Two Men in My Mirror (With Pictures of Sydney)

The week the baby came home - and the pregnancy hormones settled back to normal - I realised the toll the pregnancy had taken on the kids.

At the Royal Botanical Gardens in Sydney after renewing their American passports

I was a bit irritable at the end there. 

Irritable as in "why the  $&%^*ing  #&$* do I have to $*%*ing bend over to pick up everybody else's $&%*(^ing socks?"

Irritable as in bending Matthew over to touch his toes to show him how easy it was to bend over when you weren't carrying a person inside your belly.

And while the question about the socks - and books and sticks and legos and soccer balls - is a valid one, the  $*($%&%  used liberally as an adjective and noun isn't.

Big city.  Bit chilly for the Queenslanders.  (Huh?  How did Ryan EVER survive in Germany?!)

This hit home when Matthew used the "f" word as an adjective.  And then came up with the "er" version to describe the brother he wasn't getting along with.

Also when Damon asked Aidan to brush his teeth one night and Aidan sat down in the middle of the bathroom floor and said "JESUS CHRIST".

He sounded just like me.  Which would have been funny....

More impressed with the icecream than the Opera House.

Except that sort of behaviour really isn't acceptable - or pretty - in a five year old.

(We have since introduced Aidan to the "Jesus Christ" I keep in our kitchen pantry, next to the flour and baking products.  A gift from the Mormon missionaries, the picture is too pretty to throw out, and so I keep it to comfort me whenever I open the pantry.  When Aidan DOES slip up, we remind him about respect and invite him to visit Jesus in the pantry if he feels the need for a chat.)

Back in Brisbane!  (Where Mommy and Ian are waiting for us.)

Seeing my vices reflected in my youngest two children made me see how ugly - and unacceptable - they really are.

I've gotten WAY better.  (I only lose it when the computer refuses to cooperate with me.)

And the twins' behaviour has mirrored mine.

Michael Jackson knew what he was talking about.

"I'm starting with the man in the mirror.
I'm asking him to change his ways.
And no message could have been any clearer
If you want to make the world a better place
Take a look at yourself and make the change."

At the Botanical Gardens.

It's very Tao.  (Verse 58: Thus the Master is content to serve as an example and not to impose her will.)  But I never would have understood it without the example from my children.

I haven't had to do much.  Just change my own behaviour.

I want my kids to be better people than I am.

Meaning that I become a better person for them.

Don't Get On The Boat?!

Extra baggage?  No, lucky enough to be considered people.

I've only seen the bumper sticker on one Ute so far.  But it's parked outside our school every morning so I get to see it often.

And, honestly, it makes me laugh.  It's just so AMERICAN!  And, being one of the fortunate few to be here legally now, I too have jokingly said that they can close the ports and keep this fantastic country with its unlimited possibilities and hope for the future to ourselves.

Shhh!  Just don't remind them that we're here.  This country is the best kept secret in the world!

The bumper sticker has an outline of the Australian mainland.  With the words "Fuck Off.  We're Full." printed over it.  I mean, that's kinda funny.  IF you are already here.  And if you have already seen the same words printed over an outline of the USA mainland. 

The Australian Dream.  For us, attainable.

And if you aren't one of the 800 illegal refugees the Australian government had decided to send to Malaysia to ease overcrowding in their facilities here.  Most of these people come from war-torn countries, mainly Burma but also Sri Lanka, Iraq, Iran, Afghanistan.  They were desperate enough to risk their lives and the lives of their children to come here.  Only a few months ago a boat of 50 refugees was filmed smashing into the cliffs at Christmas Island.  To be fair, the Coast Guard did try to rescue them, but conditions made it impossible.  They died violently, crushed on the rocks, in their desperate quest for freedom from violence and oppression.

It's like the Haitians in the USA who have risked everything to climb into wooden fishing boats, come over shark-infested waters and arrive on our shores only to be told that 'sorry, you folks are just a little too dark for us.'  If you were Cuban you might stand a chance, politics being what they are.  But Haitian?  Eh.  We got enough of those. 

Qantas over Singapore.  Video games and DVDS.  Do they have those on the shipping boats?

