The Wall

It came into being slowly
Like a weary traveler reaching shelter
It lumbered from not to there.
It was made of sighs
And so-sad things
And poetry, and giggles,
And companionship and tears.
It was children, and nursing mothers,
downcast eyes, and sorrow-lined smiles,
And old, deflated soccer balls.
Hefting itself up, piece by piece, it sat for all to see.
A wall.
Created, brick by brick, with hand-written letters all shoved in-between,
flapping like waving hands in the breeze,
the wall grew.
Soon, all anyone could see
Was dust, and grime
The sweat-stained brows of workers,
The sweet fields on postcards.
The distended bellies of babes,
The ramshackle houses spilling out of the river, and onto the banks, and up in the mountains,
and
people, people, everywhere.
Every brick contained a hundred hands, shaking,
a thousand well-hidden malices,
a million stifled coughs.
Peaking out from the corners,
fabric, and strange-language-ed song;
the threat of disease,
the begging for work,
the threads of uncounted impoverished lives.
And still, the wall grew.
Shuffling, and sliding, rasping, roughly;
Painfully, painfully, it moved into place.
We sat and watched it grow.
And like the mad, we tended to the formation, swarming.
Every crevice was filled with a dollar.
Every sigh, sealed with a bill.
We took pennies, and euros, quarters and nickels,
We took paper and checks, credit cards and gold bits,
and shoved them wherever we could.
Soon the wall, from our side, was so green,
so shiny,
so rippling with camouflage,
We could mistake the verdant scene for growth,
like plants had taken root in the seeds of those sad bodies
and flowers bloomed where once there was just ugly.
and poor.
And we'd rather not see that thank you very much.
How long does it take for a dollar bill to decay once it reaches the earth?
Sated. Rotund. Placated. Obese with the victory of hiding the poor,
We wait. Slap-happy,
Filled with blind ambition.
We exist for one purpose.
Our explanations end in "self."
Our existence ends in "self."
Our humanity ends in "self."

Late-Night Conversations

I have a good friend, a best friend, who inevitably keeps me up till the wee hours of the morning, talking about life, the universe, and everything, and usually about the intricacies of people, specifically the intricacies of relationships, the most complicated systems in existence.

And talking tonight, we had the most excellent conversation, where we talked about me, specifically, but people like me, as well. And we came to the conclusion, that:

"Part of your happiness is the fight

not just the result."

And it just sounds so poetic and true, I'm posting it here. What brings about your happiness? I don't believe in being handed your life. I think your life should be something you earn, something that you mold, and shape, and bring about. Something that you occasionally suffer for. I'm not advocating suffering, but I am saying that life should not always be about making yourself as comfortable as possible. My greatest peace has come at times when I am extremely challenged by my circumstances. I know of no better feeling in the world than displacing yourself for a while, and serving others. That's the truly bizarre thing about service, I think, the more you humble yourself for others, the more you discover about yourself - and the more you feel true happiness.

An Ode to a Friend

I have loved many things, and many people, in my life.

But someone I have never really written about, or talked up, who was hugely influential in my life, is a young man who is (in)famous to all who know him. His name is Jake.

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, I was an awkward teenager. No huge surprise there. It's shocking, after the fact, to talk to people about high school. It's like everyone was in their own little room, having horrible experimental procedures done on them, and you had no idea, because you were being likewise tormented in a room right across the hall. Everyone, apparently, had high school rough. Everyone felt awkward, and alone, tormented and terrified. Those people who teased you? They had it rough. Those people who judged you, and talked about you behind your back? Yeah, they probably had someone doing the same to them. There is no logic to place upon the boundaries of high school dramatics. The only thing one can say about such a place is that it perfectly represents how monkeys came to be humans - through a slow agonizing process of "us versus them." In-Group versus Out-Group. The vast majority of us are glad that it's over, and the way I see it, you can never truly comfort people who are down unless you've been down yourself. So, voila, having a shitty high school experience can, in the end, be useful, and meaningful, if not the most pleasant set of memories to dwell upon.  

