Quote of the Week

"Why don't they pass a constitutional amendment prohibiting anybody from learning anything? If it works as well as prohibition did, in five years Americans would be the smartest race of people on Earth.”- Will Rogers

Saturday Video

Weed and bach and bach a monaural
Weed and bach and bach a low

Gotta do get and get it over.
Gotta do get and get a low.

Diggy diggy da mona mon
Diggy diggy da mona mon
Diggy diggy da mona mon
Oh I
Diggy diggy da mona mon

Oh I

Say dare I, come a come a come
Say dare I, come a come a come
Say dare I, come a come a come

Well, western boys and highs mow, oh no.
Ah western boys and highs a low.

Gotta do get and got it all over.
Gotta do get and get it and get it alone.

Diggy diggy da mona mon
Diggy diggy da mona mon
Diggy diggy da mona mon
Oh I
Diggy diggy da mona mon

Oh I

Say dare I, come a come a come
Say dare I, come a come a come
Say dare I, come a come a come
Say dare I, come a come a come

Well westen bach and bach a mona roll.
Westen bach and bach a low.

God, do you get and gotted it over.

and get it and gotten it and got it alone.

Diggy diggy da mona mon
Diggy diggy da mona mon
Diggy diggy da mona mon
Oh I
Diggy diggy da mona mon

Oh I

Say dare I, come a come a come
Say dare I, come a come a come
Say dare I, come a come a come
Say dare I, come a come a come
Say dare I, coma a come a come
A come a come a come a cause

Happy Memorial Day Weekend

It's summertime and the living is easy
The fish are jumping and the cotton is high
Your daddy's rich and your mama's good looking
Won't you hush, pretty baby, don't you cry

One of these mornings you're going to wake up singing
Then you're going to spread your wings and take to the sky
But till that morning ain't nothing, nothing going to harm you
With your mommy and daddy there standing by

It's summertime and the living is easy
The fish are jumping and the cotton is high
Your daddy's rich and your mama's good looking
Would you hush, pretty baby, don't you cry

________________

Words and Music by George Gershwin, Du Bose Heyward, Dorothy Heyward, Ira Gershwin

Radical Acceptance: When an Attender is a Sex Offender

At the end of last year, a man began arriving every First Day at our Meeting. I noticed him because he kept plain dress. As is true with many houses of worship these days, the preferred style of clothing for most of us is casual. The tall, bearded man I saw downstairs prior to First Hour was clad in white shirt, black pants, and suspenders. He appeared deeply uncomfortable, shuffling back and forth uneasily.

Because my introversion usually keeps me anxious around people, I made an extra effort to be friendly. He stared at me as though unsure of what to do with the gesture. I thought nothing of it and made my way upstairs to Meeting for Worship, like usual. Perhaps he was a visitor from another Meeting. We have so many, after all. Washington, DC, is a haven for tourists and a few of them are traveling Quakers.

The mysterious man turned out to be a registered sex offender. He had reached out to our Meeting some weeks before via an old-fashioned letter in the mail. Sad to say, we’d displaced his correspondence for a few weeks, the first of many mistakes later to follow. In the letter, he explained his situation and circumstances. He was to be released in a few days from prison after a lengthy sentence for molesting a child.

He found Quakers because of a Conservative Friends Meeting in his place of incarceration. Their prison ministry had reached out to him. With the zeal of the new convert, he had become a Friend, idealizing his new found faith as many do in the beginning. Eager to start a new life, he followed the letter of the law to a T, desirous to follow the many requirements and restrictions placed upon all registered sex offenders.

His correspondence did not hide the nature of his crime. A native of the area, finally returning home, he wished to Worship with us. Due to his conviction, correspondence from his parole officer was a mandatory part of the process. Since nothing quite like this had ever been taken on by the Meeting, no one was sure how it ought to proceed.

Two Meeting committees were assigned an exceeding delicate task. Quaker process is slow as molasses in the best of circumstances, but this matter was sensitive and potentially toxic, especially if it got out of hand. The man met frequently with our Personal Aid committee for several weeks. Later, Healing & Reconciliation was incorporated into the process. Deliberation followed deliberation. Two months passed.

Those on committees contributed lots of extra time, establishing a support committee alongside other efforts. Each of these was conscious of a need to control the news and present it in a responsible, sober fashion. This man’s past was a liability, and not just for strictly legal reasons. A very different letter through the mail shared the news with the Meeting, urging discretion. Members and regular attenders were requested to keep the words of the letter to themselves. However, as Robert Burns wrote, the best laid plans oft go awry. And awry was a generous word to use under the circumstances.

The parents went into full out panic mode. Why had they not been told of this man’s presence in the Meeting until he had been actively attending for two months? What if he stalked their children? Skittish, frightened parents expressed anxiety after anxiety. What was thought to have been handled sufficiently by two committees spilled out beyond its intended borders. Once the cat was out of the bag, hurt, fear, and pain were on full display.