I admit that neither the USA or Australia can become home to everyone.  But I do argue that anyone desperate enough to brave death in a rowboat to make it there should be allowed to stay.  I've been in one of those boats.  To cross to an island for a wedding reception.  And while the Haitians in the boat thought it was really funny when the Best Man stood up and said 'next stop, Miami'  I couldn't laugh.  I was already thinking about what would happen if this boat tipped over and I was surrounded by 100 people panicked people who didn't know how to swim.  Mind you, we were in sight of shore. 

The argument is that people-smugglers are profiteering from these poor souls.  And that sending them to Malaysia - which is a developing country that doesn't recognize their rights as UNHCR refugees - sends a message.

Layover in Singapore.

'Don't get on the boat.'  says Julia Gillard.  'Or else you risk going to the back of the queue.'

THE BACK OF THE QUEUE?  THE BACK OF THE QUEUE?  With all respect Ms.  Gillard, I don't believe there is a queu for illegal migrants in Malaysia. 

I don't have all the answers. 

But I do believe we are sending a message.

'Don't get on the boat.'  Because we don't give a shit about you either.

THIS, Leute, is a burger!  Only a car ride from Germany - in England - and already world's away!

Do countries like the USA and Australia and Canada and countries in Europe owe it to refugees to take them in?  Obviously there has to be a sustainable policy.  But obviously those more fortunate DO have a moral obligation to help those less fortunate.

I say this as a legal immigrant here.  Because I was fortunate to marry an Aussie, have enough money to pay for VISAs and plane tickets and because I fit the bill of what Australia is looking for in an immigrant.  I mean, really, if we HAVE to let anyone in, let them look and act and be like us. 

But I also say this as someone fortunate enough to be born a USA citizen. 

Look into these people's faces.  And imagine it could be you.

The 'ship' we came in.  The same day another Qantas plane lost bits of itself over our airport in Singapore.  As we were landing.  Ignorance is bliss, folks.  We thought it was a goat on the runway!

'Don't get on the boat? Go to the back of the queue? '

Go to jail, go directly to jail.  Do not pass 'Go'.  Do not collect $200.

These are people.

Please, let us be human enough to treat them as such.

Sorry Day

The boys at a War Memorial in Kallangur.   Don't worry, they've all had the 'war is bad' pacificist speech over and over.  Weapons still seem to be part of the XY mentality!

I don't know if I've publicly admitted that the holidays down here have taken a little getting used to.  The old ones you are used to in the Northern Hemisphere, like Christmas and Easter, aren't the same down here.  Dare I complain about too much beach and sun and barbeque and fun dampening the spirit of the holidays?!!  Nah!

And the uniquely Australian ones make up for it.

ANZAC day was nice.  Mostly because Aussies (and New Zealand) are truly able to thank their soldiers for protecting them and for helping others - the good mates who come to the aid of other countries in World Wars and regional wars alike without being called either imperialistic like the USA.  Or without actually BEING the bad guys, like Germany.  You can honor individual German soldiers who died for their country in private, but you can't really dedicate a national holiday to a group of people who were trying to take over Europe and wipe out the races that weren't quite up to par.  And America has Vietnam.  Australia was there too.  But it doesn't hold the same 'hush-hush oh - goodness our government was doing something wrong and should we have supported the nineteen year old boys who were over there dying even though we may have felt the government had no business sending them over there in the first place' kind of angst that the word still conjures up in the USA two generations later.

It's nice to be able to be proud of your country, without all the moral ambiguities.  (And I AM going to argue, at some point, that everyone deserves to be proud of their country, and should work on that!)

The kids marching on ANZAC Day.  (Ryan has the flowered hat on and Andrew is right behind her.)

Aussies get a little nervous when I say this, because they do have the 'aborginal issue' to deal with.  Something I may be a little less sensitive to as a newcomer - here's a race of people MY ancestors DIDN'T oppress and/or try to exterminate!  But yeah, the native Australians in Tasmania were rounded up and exterminated.  Those everywhere else were marginalized at best, and killed outright at worst.  Mixed-race children - the 'Stolen Generation' - were forcibly taken from their homes and 'reeducated'  to fit 'their proper roles' - as servants of course - in white Australian society.  For their own good.  Because the white in them was worth saving. 