Anyway, I digress. Jacob wasn't like that. In fact, Jacob was so unlike that, he was cool. Jacob was friends with everyone, exclusive with no one. A heart breaker, yet an irreplaceable friend, he was handsome and charming, funny and reckless. Jacob was a masterful storyteller. He would draw people in like bees to honey, telling hilarious stories about everyday experiences so well, it was like watching the scenes unfold before your very eyes. I suppose, if you have to have an idol, at least choose one who's good-natured and charming enough to make anyone, anywhere, at any time, in any situation, like him.

Jake was (and is) a character. Charismatic and reckless, he was the embodiment of a free spirit - unfettered, willing to risk life and limb to film some crazy hand-made movie about a pirate or a giant tapeworm (yes, we did that). He has driven a 1960's VW Beetle since I met him. I used to sit in terror while we drove down the highway in it, sure that at any moment, it would fall apart into a thousand pieces, with my sad, mangled body among the wreckage. He once told a story of a road trip in which he and the car plummeted over the side of a mountain in West Virginia, only to leave him completely unscathed, and a ruinous trail of pizza boxes, swords, guns, knives, Star Wars, pirate and polka band outfits strewn down the mountain behind him.

Yes, Jake has a polka band. In fact, the Chardon High School Polka Band, as they used to be known (they are now just the Chardon Polka Band) was one of my saving graces in high school. Being a "groupie" of a high school polka band is just one step away from complete social annihilation, according to some. But Jake made it cool.  Jacob gathered misfits to him, and gave them a home. If high school is the land of the In-Group versus the Out-Group, Jacob defied all odds and made a No-Group, a collection of individuals such as the world had never seen before. Aspiring scientists, guitar players, English-majors, lawyers, artists and opera singers found their home in the "Polka" brew.

It is an odd and interesting fact that most brilliant, clever, zany, outgoing, and world-altering people were misfits. In fact, I imagine it was their inability to fit in that made them thirst so much for the alteration of the world. Some of us were chubby. Some of us were gangly, and awkward, slightly out of touch with the sarcastic and scathing humor that paints the walls of most high schools. All of us loved Jacob. He gave us somewhere to hang out, and he made being geeky kind of...cool. My sophomore year, we all dressed up as Star Wars characters, and supported Jake as he ran for Homecoming King. I don't know exactly what happened that night, but Jacob won, much to the shock (and some horror) of everyone there. Even though there were a lot of nasty attitudes, the win was wonderful. Unfortunately, being friends with someone who is cool doesn't always translate to you being free from judgement or petty comments. But being friends with Jake did give me hope, and, sometimes, that's all you need. Jake brought together group of friends who were constant, who teased me like a little sister, but supported me through every trial and tribulation with humor, wisdom, and the occasional slice of cold pizza. Those people got me through high school, and out into Real Life.

Now that I'm out here, I can look back and be really, truly grateful for Jake's intervention in my life. From a bible study at Taco Bell, to concerts with the Polka Band, I discovered a life worth living. Talented, charming, genuine, and just a tad bit more responsible than he was back then, I heartily look forward to what else Jake will bring to the world. Even if it is as small as helping one young lady through high school, I can assure you, it's a mighty kind of gift.

Jacob, we were never really sure that you were going to grow up, but you seem to be doing alright, and I, for one, am very happy for you.  I love that the Polka Band has gigs everywhere, all the time, I love the new CD, and most of all, I love the fact that you decided to stick with something you love. You are making it work. I'm proud of you, and I'm proud to call you my friend (nice shirt, by the way).

Defining Normal

This is actually an essay I wrote for a contest to combine several usually distinct disciplines. Here, I combined the idea of a statistical norm with our sociological and psychological perception of what is normal behavior for a child, as exemplified by the saga of ADHD. 

It's very long, so please, don't feel the need to read the whole thing. I just felt silly, because only one or two people ever actually got to see this essay. 