Meetings can be fast asleep in matters such as these. Business placed before us must season, we say, and so we adopt a deliberative approach. In emotionally intense situations, we have no choice but to act swiftly and firmly. In this setting, insistence upon strict secrecy meant that multiple, conflicting versions of the truth leaked out, much like a giant version of the game Telephone.

It was discovered that two regular attenders had also been convicted of child sexual abuse. One of them had once even served as a clerk of a committee. A child safety task force was hastily formed. Alongside it, a punitive system of strict supervision and boundaries not to be crossed was eventually adopted to apply to sex offenders. In part, it was drafted to comfort worried parents. In reality, it did not begin to address the multiplicity of issues that this crisis situation had brought forth.

The input and involvement of the most vulnerable was overshadowed by worst case scenario. Parents will sometimes lose all sense of perspective when their own offspring is concerned. The stridency of discourse omitted essential considerations.

Basic protection aside, children need to be taught to speak up on the own behalf. They must be told to assert their own rights as individuals. Should they be left alone in a room with an adult who is not a RE teacher, for example, they should vocalize their discomfort and tell other adults. No amount of punishing the offender in a preemptive fashion will stop the possibility. Legalistic language and adopted protocol is purely a panacea. Absolute security simply does not exist.

I’m adamant about this debate for a very specific reason. For the past several months, I’ve written in great detail about a part of my own early life. Or, to put it another way, I was molested because I had been taught to do exactly what other adults told me to do. My parents instructed me that, out of respect, I ought to have obedience and respect for my elders. When an older man directed me to do exactly as he said, I obeyed. Though what I was asked to do felt uncomfortable and somehow wrong, I believed that, as someone my parent’s age, he knew best. Then only a child, this was all that I knew.

In the meantime, the man whose intended presence among us had sparked the firestorm withdrew his intention to join us. The vituperative nature of criticism led him to believe that he was unwanted. Among some, but not all, I believe that he was. Many Friends felt as though their effort to accommodate him in fellowship had failed. The process had been emotionally draining for almost everyone.

The Meeting continues to deal with the fallout. Three listening sessions have been scheduled. A majority of voices have resolved to allow a sex offender to Worship with us, albeit with severe strings attached. Yet, questions remain. How will we handle something like this in the future? How can we confront a topic that is severely verboten for many, especially for survivors? To me, the truth lies in our willingness to wake from our slumber.

My Thoughts Exactly

Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood

Baby, do you understand me now?
Sometimes I feel a little mad
But don't you know that no one alive
can always be an angel
When things go wrong I seem to be bad.

'Cause I'm just a soul whose intentions are good
Oh Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood

Baby, sometimes I'm so carefree
With a joy that's hard to hide
And sometimes it seems that,
all I have to do is worry
And then you're bound to see my other side

I'm just a soul whose intentions are good
Oh Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood

If I seem edgy, I want you to know,
That I never mean to take it out on you
Life has its problems, and I get my share,
And that's one thing I never mean to do

Cause I love you,
Oh,

Oh, oh, oh, baby - don't you know I'm human
Have flaws like any other one
Sometimes I find myself long regretting
Some foolish thing, some little sinful thing I've done

I'm just a soul whose intentions are good
Oh Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood
Yes, I'm just a soul whose intentions are good

Oh Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood
Yes, I'm just a soul whose intentions are good
Oh Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood

Life

Editor's Note: This is the story of everyone past the age of 30.

Grown-up

Was it for this I uttered prayers,
And sobbed and cursed and kicked the stairs,
That now, domestic as a plate,
I should retire at half-past eight?

-Edna St. Vincent Millay

Another Lost Generation

We may well be another lost generation. The first Lost Generation struggled through a World War in Europe only to feel disillusioned and uncertain for the future. Soldiers, ambulance drivers, and nurses all returned to a very changed country. The lost generation I inhabit has had to live in the shadows of a new American reality. No longer can hard work and ingenuity alone provide a stable paycheck or substantial livelihood for anyone. What passes for the American dream is a supreme fiction.

The fortunate in this age are well-connected and lucky enough to not slip through the cracks. Those with jobs either possess the exact skills and precise training to suit fickle employers, or they find themselves consigned to occupational Purgatory. In a buyer's market, those hiring can afford to wait for the perfect fit in every way, shape, and fashion. Whether they attended a liberal arts college or a state school, graduated with honors or not, few applicants find their skills in demand.

Often they have had to borrow money from parents to stay afloat. Returning home to the womb for a few tours of duty, also known as their parent’s house is all too uncommon. We've been sold a bill of goods. Everything we were told was factual and true is totally wrong.

To best illustrate my point, I thought I might now tell the stories of a few of my friends. Each is in his or her late 20’s into the early 30’s and lives in Washington, DC. Though economists have told us that we are in recovery, whatever that means, it surely doesn’t feel like it to us. We’ve had to be creative in marketing ourselves to employers who can afford to be picky.