So that none of us is generationally free from original sin. 

Of course, the original white Australians that came here didn't want to be here either.  They, too were the marginalized classes of Britain - the poor, the Irish (and it REALLY pisses me off that there WAS food to eat during the Potato Blight but that the English were shipping it all to their estates and leaving the Irish to starve).  The tired and poor and the usual outcasts.  And the soldiers.

Here come the Veterans.  One older gentleman had tears in his eyes.  I did too.

This month we have 'Sorry Day' coming up.  Which I believe is known as Reconciliation Week officially.  And while I am not so sure I would be big enough to be able to forgive white Australians for the past, especially for something as recent as the 'Stolen Generation', I admire those native Australians who can. 

And I admire Australia for officially, as a nation, admitting their guilt and apologizing for their collective role in it. 

"We are so truly sorry for what happened.  We are so terribly sorry that our ancestors did this to yours.  There is no making up for it.  It was truly horrible and truly wrong.  But we can work together from here to make this a country for ALL of us TOGETHER now."

XX for peace!

Shouldn't Germany be doing this for the Holocaust?  (There have been some small apologies, all rather lame and none of them speaking of true, national repentence.)  What about the USA and THEIR native Americans?  The problem being that if you apologize and admit you were wrong you would probably have to do more to change the current situation than let your native Americans rot on their reservations in marginalized lands - ie the desert that noone else wanted - and let them upon up casinos to fund their AA programs. 

The past can't be changed.  All we can do is accept responsibility and do better from here on out.

New Aussies.  Goofy but well-intentioned!

Sorry. 

Such a little word.

But such a big start.

Andrew's Dresden

Andrew had a special assignment for school.  It was MEANT to be a three week school project, but he came home last weekend and told me he had a Power Point presentation due on Dresden that Monday.  He wrote the essay and we added the photos the morning of my birthday.  (Which might sound really lame, but for all who know me, was actually not a bad birthday gift for me!)

With ANZAC day coming up here - and inspired by Lindsey's piece on peace (!!!) - I just wanted to show what homeschooling can do.  Although we learned a lot about Dresden as part of a homeschooling project, Andrew's essay shows me that just talking about things informally at home, exposing kids to complicated ideas and encouraging to think about them, goes a long way.

It also shows that they ARE listening more than you think they are. 

And that it is never too early to start teaching kids about peace!

I feel really lucky that Andrew's teacher is carrying on the same lessons at school that I teach at home.  (And yes, Andrew wrote those last few pages himself.  I was actually trying to get him to tone it down or even delete some of it but then realized that was crossing the line from editing to censorship.  Hmmm....might be Andrew has the same preachy style as his mother!  But then again he is only nine!) 

Some photos have been omitted in the interests of time.  It's Andrews WORDS that I am so proud of!

Dresden
By Andrew Connor



My Opa was born in the nearby town of Rathen two weeks after Dresden was bombed. 
(This is us visiting Rathen.)



His Mum, my Ur-Oma, saw only dust and fire.  Dresden was bombed by the Americans and British because they were fighting the Nazis who ruled Germany at that time.  The Nazis were the bad guys.
(This is me in front of the Golden Horseman, a statue of August the Strong.  He was the Kaiser of Dresden in the 1700s)

Before the bombing Dresden was as pretty as today.  It has a famous Opera house.   It has paintings by famous painters like Rafael.  Martin Luther even studied there!  (This is me near a statue of the great Martin Luther.)







A lot of the buildings are fixed.  Some are the same as before and some not.  Good paintings burned and are redone.  This is the Frauenkirche, the Church of Our Lady.  It was completely destroyed by the bombs.  Today it has been rebuilt.  It is a symbol of hope.  A piece of the old church has been kept standing to remind people of the bombings.  Ryan and Matthew stand in front of it.  (Photo omitted.)

Of course many people died.  Some also survived.  The survivors had even more pain than the already dead people of the bombed city of Dresden.

