Black Lives Matter.
Blue Lives Matter.
Driving while black.
The Talk.
Racism.
Privilege.
Reverse racism.
Allyhood.
Protests.
Snipers.
What could I possibly add to all the words, emotions, even blood that have spilled and been spilled this week?
I see the racism within me. I see my own privilege. I'm afraid for the future. I'm angry about the present. I don't think all the easy talk of kindness, love, and unity is the answer.
But I don't know what is.
Showing posts with label violence. Show all posts
Showing posts with label violence. Show all posts
Monday, July 11, 2016
Monday, March 24, 2014
The Hockey Conundrum
We've been to a few hockey games in the last few weeks.
Mama and I have also had to referee a few disagreements at home.
So when the crowd at the hockey games began cheering on hockey players hammering on each other, "Fight! Fight! Fight!", and then they showed fight highlights on the big screen, I leaned over to the kids, "If you try that at home, we won't be cheering."
They were very confused that hockey players were not only allowed but encouraged to slug each other. "Why do they need to hit, Mom?"
There's no simple answer for that, is there? Men out of control? Gladiator/hockey enforcer sports culture? The love of violence in America? Brain damage?
None of those would fly at our house.
Mama and I have also had to referee a few disagreements at home.
So when the crowd at the hockey games began cheering on hockey players hammering on each other, "Fight! Fight! Fight!", and then they showed fight highlights on the big screen, I leaned over to the kids, "If you try that at home, we won't be cheering."
They were very confused that hockey players were not only allowed but encouraged to slug each other. "Why do they need to hit, Mom?"
There's no simple answer for that, is there? Men out of control? Gladiator/hockey enforcer sports culture? The love of violence in America? Brain damage?
None of those would fly at our house.
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
Our First Hockey Game
"Punch him! Punch him! The fights are the best part!"
We went to our first hockey game recently, with the tickets the kiddos won at Bingo Night in December. And it was certainly entertaining.
The game was good, too.
The 10-year-old behind us liked fighting. He liked it more than the game. And rooted for it constantly. More than he paid attention to the game.
His parents thought he was so cute. "Oh," his mom tittered, "we should have taken him to boxing!"
"That's right, son," said dad proudly.
Thankfully, my kids didn't hear him at all. They did notice the fighting, helmets and fists flying, especially because it made the highlights reel all three times. They were upset by it. Confused, they asked why we didn't stand and clap like those around us. "I can't clap for violence," I said, having just purchased a fundraising green and white "Angels of Newtown" bracelet.
It seems naive, but I have been so much more aware recently of how violence is very ingrained in the American psyche and culture and has been for hundreds of years: the slaughter of Native Americans by colonists and later by cowboys; the Salem witch trials and various colonial tortures; tar and feather, burning in effigy, lynching; "meet me at the backstop after school;" the love of boxing and wild west shoot-outs and yes, hockey fights; the preponderance of guns; wars and weapons of mass destruction; our preference for punitive prison sentences and the death penalty; our pop culture obsession with violent epsiodes and people--Charles Manson comes to mind first--even the "true crime" section of the bookstore; the love of violent video games and horror movies; domestic abuse; gang warfare; the Steubenville rape; school shootings and mass murderers; "Law and Order," "CSI," "The Sopranos," "Dexter," in addition to the rarity of pacifists like conscientious objectors, Quakers, the Amish. I'm sure there's more I could list. We might like Mom, apple pie, and baseball, but you have to add violence. And in that, we are different from most industrialized nations. It's not that they don't have guns and we do, it's that we want our guns desperately and they don't as much. And that speaks to something in our culture that all the post-Newtown commentary and Steubenville coverage that I've read hasn't really pinpointed.
But I could clap for almost everything else--the elementary-school students singing the national anthem, the fuzzy blue mascot waving the team flag, the "peanuts" playing hockey in the period breaks, the pop musical breaks between play, the way Bud danced and cheered, the return of the team after the breaks, the kids playing the karaoke game, the soldier in uniform who won a free dinner, to win a t-shirt in the t-shirt toss, and the shots on goal and the goals our team scored. And when we won.
Sometimes I had a hard time following the game--it's like soccer at the speed of basketball with something smaller than a tennis ball. It looked messy. Which could have been me or them. But the speed more than made up for my lack of knowledge in creating excitement.
I didn't cheer for one of my favorite parts, though: the delicious garlic fries, cheese fries, and hot churros.
And I didn't cheer like the boy behind us.
But I would go back to another hockey game.
We went to our first hockey game recently, with the tickets the kiddos won at Bingo Night in December. And it was certainly entertaining.
The game was good, too.
The 10-year-old behind us liked fighting. He liked it more than the game. And rooted for it constantly. More than he paid attention to the game.
His parents thought he was so cute. "Oh," his mom tittered, "we should have taken him to boxing!"
"That's right, son," said dad proudly.
Thankfully, my kids didn't hear him at all. They did notice the fighting, helmets and fists flying, especially because it made the highlights reel all three times. They were upset by it. Confused, they asked why we didn't stand and clap like those around us. "I can't clap for violence," I said, having just purchased a fundraising green and white "Angels of Newtown" bracelet.
It seems naive, but I have been so much more aware recently of how violence is very ingrained in the American psyche and culture and has been for hundreds of years: the slaughter of Native Americans by colonists and later by cowboys; the Salem witch trials and various colonial tortures; tar and feather, burning in effigy, lynching; "meet me at the backstop after school;" the love of boxing and wild west shoot-outs and yes, hockey fights; the preponderance of guns; wars and weapons of mass destruction; our preference for punitive prison sentences and the death penalty; our pop culture obsession with violent epsiodes and people--Charles Manson comes to mind first--even the "true crime" section of the bookstore; the love of violent video games and horror movies; domestic abuse; gang warfare; the Steubenville rape; school shootings and mass murderers; "Law and Order," "CSI," "The Sopranos," "Dexter," in addition to the rarity of pacifists like conscientious objectors, Quakers, the Amish. I'm sure there's more I could list. We might like Mom, apple pie, and baseball, but you have to add violence. And in that, we are different from most industrialized nations. It's not that they don't have guns and we do, it's that we want our guns desperately and they don't as much. And that speaks to something in our culture that all the post-Newtown commentary and Steubenville coverage that I've read hasn't really pinpointed.
But I could clap for almost everything else--the elementary-school students singing the national anthem, the fuzzy blue mascot waving the team flag, the "peanuts" playing hockey in the period breaks, the pop musical breaks between play, the way Bud danced and cheered, the return of the team after the breaks, the kids playing the karaoke game, the soldier in uniform who won a free dinner, to win a t-shirt in the t-shirt toss, and the shots on goal and the goals our team scored. And when we won.
Sometimes I had a hard time following the game--it's like soccer at the speed of basketball with something smaller than a tennis ball. It looked messy. Which could have been me or them. But the speed more than made up for my lack of knowledge in creating excitement.
I didn't cheer for one of my favorite parts, though: the delicious garlic fries, cheese fries, and hot churros.
And I didn't cheer like the boy behind us.
But I would go back to another hockey game.
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