Why Can't Big Boys Cry?

Growing up with anxiety gave me a lot to cry about as a kid.  I was afraid of the dark, afraid of people, afraid of water (swimming).  When put in an uncomfortable situation, I would usually cry.  It took me years to overcome this.  There have been times as an adult where I was put in an uncomfortable situation and the only thing I could do was shed a few tears.  In today's society, this is really embarrassing.  I'm actually embarrassed to be writing about this.  We as a society are just fine with women crying.  They are allowed to show emotion.  But Heaven forbid if a boy should cry.  Buck up!  Big boys don't cry.
It seems as though boys are taught to hide their emotions.  I tried to hide mine for years.  All that bottled up emotion has to come out eventually.  Let's just hope no one is around when it happens.
I don't remember the last time I cried, which is a huge improvement for me.  But when I keep my emotions to myself and let them build up inside me, I usually end up crying eventually.  But different people react in different ways.  Some people, after hiding their emotions, can become angry and lash out at loved ones.  Not only is that unhealthy, it is potentially dangerous for others.
Remember those t-shirts that said "Real Men Wear Pink"?  It's true.  Real men do wear pink.  Real men also show emotion.  They express their feelings openly.  Women, don't assume that men are heartless, soulless beings.  And men, don't be afraid to show that you have a heart.  Don't be afraid to cry a little, laugh sometimes, and love a lot.  You'll be doing yourself a favor.

Keep Calm and...

"Patience and perseverance have a magical effect before which difficulties disappear and obstacles vanish."
-John Quincy Adams

President Adams certainly knew what he was talking about.  I've been thinking a lot about patience.  Not to toot my own horn, but my strongest trait is my patience.  I have been told that I have the 'patience of a saint'.  I never really had to learn to be patient.  It just came naturally.  But I have experienced impatience.  It was not a pleasant experience.
The last time I lost my patience, I got really angry with the situation I was in, which resulted in me quitting my job as a shift manager at a restaurant.  (It all worked out in the end.  I love my current job!)  What I learned from this experience was the difference between getting angry and getting frustrated. 
I don't know about you, but when I get angry, I tend to only focus on that which has angered me.  By dwelling upon the situation, I just get angrier and angrier until I eventually give up.
When I am frustrated, however, I can still find ways to resolve the problem.  I am stressed out, but not to the point of giving up.  I am still able to think clearly and get through whatever problem I am facing.
Patience plays a big part in this.  When I get frustrated, I haven't quite gotten to the point where I have lost my patience.  When I get angry, though, all patience is gone.  As you can see, patience can be important in deciding what kind of mood you will be in.  For me, I just keep in mind that through patience, I tend to better get things done. 
The number one cause of people losing patience, in my opinion, is usually in dealing with other people.  No one thinks the way I do, acts exactly the same way I do.  It's easy to lose patience with them.  I just keep in mind that everyone is human.  Everyone makes mistakes.  You shouldn't lose patience with someone because of a mistake they made when you make mistakes in your life as well.  Just remember that in order to love life, you need to keep calm and be patient.

(On a side note, for my Christian friends, my mom taught me to never pray for patience.  Heavenly Father has a sense of humor.  He won't give you patience.  He will teach you patience.  So when you pray for patience, expect things to go terribly wrong.  It's just God trying to teach you a lesson!)

A World Without Imagination

The past few visits with my nephew have been a blast.  He's at a stage in life where everyone is a superhero.  When he is visiting, we fight crime, watch superhero shows, play with masks and action figures, and serve justice...all before nap time.  Playing pretend is always so much fun.  I love my nephew's wild imagination.  I don't get to use my imagination much anymore.

As a child, I had a crazy imagination.  I didn't ask my parents very many questions.  I just made up reasons for things.  For example, one question I do remember asking my mom was how the street lights know when to turn on in the evening and off in the morning.  She said something about computers.  I got it in my head that there were tiny people sitting inside those street lamps playing solitaire on their computers until it was time to light up the neighborhood.

I also remember playing The Floor is Lava with my siblings.  We would gather all our pillows and blankets and jump from pillow to pillow onto our lava resistant ship built from blankets.

While working with kids for the last eight years (Cub Scouts, Primary, babysitting), I've begun to notice a decrease in imagination.  I've witnessed children pretending, but only what they've seen on TV.  They rarely come up with their own stories.  They will, in fact, recite full lines from movies and TV shows.

What does this say about today's children?  Are they spending too much time in front of the television?  How about iPads and Tablets?  The games they are playing are preprogrammed to work a certain way.  No need for imagination there.  And even public schools are cutting back on teaching children how to be imaginative.  If a school district is running low on money, what is usually the first thing to be cut?  Music and art, where children are free to express themselves.

What can we do about this?  Unplug the kids.  Give them an arts and crafts project.  Let them play make believe.  Read to them.  Through books, children can be taken to a new world that they have to picture in their minds, assuming we're reading a novel and not a picture book.  

A world without imagination is a world I don't wish to be a part of.  Without imagination there would be no future.  No new ideas or inventions.  Nothing would ever change.  So next time I'm pretending to be a superhero with my nephew, I'm going to tell him that his greatest super power is real.  Imagination is a super power.  Imagine that.

Does That Make Me Racist?

I've been seeing a lot of posts lately claiming that white people are born racist.  I always thought this was nonsense.  The way one is raised determines what they believe.  And then I thought about an event that had occurred in my life.
One summer night, a little before midnight, my older sister and I were driving a friend back to his home.  He lived in a rough neighborhood with a mostly black population.  After saying our goodbyes, my sister and I headed home.  While still in the neighborhood, we drove passed two black teen boys.  One of them jumped on our car and then slipped off the other side.  This event really freaked us out.
Arriving home around midnight, we pull into out parking space and witness a black women walking into our home.  Again, we were a little freaked out.  But why were we so distressed?  Would my sister and I have acted the same way if a white woman were walking into our house at midnight?  Honestly, I don't think we would have.  We would have been confused, but probably not worried.
After warily walking into the house, my sister and I found our next door neighbor, who was extremely pregnant, with my mom in the basement.  She couldn't sleep and wanted to see what we had done with our basement.  This woman and her husband, both black, were the best next door neighbors we had ever had.  My sister and I both felt very guilty for assuming something bad was going to happen.
I am not racist.  My sister is not racist.  No one in my immediate family is racist.  I think that my sister and I were still stressed out from the teen boy jumping on our car.  Because of this stress, seeing a black women walking into our home made us a little cautious.
I hope no one thinks any differently of me (or my sister) because of this little blurb of an event.  This happened probably twelve years ago, but it's still on my mind to this day.  It bothers me that I judged such a wonderful woman based on someone else's actions.  My parents were very firm about teaching my siblings and I to love our neighbors.  Not just our literal neighbors, but those who we see in our everyday lives.
I don't offend easily, but those posts claiming that (to a certain degree) all white people are racist really upset me.  It's like I'm being accused of a crime I didn't commit.  I am not a racist.  A person is a person, no matter what they look like. Treat everyone the same way.  Love everyone.