Dresden shows us all how terrible war is.  How much pain it can cause, how deadly it is and how not fun it is.  (This is the Elbe River that my Opa played and swam in as a little boy.)

Recycling Prep-School Style

Maybe its my fault the boys like recycling so much.

One thing Germany does well is recycling. 

Altdorf itself was actually too anal about it.  Damon and I called the women at the recycling place the 'Recyling Nazis',  something noone else seemed to find funny, despite the fact they were so totally 'over it.'  It might have been that they just didn't see anything wrong with two women running over to you to inspect whether or not you have sorted your clear plastic from your colored plastic from the little bags the soup come in properly.  And made you do it again if you hadn't.

Then my friend Karen told me they recombined some of the recycling again because they needed some of it to fuel an incinerator or something.

Damon and I went to Boeblingen, run by some really nice eastern European men who not only helped you out with a bit more respect than the Recycling Nazis but also hung out and chatted with us a bit afterwards. 

We were judged pretty severely by neighbors for putting our trash out every other week.  Noone seemed to understand that TWO kids in diapers filled that bin up pretty quickly.

But once we got Aidan and Matthew out of diapers we too were able to go six weeks without pick-up.  The recycling, which we had to take to the center ourself, was a weekly affair.

The thing is, they've got it backwards here.  (And in the USA too from what I understand.)  The trash is picked up weekly but the recycling only bi-weekly.  Here and in the USA you are pretty proud of yourself for recycling soda cans, newspapers, tin cans and plastic bottles.  That, folks, is not even the tip of the recycling iceberg.  If you read what is written on the container, you can pretty much recycle EVERYTHING except for some really dirty fish papers.  And diapers.

We've had to put out recycling in the trash this week because we just had too much.

And here, they make it easy for you.  No sorting.  Just dump it in the bin.  AND they pick it up for you.  In Europe, you have these awful bins in your house to sort the plastic from the paper from the cork from the tin from the......it is such a pain that I stopped recycling the things we only had a little of and threw it in the trash for convenience.

Honestly, Leute, at some point you have got to make it easier for people with large families to do some of this stuff because people right now seem to be so busy sorting and cleaning and doing everything perfectly, by the book, that noone has the time for more than one or two kids.

Aidan and his favorite toy - an empty box.

Of course, Lawnton parents seem to have their own form of recycling.  Most of the teachers at school ask for cardboard boxes and rolls of toilet paper to use for art projects.  Ms. Dance, Aidan and Matthew's Prep teacher goes a step further (as always!) and asks for ribbons and old greeting cards and basically anything the kids might find interesting in creating something new.

Aidan and Matthew started coming home with some really really horrendous - by which I mean fantastically creative - art work a few weeks ago.  For my boys, bigger means better.  So that we have strips of wallpaper glued to huge sheets of construction paper.  And bits of lace glued to egg cartons.  These are all carried home proudly and then used as additions to the Lego and Playmobil creations in the playroom. 

It progressed.  The artwork got bigger and uglier.  Excuse me, I mean more and more creative and original.  I was hunting through their room while they were at school, trying to sort the garbage - excuse me again, I mean ARTWORK - they wouldn't notice was gone from the stuff they were sure to miss.  And believe me, it's hard to tell which egg carton they would notice was missing.

My boys LOVE the recycling bin at school.  They come home with jewelry boxes and fancy gift boxes with snazzy clasps in intricate, velvety liners.  I know better than to throw these away.

The thing is they are just spending time sorting through the bin for goodies now.  They don't NEED to MAKE anything out of it.  They just need to bring it home.  HOW GREAT IS THIS?  IT'S LIKE CHRISTMAS EVERYDAY!

At least we know we don't have to go all out for their birthday presents anymore!  How about a roll of old string?  Or some old carpeting maybe?

This week Aidan brought home about 30 old Christmas cards.  Ms Dance said he had spent a LOT of time and energy hunting them out of the bin.  He was very very intent and excited.  Great.  Now that I've finally managed to deal with my own hoarding tendencies - I save only the best and put the rest in the bin - I've got Aidan bringing home SOMEONE ELSE'S memories.  These will be easier for me to recycle.  Except for the fact that he is counting them daily and making sure I don't take them from him!

