia in a post 9/11 world.
The date 9/11 later developed a happier significance for my family. Three years after the attacks my cousin’s twin boys were born on that date. Something like that takes a bit of the edge off the impact of just saying “9/11.”
But on the tenth anniversary, I remembered it all again. The strange feeling of hope through sadness brought the same tears as it did 10 years ago, when bravery wore a uniform or a fireman’s hat or came from ordinary people in a tower, in a government building, on a plane.
Images still shake the heart and stir emotions. It’s hard to watch old footage where the towers can be seen rising in the distant New York skyline. It’s almost haunting.
But for me, in the midst of the hurt of that day, God’s love remains. Many might find that a strange reality, but in the days and weeks following the attacks it’s a comfort to which many ran. The day after the attacks I walked into my little office building in Southern Indiana to find every co-worker holding hands, regardless of where they were in their faith, praying.
It’s a day that will never be forgotten. A day when simple words become a mantra.
“Let’s roll.”
No, I don’t think any of us will ever forget.
http://www.thenewsenterprise.com/content/my-memories-911
Thursday, September 1, 2011
This week's column
Miniature golf and simpler times
Sometimes I experience small flashes of realization about how complicated I make life.
It seems like we live in a society obsessed with being entertained.
Not only being entertained but going to the most hip and expensive place or having the most up-to-date technology that only stays current for a year and then we just have to get the new version.
I realized it more over the weekend. We took my dad out for his birthday and after dinner we played miniature golf and had a blast. It was so simple, a mother and father playing with their two 30-something-year-old children. Well, mom didn’t play, she just kept score. But she still got in on the fun.
We played at Cave City because my brother lives in nearby Glasgow. Being there made me think of simpler times.
Vacations when I was a kid didn’t have to be a big event each year.
Every so often we would venture to Florida or Gatlinburg but most of the time we went camping or took short trips to places in Kentucky.
Do kids even go camping anymore?
I remember going several summers with my grandparents and cousins. It wasn’t fancy. We just camped out in a camper and rode bikes all over the campground, occasionally getting picked on by my older cousin.
Sometimes there was a hayride or horseback riding but no amusement parks or high-tech entertainment.
Another time, my brother and I went to visit our cousins in Louisville. My greatest memory of that trip was making a fort in their basement with what I think were the screens that were supposed to go in their doors and windows in the summer. Maybe I shouldn’t have confessed that one — now remembering we probably shouldn’t have used those things for a fort — but the memory of something simple stands out.
The older I get, the more I miss those things. We make things too complicated these days trying to outdo others or sometimes even ourselves.
I know when I was younger I always wanted to go to the places that had the most things to do or were the coolest places to go. But now, I long for the days of camping, miniature golf and riding bikes.
Why don’t we appreciate those things when we have them? Now, as I run around like a chicken with my head cut off trying to get things done, my mind drifts back even more to those simpler times.
Even my vacation this summer, although at the beach, was kept simple. I lounged about and ate some fish. Nothing fancy. Restful.
I got a good feeling inside last Saturday night as we all played golf together. The air was cool, the atmosphere was fun and we had a great time. As this summer comes to an end, it will probably stand out as one of my greatest memories.
And, I should add, Dad won the game. He usually does. I’m not sure we’ve ever been able to beat him at that game and probably never will.
http://www.thenewsenterprise.com/content/miniature-golf-and-simpler-times
Sometimes I experience small flashes of realization about how complicated I make life.
It seems like we live in a society obsessed with being entertained.
Not only being entertained but going to the most hip and expensive place or having the most up-to-date technology that only stays current for a year and then we just have to get the new version.
I realized it more over the weekend. We took my dad out for his birthday and after dinner we played miniature golf and had a blast. It was so simple, a mother and father playing with their two 30-something-year-old children. Well, mom didn’t play, she just kept score. But she still got in on the fun.
We played at Cave City because my brother lives in nearby Glasgow. Being there made me think of simpler times.
Vacations when I was a kid didn’t have to be a big event each year.
Every so often we would venture to Florida or Gatlinburg but most of the time we went camping or took short trips to places in Kentucky.
