Rain bombards the walls.
Wet slick streets and skidding cars.
Pray your way to work.
Monday, September 26, 2011
Friday, September 23, 2011
Word of the Month - Alonophobic
Word of the Month
Alonophobic (a-lohn-o-foh-bik)
adj. Having an irrational fear of being by one's self, even for a moment
[ant. Agorophobic]
"Can my friend go to the bathroom with me? No? But I'm alonohobic!"
This month's word was invented by my daughter, in a conversation with her band teacher. Once again, she had left her saxophone in my class room and needed to come get it. I'm starting to suspect that she does this just so she will have an excuse to either visit me a couple of times a week, or just to be seen on the high school side of the campus once in a while. In addition, she usually waits until band class starts to say that she needs to get her instrument.
Now, campus policy is that the younger students always travel in pairs, for safety. Even though it's a closed campus, a child could fall or get hurt and then the other could run for help. Unless of course, they both fall, in which case they would have to just lie there until help comes, rationing water and weighing survival options like in 127 Hours. By the time the children get to fifth grade, my daughter's class, the rules are relaxed a bit, and the children can run errands on their own, either because they have earned our trust, or because we have grown so tired of them that we're willing to risk it. This is especially true at the beginning of band class, with over twenty students who are expected to play at the recital in the first week of December, and who have just mastered the skill of opening their cases and assembling their instruments.
So when my daughter asks if she can get her instrument, she expects her little best friend to come too. The band teacher says there's no need for that, but she insists that she's "alonophobic" and requires constant companionship.
When she tells me this story while she's picking up her instrument, at first I'm impressed by the ingenuity it takes to play with language that way. Then it dawns on me. She's not kidding. And that's why I have to sleep with my door open. That's why she still holds hands with me when we cross the street, even though she's nearly as tall as I am. That's why she insists on annoying her brother by going into his room when she gets bored.
I'm raising an alonophobic child.
How am I supposed to break this cycle? I certainly don't want her to be an alonophobic adult, dragging her friends to the bathroom with her, refusing to eat by herself, Facebooking until three in the morning rather than going to sleep alone. I'm thinking about doing some kind of survivor training on her, dropping her into the forest to fend for herself, with no one to talk to. Or maybe I could give her a three-hour time out every day to be alone in her room, kind of a vaccine against alonophobia. Or maybe I could just let her be and see if she grows out of it.
In the meantime, I'd like your help in bringing awareness to this apparently common, but rarely talked about plague. We could do one of those reposts on Facebook. Chances are you know someone who suffers from alonophobia, the cousin who always wants to hang out when he doesn't have a girlfriend, or the aunt who constantly pops over unexpectedly for dinner. Maybe it's the sister or brother who calls you all the time, but never has anything to say and only uses up your minutes with long stretches of silence interrupted by reports of things that he sees. Or just maybe, you yourself are the alonophobic, suffering in silence, often enduring minutes at a time of solitude, talking to complete strangers in the checkout line of the grocery store. For you and all of the others living with this invisible curse, we are behind you, and we will not leave you alone.
Alonophobic (a-lohn-o-foh-bik)
adj. Having an irrational fear of being by one's self, even for a moment
[ant. Agorophobic]
"Can my friend go to the bathroom with me? No? But I'm alonohobic!"
This month's word was invented by my daughter, in a conversation with her band teacher. Once again, she had left her saxophone in my class room and needed to come get it. I'm starting to suspect that she does this just so she will have an excuse to either visit me a couple of times a week, or just to be seen on the high school side of the campus once in a while. In addition, she usually waits until band class starts to say that she needs to get her instrument.
Now, campus policy is that the younger students always travel in pairs, for safety. Even though it's a closed campus, a child could fall or get hurt and then the other could run for help. Unless of course, they both fall, in which case they would have to just lie there until help comes, rationing water and weighing survival options like in 127 Hours. By the time the children get to fifth grade, my daughter's class, the rules are relaxed a bit, and the children can run errands on their own, either because they have earned our trust, or because we have grown so tired of them that we're willing to risk it. This is especially true at the beginning of band class, with over twenty students who are expected to play at the recital in the first week of December, and who have just mastered the skill of opening their cases and assembling their instruments.
So when my daughter asks if she can get her instrument, she expects her little best friend to come too. The band teacher says there's no need for that, but she insists that she's "alonophobic" and requires constant companionship.
When she tells me this story while she's picking up her instrument, at first I'm impressed by the ingenuity it takes to play with language that way. Then it dawns on me. She's not kidding. And that's why I have to sleep with my door open. That's why she still holds hands with me when we cross the street, even though she's nearly as tall as I am. That's why she insists on annoying her brother by going into his room when she gets bored.
I'm raising an alonophobic child.