Matthew brings home fancy shopping bags and carries them around like purses.  Oh sorry, I believe we are supposed to call them 'man bags' now.  Shades of the whole Teletubbies fiasco of a few years ago.  To be honest, I'm not so worried about him carrying a purse as I am about the fact that he brings home a new one every day now.

What really made me decide I needed to have a talk with Ms Dance though was when I walked into the Prep class yesterday to pick up the boys and saw Aidan strutting towards me carrying a box that was bigger than he was.  That's it.  A box.  A crock-pot box.  He was as excited as I would have been if there had actually been a crock-pot IN it!  Look Mom, of ALL the kids in class, I GET TO CARRY HOME THIS HUGE EMPTY BOX!

Until he opened it up at home and I found some more Christmas cards and strips of wallpaper inside.

Oh yay.

I've got a vacuum cleaner box I'd like to give to the child of the person who gave us the crock-pot box.   But, with my luck, my kids will just bring it home again anyway.

Uh yeah. Today I was going to work on THE NOVEL. I have taken great liberty in calling it that since, so far, it is about ten pages of character development with some theme and no plot.


But I feel it.

Then I dutifully checked emails to keep up with my volunteer stuff at school.

And received an email from Sabina, who - as another German-American and a mother of three who has done the transatlantic move a few times - totally validated me and made me feel better about myself and my ranting and raving. Nice to know I am not offending EVERYONE!

I had another email from Lindsey - who is my push and inspiration to write - and who seems to be spear-heading support (for her writing, which is fantastic, and therefore encourages me to do MY bit!) over the Internet. (Do English-speakers capitalized that, because it feels wrong NOT to!)

Of course that connected me to the REST of The Writers and I spent the next two hourse catching up on what THEY have been doing.

http://jimmartinphotoblog.blogspot.com/2011/03/where-do-children-play-remember-song-by.html?showComment=1301965969595#c4357139670145857597

Uh yeah. I am surrounded by genius.

Here I am ranting and raving - throwing it into everyone's face - moralizing and overexplaining myself.

And Jim does it with a photo essay and a few well-chosen words. 

Check it out. He says - and shows - it better - than I am able to at the moment.

I have NOT asked Jim for permission to post this link - Jim, is it okay, because I will take it off if it is not - and I certainly don't know his reasons for posting this.

But, since I am personally having trouble writing ANYTHING at all about Japan, well.....isn't it nice when someone can show pictures of Stuttgart, that have NOTHING to do with Japan, and still express what I have been unable to say in words for weeks now?

So much nicer than banging you over the head with it.I may have it all wrong. But Jim's photos - and words - are always worth a look.

Maybe I should just stick to hanging out the laundry!

Hiding

My Mommy worries when I don't blog.  Like there is something I am hiding from her.

Well yes, Mom, I am hiding a lot lately, thanks for asking.

Which is why I write about koala poop and today thought I'd mention our 5:45 AM capture of the Huntsman spider the kids found in their bedroom.  (Piece of cake, by the way.  Doesn't even faze us anymore.)

What the Huntsman is covering up is 3 blogs on Ego and Taoism, mushy pieces of self-discovery and personal growth that I really didn't feel the need to burden everyone with.  (Although, I suppressed the Ego, tried to remember that it was NOT all about me, followed the path of least resistance and had the satisfaction of it following the path I had wanted all along, WITHOUT my Ego pushing it.  See why I saved you the trouble of reading it?!)

The Huntsman is also covering up 4 blogs on German collective guilt and shame.  One of which I will post this week.  Again, not sure I need to go there publicly, but hiding it hasn't been making it go away either.

One of my friends has a son undergoing a second round of chemotherapy and bone marrow transplant for childhood leukemia, on Friday one of my best friends here ended up in the hospital with a brain anuerysm and yesterday my mom told me she was going back in for surgery and chemotherapy for metastasis to the liver from her colorectal cancer 6 months ago.