         "There is a reason children love stories. Their imaginations are uninfluenced, free from the petty physics of this world. My love of stories began when, at 8-1/2 years old, browsing through Mrs. O’Keefe’s book nook, I happened to pick up Madeline L’Engle’s A Wrinkle in Time. As I read it, I became enraptured. To me, L’Engle’s world was consuming, a place I yearned for and never wanted to leave. Since that hunger was born in me, I have developed a voracious appetite for children’s literature. I cherish the ability children have to see more clearly than adults do, unburdened by world-weary baggage.

            Children understand that the lifeblood of the world is a good story. The smallest thing can inspire an excellent anecdote for a child, from seeing a surprise rainbow, to finding a toad in an unexpected place. Children recognize that without stories, life would lose some of its glorious luster, the ability we have to allay the pedantic meanderings of this world with the distracting magic of imagination. It seems that as we grow older, our spectrum narrows, as we necessarily focus our attentions on this or that responsibility. While not always needed, occasionally tempering this new adulthood with the clarity of youth can be one of the most insightful ventures we have the privilege to undertake.

            When you grow up in the thick of storytelling, you start to see narratives popping up wherever you go. Stories lead meandering paths through everything, from the defining moments of our lives, to the saga of research and development that goes into the creation of a diagnosis, a drug, or the making of the atomic bomb. Stories have the natural tendency to bring together discordant characters, to merge plotlines in places where we wouldn’t have been able to make connections before, and to create a little color in the amazing amalgamation that is the human experience. One of the most amazing gifts of the viewpoint of a child is this ability to examine the stories within our lives. It’s refreshing – and revealing. Seeing stories in the often “mundane” patterns that exist in scientific areas like neuroscience and psychology can help reveal quintessential questions, and hopefully develop, like a gently arcing plot, some answers.    

            I study childhood disorders in psychology because I empathize with a child’s perspective. In my own search for truth and knowledge, I am constantly donning the glasses of a child. With a little brother diagnosed with Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD), I am well aware of the piercing pain that comes from seeing a disabled child who, through no fault of his own, cannot comprehend where to find his own stories. He turns, anxiously, each new day bringing questions of why he struggles to belong, where his place is in this world. I would love to be able to give him the pride of knowing he is a master storyteller, even if his is not the “normal” tale.

I firmly believe that our experiences in childhood form the backbone of the “story” of how we handle the rest of our lives. It is this belief that brings me time and again to the question: “What is normal?” How we craft the definition to this word determines the course of the lives of millions of children and adults every day. Popular estimates show that between 12-22% of children under the age of 18 suffer from a “mental disorder[1][1].” Where is the story behind that statistic? How did we get to be such a diagnostically-fevered society? A now infamous article by child psychologists John Richers and Dante Cicchetti uses the case studies of both Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn to point out some of the absurdity behind our hunger for diagnosis. Both boys, according to the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual (psychology’s Bible of diagnostic criteria) would qualify for a diagnosis of Conduct Disorder, which is characterized by the engagement in certain anti-social behaviors for at least six months[2][2]. One of the main focuses of the article is on the simple point that children have to be examined within context. How did these children perceive themselves? Certainly not as enfeebled and mentally crippled victims! This is one of the main conundrums of diagnosing children. What upsets and disrupts the life of a child is usually significantly different from those things that we would label as “upsetting and disrupting” in the life of an adult. In other words, how we define normal for children is going to be inherently different from how we define normal for adults.