We’ve had to accept the subtle, but essential details that mean the difference between employment and unemployment. It’s humbling, to say the least to learn how worthless our educational training, resumes, and prior work experience can be. Twisting ourselves into pretzels for the sake of fitting into a narrowly defined skill set might as well be our stock in trade. When we’ve finally found employment, we’ve often taken jobs completely at odds with the work to which we assumed we would give our lives. We had absolutely no say in the matter.

One of my friends was hired by a non-profit right out of college. She enjoyed the work immensely, but knew her tenure was time-limited from the beginning. Contract work has become more and more prevalent with employers who wish to keep costs down. She spent the next eighteen months out of work, diligently searching for a job.

Employment finally arrived in the form of a Federal Government job in the same field as before. However, her new employer worked exclusively in policy, a complicated profession, to say the least, one she had never before even contemplated. On-the-job training was a necessity and, to her, the experience reminded her of cramming for the toughest examination she’d ever taken in her life.

Another friend spent about the same length of time on the unemployment rolls. He, too, found a job with the Federal Government, the only offer he was given. Within a few months of working there, he discovered that upper level management was highly incompetent and the agency itself was badly run. The institutionalized dysfunction influenced hiring practices and compromised morale. His co-workers were not adequately vetted before starting work and routinely were entirely unsuited for the nature of the work.

He dealt with all of it as long as possible, and then tendered his resignation three weeks ago. Once again unemployed, he has two months’ worth of savings to tide him over until he begins another one. Because he voluntarily resigned, unemployment compensation was flatly denied. He has filed an appeal and waits nervously for a decision.

Still another friend graduated after four years from a prestigious university, one with the most expensive tuition in the country. After periods of chronic underemployment, she has now achieved full-time work, but with severe strings attached. Her wages are low, granting her the ability to survive, though without the income she would really prefer. She spends everything she makes and laments the ability to be unable to save for a rainy day. Lacking health insurance, she worries about potential financial catastrophe should she need emergency medical treatment someday.

She’s been looking in frustration for another career for two months, having interviewed for two or three openings. Nothing seem to pan out in the end, a common denominator with the people in each of these stories. Each opening for which she obtains an interview draws a minimum of 100 applicants, most of whom have the identical qualifications she does. The odds are not exactly in her favor. I could tell at least ten more stories that follow the same basic frustrating trajectory.

Each of the persons mentioned above is highly qualified, highly educated, and struggling mightily to stay afloat. Place of origin does make a difference. Compounding the problem is that even in the best of times, Washington, DC, is an expensive place to live. Though booming in some sectors, our Nation’s Capital can be a stressful place for ambitious young adults.

Though a certain hyper-competitive quality is attached to the city by its very nature, employment opportunities nonetheless once existed in sufficient quantity. Now they do not. Regardless of how motivated and driven job seekers may be, they rapidly learn two particular truisms: 1. patience is a virtue and 2. there is no such thing as fair. For those in partnered relationships, the dynamics are slightly different, but related to those of singles. Often only one person holds down full-time work and functions as the primary breadwinner.

With heterosexual couples, the traditional gendered arrangement of a primary male breadwinner frequently reversed because of sheer necessity. Without the existence of dual incomes, sexism aside, the monetary imbalance can lead to tension within a relationship; one person often has to make a barely adequate inflow stretch for two. Should the sole source of money lose his or her job, a disaster would be left in its wake. 

What is often not discussed is that the Great Recession only exacerbated existing trends. For a decade or more before 2007, underemployment was the frequent lot of entry level workers who had just left college. Now, if recently published statistics are to be believed, 1 in 2 recent college graduates can expect to be unemployed upon entering the workforce. Living with one’s parents past college was once considered embarrassing and shameful: a denial of formal adulthood. The stigma may still be in place, but even achievers and hard workers have had to return to the nest when money is tight.

Allow me to make a sharp distinction. I am, of course, writing about a very particular group of people. All are white, each has been raised in middle class households, and each has also graduated from college with good grades. I imagine the climate is even worse for those who don’t have a certain amount of financial support, parental support, and privilege to back it up. For those without the good fortune of these material advantages, the future is even more uncertain, confusing, and difficult. Across the country, young men and women have similar stories to tell. No one knows how much longer we will exist in a state of fiduciary limbo.

Politicians promise recovery, but no one yet has provided a coherent plan. Recent Congressional efforts to reduce if not altogether eliminate financial aid debt will help, but they don’t address the primary problem. Where are the jobs? The forthcoming Presidential election will swing to a large extent on that very issue.

Until change comes to America, young adults will be unable to invest in their country. Until then, we sit and wait, soldiering along because we have no choice but to accept a recession era lifestyle. We’re surprisingly far less aimless and directionless than often believed. Our needs will be surprisingly well met and our distress will be soothed by the simplest of acts; we want work and we want to feel worthwhile and productive.

We are the future leaders of this country, but unless we can get a firm toe-hold with our foot in the door, we aren’t doing anyone much good. One single campaign issue unifies us together, regardless of where we call home. When is it our turn to begin building a future?