Which really puts the cough and fever that has laid me out flat for the last two weeks in perspective, doesn't it?! 

And makes the blog I have been researching on the Burke and Wills exploration and what it says about the Australian spirit seem fairly trivial.

I find myself completely unable to deal with Japan and natural disasters.

And then they throw Libya in the mix.

All of which brings up my belief in karma and reincarnation and makes me question again why the Christians did away with such an intuitive concept.

Making it hard to focus on the blog about Andrew being selected as goal-keeper for the travel team in soccer. 

By which I mean to say that things are business as usual around here. 

I have a hard time hiding anything from my Mommy.  Probably made her wish she hadn't asked though, didn't I?!

Teenage Wasteland

Over a decade ago it was the Columbine shooting in the USA.  Timothy McVeigh.  Angry young men murdering innocent people.

Now its young Muslim men.  Arid Uka.  Umar Farouk Abdulmutallab.  Angry young men murdering innocent people.  (Or trying to.)

Can we blame radicalized Islam for the former any more than we could blame popularized violence on TV for the latter?

I don't know.  But words hurt.  Sarah Palin telling her followers it was time to reload.  And one of them doing just that and shooting a congressional representative.

These are kids.  They are confused young men.  Man, I was angry all the time as a teenager.  Remember the Pet Shop Boys? "Everything I Do, It's a Sin" was like my own personal logo.  The Who.  AC/DC.  Heavy Metal.  Mosh Pits.  We are angry young people, bursting with hormones.  And who did we blame?  Our parents.  The status quo.  And we were going to take our anger, channel it, and do exactly the opposite.

I think this is called healthy adolescence.

What is not healthy is when adults infiltrate the adolescent psyche and manipulate it for their own purposes.  Man, for a religion that reveres the past, radical Muslims certainly have embraced the internet.  How easy for a lonely, shy, confused young man to become part of a group.  How easy to find purpose. 

Arid Uka grew up in Germany.  And while I do have my issues with that country, it is not a bad place to live.  He got to go to school.  His family had a home and work and food.  They are allowed to practice their religion.  And they aren't in danger of being slaughtered.  Life is NOT easy, but it really could have been a lot worse too.

As for the Americans, they stepped in and saved Kosavan ass when noone else in Europe really wanted to.

Dare I say that this isn't at all about religion, or nationality or race?  It's about angry CHILDREN being manipulated for an evil purpose.  How easy to pull the trigger and yell 'Allahu Akbar.'  I'm guessing his girlfriend dumped him.

So what can we do?  How can we keep these young men from destroying themselves - and others with them. 

Does it really get back to mom and dad keeping on eye on what their kids are reading and watching on the internet? 

Or can we get an international campaign mounted - Muslim and non-Muslim alike - telling these children that they are being used?  Telling them WE care.  Telling them there are other options.

I know.  Let's get everyone listening to The Who again.   Because, after all, the lyrics go like this:

I don't need to fight
To prove I'm right
I don't need to be forgiven

Teenage Wasteland.  If only it were as simple as running over a few mailboxes, like they did in my day.

Koalas in the Courtyard: Week 9

I picked up a literary magazine two weeks ago for inspiration.  (Writers Forum out of England.  Some fantastic hints on writing and some great competitions to enter.)

In it, Barbara Dynes told me I was a lazy writer, one of those 'full of ideas' people who write all the time but get so many new ideas that they never stick to any one thing.  "If you're one of these people, understand that you are being lazy not creative: you would rather play about with a new idea than get down to the hard graft of writing the story, wouldn't you?" 

Well yes, Barbara, thanks for asking.

Also Barbara you forgot to mention how absolutely brilliant all of my ideas are and how my devoted audience - all 23 of them - wouldn't know WHAT to think if I didn't share them!

The upshot of Barbara's article was that I wrote 6 blogs and didn't post them.  Which really wasn't helping either, since the one thing I have consistently done for the past two years is this blog!  I also entered a small 100 word local library competition.  And ANDREW's been published in the school newsletter.  Does that count?

I once again got to work on the NOVEL.  This time I started with my characters.  They are parts of me and parts of my past, but they are beginning to breathe on their own.  I have a setting and I have a conflict.  And I am going to go from there.