Nowhere is this concept of normality and how we define it more salient than in the debate surrounding the childhood disorder ADHD. ADHD is marked by “developmentally inappropriate” hyperactivity, impulsivity, and inattention. It has come under extreme fire in both the media and in the research community for being a collection of symptoms that most people inherently associate with children, especially boys. Many argue that ADHD is just another example of this “hunger for diagnosis,” that children don’t actually have anything “wrong” with them, but psychologists and parents would like to make something wrong with them. In reality, parents and children alike struggle every day with this very real disorder, trying to make schedules, reward posters, and behavioral management programs to help their child succeed. The stress, frustration, and exhaustion that come along with the reality of a disorder like ADHD aren’t things you can portray with a diagnosis. Because of this, many see a diagnosis of something like ADHD, and are repulsed by what they view as unnecessary and ridiculous. But even more important is the fact that ADHD is defined by what psychologists call “appropriate development.” The term “appropriate” is given to that range of behaviors that is considered “normal.” Perhaps the real question behind the reality of ADHD is, “What is normal?” Defining normal necessitates a holistic outlook, much like a child’s tendency to see endless stories in everyday life. While stories may seem childish, the value of looking at a “whole-picture” scenario is immeasurable, especially when we are attempting to redefine a child’s life with a diagnosis.

The idea of having a child-like, holistic outlook on how we define “normal” is a new and intriguing idea for psychologists and neuroscientists alike. Science, as a “field,” tends to be rather serious. It has its own language, its own edicts of how to “get in” and what sorts of things you have to do in order to “belong.” It wouldn’t rank particularly high on my list of specialties in which taking the viewpoint of a child is encouraged. And yet, neuroscientists and psychologists are faced daily with the heart-wrenching issue of whether to give a child a serious diagnosis or not. This is where the question, “What is normal?” has come to dwell. I believe that finding the answer lies in discovering the true value of stories as paths to wisdom.

Historically, normalcy has been statistically defined by the bell curve. Simple and easy to understand, the bell curve represents the distribution of everything from childhood disorders to eating habits. Most people fall in the middle. This peak is “normal.” Here, “normal” is defined by the median of the population – an anomaly of data suggesting that “whatever most people are, that is what’s normal.” Unfortunately, in a large enough population, that leaves a lot of people dragging along the edges. Is every child who engages in certain anti-social behaviors for six months really suffering from Conduct Disorder? Even if they fall along the edges of the “normalcy curve” diagnosing them may not be the best option. Diagnoses carry a lot of weight. They are small burdens for many people, packages to be carried from high school, to college, into relationships, and out of jobs. They can change the course of the entire story.

When my little brother was diagnosed with ADHD, a lot of plans and hopes had to be put aside or remade in the light of what we were now facing. Josh struggles with everything from making friends to finishing homework. We’ve had to find a new school, a new schedule, and a new way of dealing with everything from spilled soup to driving to the store in order to accommodate him. None of the changes we have made as a family have been easy, nor were any of them in mind when my mom received the fantastic news that she was pregnant again. Everything we’ve done for Josh has caused major adjustments to the plotline. Every new medication brings about a slightly different protagonist, every new therapy a small hope for success. This is the real story of a diagnosis, and it emphasizes the need for a good definition behind “normal.”

  Most psychologists and neurologists offer the definition of normalcy with a caveat – Are the symptoms causing the individual significant distress and disability? If a child (or adult) is not suffering from the “presentation” of his or her “symptoms,” do clinicians have any right to bend him or her to our liking and redirect him or her onto the “path of the average?” The issue that lies behind the assumption of the standard curve is that we may all determine our curves in different ways. What if we have a unique population with a skewed idea of “most people?” What if the “glasses” we don to look at our world are different from one another? In the 1930’s and 40’s, we had barely begun to acknowledge that children could have mental disorders. Today, as many as 1 in 4 children meets diagnostic criteria for one. If this is a result of parent advocacy, a changed perspective on childhood, or research only being done in specific populations, we need to step back and evaluate our case for pathology. Neuroscience and psychology are enchanting, fascinating disciplines. They provide the model for answering questions of normalacy, pathology, bias, interest, childhood and history. In the study of neuroscience and psychology, you find a study of humanity itself, an examination of the development of the mind.

