Living in a Dark House

Fathers and daughters: Exploring violence in the home

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I uploaded the final version of my life-long project Living in a Dark House off to Amazon land for publication. I have tears in my eyes. I have been searching my soul for a platform to begin a discussion “out there” about issues close to my heart. The issues raised in the novel will hopefully begin a discussion first about abuse and domestic violence, but also about spiritual quests and the complexities of relationships. I began the novel because it was something that I wanted to read, and I couldn’t find anything like it. The time is right, I believe, with the #MeToo Movement, to begin this related discussion about domestic violence.

Domestic violence and emotional abuse are continuing themes in my novel. I have witnessed these things personally and in friends, family members, community members, and in students in my classroom. It feels hopeless for young people especially, and my heart breaks for anyone who suffers the indignity of physical, sexual, or emotional abuse. I don’t know the all answers; that is not my expertise, but I do believe that starting a conversation, without pointing fingers and getting revenge, is one way to begin to heal individually, as a community, and as a culture.

Public school educators, God help us, with our already burdened schedules and stresses (school shootings?), are always open to talk with and help our students. The educators whom I know feel this way. Educators, like writers and English majors, generally go into their profession because they are nurturers. They want to help sculpt the next generation. They have something to say. They want to be models for hard work, determination, and responsible living. When made aware of suspected abuse, we are required by law to go to authorities, and this generally starts an investigation. The outcomes can vary, but sometimes parents are required to undergo counseling if the situation is deemed reparable. Fortunately, I have seen this positive outcome.

I also believe that as a culture, as parents, church leaders, and teachers, we can and should forge beliefs in kindness and respect toward others. We don’t know what other people are experiencing in their own homes. For some people, home is not a sanctuary of serenity. For some people, home is a terrifying and unpredictable place.

I teach both young men and young women in a public school, and I have been doing so for 18 years. I was a newspaper journalist before my current “day job” as a teacher. I believe that most young people, with all their giddiness and goofiness, are genuine and good, but I also see a few young men who do not view the world through the same lens as responsible adults. I believe that their home lives are probably responsible. I also see many young women who could (and do) easily fall prey to the temporary charms of these young men. This is where self-esteem for the females and empathy for the males come into play. Granted, the abuse could happen the other way around, but I have not witnessed it. John Mayer sings a song called “Daughters” in which he tells fathers to be good to their daughters. Unfortunately, many fathers aren’t good to their daughters, and these young women go searching for a man to take his place.

Oftentimes, the young men who lack empathy find these young women and, thinking they have found a prince, instead become his victim. Without an education to fall back on, they repeat a cycle of dependence, poverty, and let’s face it, violence. Throw a child in there, and life is, like Delanie’s Mom put it in my novel, quicksand.

Oh, right now, I probably have made some readers angry. Sometimes anger is a sign of a hurtful truth being exposed. Taking the first step is a first step. It won’t solve the problem overnight, but it is a step. I tell my daughters in college (and my high school students), even when they are not exactly sure where they are going, that “Moving forward is at least not moving backward.”

Education is of course one way out. Earn your high school diploma. Work with and cooperate with your teachers and counselors at school. We are there to help you find your way.

Also, let me add a plug for libraries. Libraries are free. Librarians are awesome people who love to search for information. Read and be informed. Seek spiritual answers. Look hard at relationships. If they are hurting you, they are not healthy.

Connect with me and let me know your thoughts.

Reflections on motherhood, trying times

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The following was originally published in The Daily Record on June 5, 2013.

I have been holding my breath. This would be the best description of the ride that has been the school year of 2012-2013, first as a teacher at the high school and then as a mother whose oldest daughter is a graduating high school senior. To put it out there for the reading public, I will exhale and describe it.

Last fall, which seems a lifetime ago, in those days of laughter, I was transitioning Corinne into a post-secondary Wayne College student, and enjoying misty celebrations on the tennis courts with her while the chill was in the air; things seemed to be so much easier. It seemed like we had forever until graduation. It seemed like things would always be the same. Today, a mere six months later, things have changed. In addition to preparing Corinne to go off to Kent State, I also left my classroom in the old OHS building, moved to a new classroom (for a mere three weeks) in the new OHS building and took everything home that had accumulated over 13 years as I prepare for a new avenue as a mother and a professional.

In November, a group of 26 teachers was told by forward-thinking administration that if the May levy failed, our jobs were gone. Although the warning was appreciated, the day of the announcement was more like a sucker punch to the gut than holding one’s breath.

This place, these kids, the families and the other staff members have been a part of my life for 13 years. Well, you all know, the levy failed and collectively, we finally exhaled and realized this is our new reality. Colleagues all around are packing up and trying to figure their next move.

I still remember the day Corinne started kindergarten as the day I started teaching. I remember distinctly picking her up from elementary school, also her fifth birthday, as a rookie teacher, the mother of a school-age child, ready to see what the future held for both of us.

Here I am taking in fresh breath on this new frontier: The mother of a college student, a job change forthcoming, a new decade ahead (I’ll be 50 in January) and challenges — but I must view them as ways to grow. I am one of those people who hates change.

Every year when Microsoft puts out a new Word program, I hate it. I hate my things to be moved. I hate getting a new car because I have to move my stuff out of the old car and into the new. But now, I’m forced to move on, move forward and move my daughter into a dormitory.

The new building is fresh, clean and current, but it is very surreal to see all the same people in a totally different place. The move into the new building was like a weird dream or going to a strange out-of-the-way airport and only seeing people you know. It’s very freaky to have to ask where the bathroom is (and it’s the next door down) or where your colleague works — someone you’ve seen day in and day out just across the hall for 13 years.

I dealt with the blow to the gut when the levy failed as a person in mourning, I think. I experienced stages to the loss of my teaching job in tears, laughter, hugs from students, colleagues and community members. Sometimes I would cry; sometimes I would laugh. Corinne told me she never knew who I was going to be from one day to the next. “One minute you’re crying,” she said to me, “the next minute you’re laughing.”

But that is the point I want to make. Teaching is not just a job and it goes beyond a profession. It is based on relationships, oftentimes fragile ones, but building trust and a fair reputation takes a long time and a lot of laughter and tears. That is the thing non-teachers need to understand.

Teaching is a part of who you are. I told a colleague as I began to look out at the frontier of other jobs, it’s so hard to think about working in other fields when I have been so connected to things with meaning for so long.

As a writer and a teacher, I thrive on doing things with meaning. I could be offered a million-dollar salary and I couldn’t do the job if it didn’t mean something to me. It’s a blessing and a curse. Sort of like motherhood and teaching. I just catch my breath from scolding my daughters and the next thing I know, we’re laughing together over something funny that happened or that one of us said.

To teach and to be a mother, you have to laugh and cry — sometimes at the same time. I just wasn’t prepared for so much of these emotions in my professional career this year.