I've been avoiding my piece on the Brisbane floods versus the Haiti earthquake because it was just too overwhelming.  (Sorry about that Jim!)  But hmmmm.....now believe a piece on Haiti versus Christ Church would be much more appropriate!  I'd have to work instead of ramble, even edit and rewrite (UGH!) but it would be character building.  And quite possible something to publish.  Oh yeah, I tend to forget that part of the writing process.

My excuse for continuing my manic ravings on the blog is that -  number one, I really like the validation of hitting 'Publish Post, number two, it is the only way most people are able to keep up with me right now, and number three, I like to think the ideas I develop here are ideas that my characters can build upon and make their own. 

But.... I am going to TRY to limit my Australian school system raves to one day a week.  I'm sorry.  You know I love it here.  But there is no reason to keep hitting you over the head with it!

Fridays.  School Assembly.   Weekly rewards and reminders.  And so here comes the first installment.



Ms Egan addresses the students.


1.  Two of the sports captains were commended for GIVING THEIR OWN SUNHATS to two students who otherwise wouldn't have been allowed to play outside during break period.  It has been HOT here.  Tuesday hit over 35C again (over 100 Ffor you Americans!).  And, while it is not a DRY heat or a MOIST Florida heat, it is a RELENTLESS, sun-scorches-you-the-minute-you-step-outside kind of heat.  Students are not allowed to play outside without sun protection.   These two young men, when they ran out of the school-supplied spare hats that they were distributing with sports equipment from the sports shed, didn't think twice about GIVING THE HATS OFF THEIR HEADS to two other students in need.  The generosity of Australians never ceases to amaze me.  It is one thing to give a spare.  It is quite another to give YOUR OWN.  Shades of St Martin giving his cloak to the beggar.  Aussie-style.

2.  Was it Melinda or Ms Egan, our principal, who asked the students what they should do when they see another student by themselves at lunch time or break?  I can't remember because I was busy flashing back to the bullying and take-care-of-yourself attitude of our German schoolyard.
"They need to learn to take care of themselves."  Or, the classic from Ryan's 2nd grade teacher:
"I don't expect the children to allow everyone into their games.  They are allowed to exclude others.  Because that is life and they need to learn to deal with it.  We don't all get alone with eachother as adults so I don't think we should expect the children to either."

Uh.  Heads up.  Aussie adults seem to get on quite well, thank you very much.   Maybe because, since they were small, they have been taught that if you see someone else alone and lonely you should ask them to join you.  "Imagine how you would feel." said Ms Egan. 

Which is why you see kids from ages 5 to 13 playing together in the courtyard.

And which maybe, just maybe, is also the reason those two boys didn't think twice about giving their hats to someone else in need.

3.  We ended with Prep D - Aidan and Matthew's class- singing a little song they'd rehearsed.  "Friendliness is the cure for loneliness."  I honestly couldn't love this country - or this school - more.

"Friendliness is the Cure for Loneliness".  Sung by the Preppies.

On a side note, Aidan did get his first Student Achievement award this week.  I have to point out that he received it - for participating eagerly in all group and small group activities and behaving with respect and courtesy at all time - the week that Matthew was out sick for two days.  (Fever.  He's fine now.)  Does make you think about the advantages of separate classrooms for them.  Because the one seems to shine when the other isn't there. 

Aidan.  So proud.

And another of Andrew's essays was posted in the weekly newsletter.  Let's face it: the guy knows how to get recognized.  Some might call him a 'suck-up'.  As his mother, I have to call it 'knowing his audience.'  This is what he wrote. 

School is very, very fun.  Not only recess but everything that is going on.  Koalas running across the lawn...exciting and totally cute!  LOTE (Language Other Than English - which is Chinese or German depending on the day!) is good, PE is fun and reading is the best of all.

My teacher is the best and works at the best school ever!

Boy does that kid know how to get invited to the monthly Principal's Tea!

Life After Dresden (On Trafalmadore)

I came away from my visit to Dresden knowing where I came from and excited to see where I was going. I had - and still do have - the beginnings of yet ANOTHER book - but this time with characters I knew and could work with. Still do.