How am I supposed to break this cycle? I certainly don't want her to be an alonophobic adult, dragging her friends to the bathroom with her, refusing to eat by herself, Facebooking until three in the morning rather than going to sleep alone. I'm thinking about doing some kind of survivor training on her, dropping her into the forest to fend for herself, with no one to talk to. Or maybe I could give her a three-hour time out every day to be alone in her room, kind of a vaccine against alonophobia. Or maybe I could just let her be and see if she grows out of it.
In the meantime, I'd like your help in bringing awareness to this apparently common, but rarely talked about plague. We could do one of those reposts on Facebook. Chances are you know someone who suffers from alonophobia, the cousin who always wants to hang out when he doesn't have a girlfriend, or the aunt who constantly pops over unexpectedly for dinner. Maybe it's the sister or brother who calls you all the time, but never has anything to say and only uses up your minutes with long stretches of silence interrupted by reports of things that he sees. Or just maybe, you yourself are the alonophobic, suffering in silence, often enduring minutes at a time of solitude, talking to complete strangers in the checkout line of the grocery store. For you and all of the others living with this invisible curse, we are behind you, and we will not leave you alone.
Monday, September 19, 2011
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
RIP Marvin and Aaliyah
Lost in the many commemorations of the 9/11 attacks was the 10th anniversary of the tragic death of Aaliyah in a plane crash. On August 26, one of the radio stations was playing a marathon of her songs as a tribute. It reminded me of something that happened two or three years ago when my son was ten or eleven.
He's always been very sensitive to evil and wickedness, and gets very disturbed when people hurt each other, especially when he was at that age. I used to turn the station when the news would come on, because invariably, something would come on that would upset him, whether it was a story about a child being abused or some robbery turned deadly. On this particular day, Aaliyah's remake of "Got to Give It Up" was playing on the radio, and his ears perked up to it. "Hey," he said, "that's a Marvin Gaye song!" (Even at that age, he had a pretty extensive education in good music.) I told him it was a remake, that it was Aaliyah singing it, and he asked if Marvin minded that she was singing it. I didn't think anything bad would come of it, so I said, "Well, since he's dead, he doesn't mind much."
Then he asked how Marvin died.
Knowing I had to be careful here, I said, "He died when I was about your age," which was a terrible attempt at redirection, because he only asked again. "He got shot," I said, trying to put some finality into my voice.
"Why would somebody do that? Did they ever catch the guy who shot him?" he asked, already starting to get upset.
"Yes, they did," I said, biting my lip, "It was his dad."
"His dad shot him?" he shouted. "Why would he do that to his own son? That's just evil!" You would have thought it had just happened, and that he had witnessed it.
I told him I remembered it being over money, and that only made it worse. Then I tried to calm him down by telling him that I really thought Marvin was in Heaven, and that we could still enjoy his music. That seemed to work, and he was able to control himself. He got really quiet for a while, so much so that I asked him if he was all right.
"I was just thinking maybe Aaliyah could sing more of his songs, you know, to keep his memory alive."
Cursing in my head, I slowly began, "Well, the thing about that is ..."
Needless to say, it was a rough day for the boy.
He's always been very sensitive to evil and wickedness, and gets very disturbed when people hurt each other, especially when he was at that age. I used to turn the station when the news would come on, because invariably, something would come on that would upset him, whether it was a story about a child being abused or some robbery turned deadly. On this particular day, Aaliyah's remake of "Got to Give It Up" was playing on the radio, and his ears perked up to it. "Hey," he said, "that's a Marvin Gaye song!" (Even at that age, he had a pretty extensive education in good music.) I told him it was a remake, that it was Aaliyah singing it, and he asked if Marvin minded that she was singing it. I didn't think anything bad would come of it, so I said, "Well, since he's dead, he doesn't mind much."
Then he asked how Marvin died.
Knowing I had to be careful here, I said, "He died when I was about your age," which was a terrible attempt at redirection, because he only asked again. "He got shot," I said, trying to put some finality into my voice.
"Why would somebody do that? Did they ever catch the guy who shot him?" he asked, already starting to get upset.
"Yes, they did," I said, biting my lip, "It was his dad."
"His dad shot him?" he shouted. "Why would he do that to his own son? That's just evil!" You would have thought it had just happened, and that he had witnessed it.
I told him I remembered it being over money, and that only made it worse. Then I tried to calm him down by telling him that I really thought Marvin was in Heaven, and that we could still enjoy his music. That seemed to work, and he was able to control himself. He got really quiet for a while, so much so that I asked him if he was all right.
"I was just thinking maybe Aaliyah could sing more of his songs, you know, to keep his memory alive."
Cursing in my head, I slowly began, "Well, the thing about that is ..."
Needless to say, it was a rough day for the boy.
Monday, September 12, 2011
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