Do kids even go camping anymore?
I remember going several summers with my grandparents and cousins. It wasn’t fancy. We just camped out in a camper and rode bikes all over the campground, occasionally getting picked on by my older cousin.
Sometimes there was a hayride or horseback riding but no amusement parks or high-tech entertainment.
Another time, my brother and I went to visit our cousins in Louisville. My greatest memory of that trip was making a fort in their basement with what I think were the screens that were supposed to go in their doors and windows in the summer. Maybe I shouldn’t have confessed that one — now remembering we probably shouldn’t have used those things for a fort — but the memory of something simple stands out.
The older I get, the more I miss those things. We make things too complicated these days trying to outdo others or sometimes even ourselves.
I know when I was younger I always wanted to go to the places that had the most things to do or were the coolest places to go. But now, I long for the days of camping, miniature golf and riding bikes.
Why don’t we appreciate those things when we have them? Now, as I run around like a chicken with my head cut off trying to get things done, my mind drifts back even more to those simpler times.
Even my vacation this summer, although at the beach, was kept simple. I lounged about and ate some fish. Nothing fancy. Restful.
I got a good feeling inside last Saturday night as we all played golf together. The air was cool, the atmosphere was fun and we had a great time. As this summer comes to an end, it will probably stand out as one of my greatest memories.
And, I should add, Dad won the game. He usually does. I’m not sure we’ve ever been able to beat him at that game and probably never will.
http://www.thenewsenterprise.com/content/miniature-golf-and-simpler-times
Sunday, August 28, 2011
This week's column
Walking in another's skin
In the novel “To Kill a Mockingbird,” Atticus Finch tells his daughter: “You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view, until you climb into his skin and walk around in it.”
In the past several weeks, I had a chance to do a little walking around in another’s skin. A co-worker and I have been working on a series of stories about poverty in Hardin County.
I talked to homeless people, others living in low-income housing and just trying to keep their heads above water.
Miss one or two paychecks and most of us would find ourselves in the same situation. While many have good relationships with family who could help, everyone is not that fortunate. And it’s often hard to ask for help. It can be humiliating.
The most impactful reality: It’s not their need for money but their need for acceptance.
They feel looked down upon. It’s like a dart through the heart. The feeling of worthlessness overcomes them.
Everyone has worth. Everyone wants to contribute. Some people are never given the chance. Others need a second chance or perhaps a third.
How many times have we heard ourselves say, “it’s their own fault.”
Why do we automatically assume that? People cannot always help it if they lose their job. There isn’t always another one waiting for them. If a new job is available, it often pays significantly less these days.
And what about children, the innocent victims of family circumstances? They have done nothing to find themselves living without.
Another group struggling with poverty are simply the victims of longevity. Many seniors do not have family to take care for them. They live in anxious anticipation of the next Social Security payment. Rather than food, they often must spend most of it on a lengthy list of needed medications.
Some fight as hard as they can to get out of poverty and need a helping hand to pull them up.
It’s important to see things from another’s point of view.
For the past several weeks, I’ve caught myself thinking about it a lot. I open a refrigerator full of food and say “there’s nothing to eat” or stand in front of a closet full of clothes and say “I have nothing to wear.” As soon as those phrases leave my mouth, I am struck with the memory of people I have met who truly live without.
I can’t ignore it anymore. I’ve been in the middle of the pain and heartbreak for a few hours. For some of them, it seems like a lifetime.
To truly understand poverty in Hardin County today, spend time with those involved in it. Stop and talk to someone who is homeless. Volunteer or support programs that are knee-deep in helping. I will, too.
Atticus Finch was right. It’s time to walk around a bit in another’s skin. That might be the only way we truly understand one another. That might be the best way to know how to help
http://www.thenewsenterprise.com/content/walking-anothers-skin
In the novel “To Kill a Mockingbird,” Atticus Finch tells his daughter: “You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view, until you climb into his skin and walk around in it.”
In the past several weeks, I had a chance to do a little walking around in another’s skin. A co-worker and I have been working on a series of stories about poverty in Hardin County.
I talked to homeless people, others living in low-income housing and just trying to keep their heads above water.