Whether in these fields or in the creation of a beloved work of children’s fiction, we are all subject to the veil of the question, “What is normal?” It is not enough that we claim to have the best interests of children at heart. Research, by its nature, peers into the lives of the individuals it studies and demands an explanation for errant or untoward behavior. It is, in short, looking for a diagnosis. Children deserve the opportunity to exist outside of adulthood before we thrust our machinations of normalacy and functionality upon them. When people ask me how I define normal, I insist upon the examination of a person as an individual entity, trying to piece out the ways in which he or she defines him or herself, and most importantly, whether he or she is distraught about the manner in which his or her symptoms are cropping up. In short, I want to view any child I work with as a protagonist in an intricate and complicated story. What is the difference, after all, between psychopathic delusions of grandeur and a child’s innocent desire to imagine a kingdom for herself? This is where stories and science merge. Without context, you cannot imagine the scope of a disorder. Without reading the story, you cannot truly know the characters.

Children are one of our greatest gifts. Our recognition that children have that essential and wonderful quality of “childhood” makes their existence in our lives all the more vivid and revealing. Neuroscience and psychology bridge many divides that have long puzzled us with regard to childhood and the mind. Our greatest challenge is finding a way to fit psychopathology within the framework of helping children grow and feel unconditionally loved, even if theirs are unconventional tales."

Rainbow Flags

I originally posted this note on Facebook, but decided it belongs here as well.

"Categorizing someone's relationship based on its sexual aspects would be offensive to anyone. So why do we rail against homosexual relationships based on their sexual practices? What if they don't even have sex?!

I know this is going to sound silly, but I was watching Lord of the Rings recently, and I couldn't help but ponder what many have said - that Frodo and Sam are "gay." Frodo and Sam obviously cared for one another. They wept with and supported one another throughout all three of the movies, and came very close to death, lying together, at the end. Is this love so hard for our label-fanatic society to handle? They seemed to love one another, but, obviously, Sam married Rosie. Sam was, perhaps, not sexually attracted to Frodo. I've read (simply by chance, I certainly didn't go looking for it) a lot of articles/webpages, etc., by people who are vehemently anti-gay everything, from gay rights to gay relationships. These people wish death upon everyone in this world who would support or condone the actions of homosexuals, to the point of celebrating horrible suicides, like that at Rutgers. To be fair, a lot of these people are in a hateful minority. But their opinions are still bitterly evident in the feelings held by many in this country.

What is so terrifying about love like the kind Sam and Frodo held for one another? For it is fear, and not righteous indignation, that drives such hatred of homosexuality. What if they were gay? What if Sam had never talked about being with Rosie, and had simply stayed with Frodo? Would we turn away from the story in disgust? If we did, what would we be disgusted at? Certainly not the loving, caring, deep emotional bond Frodo and Sam shared. No. We would be shying away from the fact that Frodo and Sam might have had sex.


In my opinion, that is a huge problem. You cannot deny someone a loving relationship because the idea of them having sex makes you feel uncomfortable! I know this argument has been made before, but I just can't stop thinking about how ludicrous it is, and so I had to write about it. The Gay Rights/Pride movement does a lot of things wrong. Too often, they use sexual imagery to show that they are "free" and "proud." When I went to a gay pride parade a few months ago, many of the featured booths, events, and acts centered on sex, from having safe sex, to sexual objects in general, to having burlesque dancers strip in front of giant audiences. I'm sorry, but that sort of imagery does not make me respect your movement. And it's certainly not going to change the opinions of many who oppose that movement. In fact, it firmly establishes in the minds of many who oppose the movement that the only thing that gay people do is have sex! Wild, crazy sex, all the time, anywhere, with anyone, or anything. That's awful, and I know it isn't true. The real tragedy is that many gay youth, having no where else to turn, and no other image to look up to, make this overly sexualized persona their icon. These kids go out into the world looking for someone to love, and instead, finding only unsubstantial relationships that leave them feeling hollow, because they never learned that gay relationships and straight relationships involve the same things. This is the kicker. Sexuality may lie on a spectrum, but loving someone, finding worth, and partnership, respect and strength in someone else - those things do not have a gender, or a home in a certain type of relationship!