Miss one or two paychecks and most of us would find ourselves in the same situation. While many have good relationships with family who could help, everyone is not that fortunate. And it’s often hard to ask for help. It can be humiliating.
The most impactful reality: It’s not their need for money but their need for acceptance.
They feel looked down upon. It’s like a dart through the heart. The feeling of worthlessness overcomes them.
Everyone has worth. Everyone wants to contribute. Some people are never given the chance. Others need a second chance or perhaps a third.
How many times have we heard ourselves say, “it’s their own fault.”
Why do we automatically assume that? People cannot always help it if they lose their job. There isn’t always another one waiting for them. If a new job is available, it often pays significantly less these days.
And what about children, the innocent victims of family circumstances? They have done nothing to find themselves living without.
Another group struggling with poverty are simply the victims of longevity. Many seniors do not have family to take care for them. They live in anxious anticipation of the next Social Security payment. Rather than food, they often must spend most of it on a lengthy list of needed medications.
Some fight as hard as they can to get out of poverty and need a helping hand to pull them up.
It’s important to see things from another’s point of view.
For the past several weeks, I’ve caught myself thinking about it a lot. I open a refrigerator full of food and say “there’s nothing to eat” or stand in front of a closet full of clothes and say “I have nothing to wear.” As soon as those phrases leave my mouth, I am struck with the memory of people I have met who truly live without.
I can’t ignore it anymore. I’ve been in the middle of the pain and heartbreak for a few hours. For some of them, it seems like a lifetime.
To truly understand poverty in Hardin County today, spend time with those involved in it. Stop and talk to someone who is homeless. Volunteer or support programs that are knee-deep in helping. I will, too.
Atticus Finch was right. It’s time to walk around a bit in another’s skin. That might be the only way we truly understand one another. That might be the best way to know how to help
http://www.thenewsenterprise.com/content/walking-anothers-skin
This week's column
Walking in another's skin
In the novel “To Kill a Mockingbird,” Atticus Finch tells his daughter: “You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view, until you climb into his skin and walk around in it.”
In the past several weeks, I had a chance to do a little walking around in another’s skin. A co-worker and I have been working on a series of stories about poverty in Hardin County.
I talked to homeless people, others living in low-income housing and just trying to keep their heads above water.
Miss one or two paychecks and most of us would find ourselves in the same situation. While many have good relationships with family who could help, everyone is not that fortunate. And it’s often hard to ask for help. It can be humiliating.
The most impactful reality: It’s not their need for money but their need for acceptance.
They feel looked down upon. It’s like a dart through the heart. The feeling of worthlessness overcomes them.
Everyone has worth. Everyone wants to contribute. Some people are never given the chance. Others need a second chance or perhaps a third.
How many times have we heard ourselves say, “it’s their own fault.”
Why do we automatically assume that? People cannot always help it if they lose their job. There isn’t always another one waiting for them. If a new job is available, it often pays significantly less these days.
And what about children, the innocent victims of family circumstances? They have done nothing to find themselves living without.
Another group struggling with poverty are simply the victims of longevity. Many seniors do not have family to take care for them. They live in anxious anticipation of the next Social Security payment. Rather than food, they often must spend most of it on a lengthy list of needed medications.
Some fight as hard as they can to get out of poverty and need a helping hand to pull them up.
It’s important to see things from another’s point of view.
For the past several weeks, I’ve caught myself thinking about it a lot. I open a refrigerator full of food and say “there’s nothing to eat” or stand in front of a closet full of clothes and say “I have nothing to wear.” As soon as those phrases leave my mouth, I am struck with the memory of people I have met who truly live without.
I can’t ignore it anymore. I’ve been in the middle of the pain and heartbreak for a few hours. For some of them, it seems like a lifetime.
To truly understand poverty in Hardin County today, spend time with those involved in it. Stop and talk to someone who is homeless. Volunteer or support programs that are knee-deep in helping. I will, too.
Atticus Finch was right. It’s time to walk around a bit in another’s skin. That might be the only way we truly understand one another. That might be the best way to know how to help.
http://www.thenewsenterprise.com/content/walking-anothers-skin
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