There's so much shame built up around homosexuality. There's shame surrounding talking about it, or supporting it openly. There's shame about knowing someone who is homosexual, or embracing and allowing people to come out about their sexuality. I don't claim to have any answers. Many who say they are gay may not be, and many who insist they are not, may be. I will say this - if I want to talk about homosexuality, I will. But I will not shove it in your face, just like I won't with my religion. I won't say shocking things to you in order to make you "see the error of your ways," just like I won't with my faith. I'm not going to force you to talk about gay sex. That would be rude. You wouldn't force me to talk about heterosexual sex. I just want people to take a little time to look at why homosexuality gives them the creeps. Or why they're ashamed of talking about it, period.

There is a lot that the world throws at us that is really terrible, from children dying of starvation to the despicable ways many use to oppress women. This should not be one of those things. There's enough oppression and mistreatment handed out every day, all around us. I understand the fear that many parents have that their children, if they come out about being "gay," will be tormented, hurt, and abused. Those fears aren't illegitimate. But I believe that you have to be the change you wish to see in the world. You have to have the conviction that what you live for is worthwhile, and that every day, even if it's an immense battle, you stand for justice, and the dignity of all.

Most of us don't go out every day shouting about the things we believe in. If your child comes out that he or she may be gay, they won't suddenly get a giant "G" emblazoned on their forehead.  People who go around looking for fights, who shove their ideology into other people's faces, are annoying and intrusive, and no one listens to them in the long run anyway. But to treat other people with dignity and respect, and to uphold the right of someone to share a loving relationship, without fear of judgement or abuse - that has to be something you do no matter what. That's not something you go around shouting about - it's just something you make sure is protected.


I love and cherish many of my friends and family who may not agree with a lot of what I'm saying here. I'm not burning bridges, but I am saying that being uncomfortable with how someone has sex is not a valid reason to dismiss the entirety of a relationship.

In conclusion, I would just like to say, "It's okay, to be Takei.""

4th of July

I realize it's been a long time since I've posted, but I just wanted to put this moving, worthwhile quote somewhere I could easily find it later.

This 4th of July has really tested a lot of what I feel about the concepts of patriotism and nationalism. I'm going to quote my wonderful boyfriend here, and say that I think there is a difference between patriotism and nationalism. Whereas nationalism is like a child's relationship with his or her parents, blind devotion, patriotism is something chosen, like a mature adult relationship. I respect the idea that we can grow into a relationship with our country much more than the idea that we are born and bread to just "love" America.

I hate the idea that we whoop and holler and celebrate the gruesome and vicious deaths of so many English kids. You know, we love Mr. Darcy, but god forbid we think that young men just like him we're going out to those front lines and getting their arms, and legs, eyes, lips, or hands blown off. That's not dehumanizing our enemy to a point that's comfortable, and therefore, we don't do it. Instead, we watch movies like the patriot and scream with excitement when our men are blowing up more of them than they are of us. It's a little bit crazy. That's why I LOVE the book The Hunger Games. Suzanne Collins wrote this book as a commentary on children and violence in the modern era, but it's also a sound commentary on dehumanization and desensitization. In the book, children are forced to battle in an arena until only one child is left alive. In both a horrifying and poetic way, Collins discusses what it means to become so detached from violence that we do something that is considered universally horrible - watch our children torture and kill one another. They cheer the children on, placing bets on which one will come out first. Much like today, we can watch movies like The Patriot, and cheer and celebrate when we see the Americans killing more English than English killing Americans.

So, I would like to post this, which I also received from my wonderful boyfriend. It is part of the Tao Te Ching.

"Weapons are the tools of violence;
all decent men detest them. Weapons are the tools of fear;
a decent man will avoid them
except in the direst necessity
and, if compelled, will use them
only with the utmost restraint.

Peace is his highest value.
If the peace has been shattered,
how can he be content?
His enemies are not demons,
but human beings like himself.
He doesn't wish them personal harm.
Nor does he rejoice in victory.
How could he rejoice in victory
and delight in the slaughter of men?

He enters a battle gravely,
with sorrow and with great compassion,
as if he were attending a funeral."