And then I read the copy of Slaughterhouse Five that I had picked up in a bookstore in Dresden. In English, of course, but also by a German-American (who studied the sciences before turning to writing, and who taught at Cornell University!). Yes, I DO like comparing myself to Kurt Vonnegut! Kurt, in a few terse words that always appear to be dancing around the subject matter but then somehow seem to hit it right on the head, brought out the horror of my ancestry. You have to see Dresden - or Florence or Rome - to know the splendors Kurt's American POWS saw when they first stepped off the wagon. But you can go to all too many places on earth - Hiroshima and Nagasaki spring to mind first, but also London, France and all of the former Naxi-occupied territories in Europe as well as Eastern Europe, Africa, the Middle East, Afghanistan - to feel the horror they felt after the bombing.

I felt it at King Henri's fortress in northern Haiti. (He was the first of Haiti's many brutal dictators. He fought - and I believe conquered - Napoleon's army - but also delighted in power over others, at one point ordering his soldiers to march to their deaths over a cliff - just to prove they would.) I felt it at Valley Forge in Pennsylvania. (Where George Washington's army froze and starved to death waiting for winter to end so that they and the Redcoats could slaughter eachother over the right to Native American lands.) I felt it at War Memorials all over France and Germany. And I feel it enough NOT to have to go and visit the former concentration camp only a few kilometers from where I sit right now.

So that this is my legacy. Not just the horrors of belonging to a race that systematically slaughtered the Jews and almost conquered most of Europe into Russia, but the reality of belonging to the human race that has committed such atrocities before and continues to commit them today. The Crusades. Christians killing Muslims. The Thirty Years War. Christians killing eachother. WWs 1 and 2. The Cold War. Killing Communism - and communists. And now back full circle to Muslims killing Christians. Except that now we're civilized enough to spread the horror worldwide. Good for us.

I don't want my story to be about this. My story is supposed to be a story about a young woman's quest for herself - or her Self. It's supposed to be an everywoman kind of story, one that everyone can see her - and him - self in. One to laugh along with and relate to, maybe cry along at the sad parts, but certainly emerge whole and strong at the end.

And - being only half German - it had always felt false, üebertrieben if you will (overkill for lack of a better English translation), to spend this amount of energy on something that happened before I - or even my father - was born. False sympathy. False guilt. Kitschig. But the more I try to avoid it the more it stays buried inside. I need to unearth it - and sorry here, write about it - before I am able to determine it's actual weight in my personal story.

Kurt says it better, but I can only say it my way.

I've got LOTS of good stuff to write about too. The days here on the farm in Iglersreuth, sunny and clear. The homeschooling in our little house, an enlightening but surprisingly enjoyable enterprise for all of us. The hiking and history, the swimming and skating. The Bauers and our revelations over the campfire. I've only got two days in which to do it too. We only have one ancient internet connection while we are here and Damon is on it constantly. Working he says. And I can't very well promise him my random musings will be picked up by Random House and immediately be made into a film by Steven Spielberg.

We leave for Australia on Wednesday, November 3. We will have no internet or phone for the first two weeks there. So that I feel a little lost. I AM writing. I have pen and paper. And I use them. But it doesn't seem like I am doing anything unless I share it here.

I DO write for myself. I have been getting more and more tense the longer I don't post. But I also write to share it. The character I am developing, the person on a quest for self-discovery, me, needs others to understand as well.

"Because he doesn't know who he is, people recognize themselves in him." (Tao Te Ching, 22)

Kurt's Tralfamadorians have a philosophy too.

''That's one thing Earthlings might learn to do, if they tried hard enough: Ignore the awful times, and concentrate on the good ones."

I'm still not sure whether Kurt is being facetious or not. ("Um," said Billy Pilgrim.) On one hand, the Trafalmadorians see in four dimensions and know that time, as we see it, is an illusion. So that Trafalmadorians have the option of ignoring something unpleasant in one instant by knowing it is pleasant in another. Which is sounding kind of Zen, or Taoist, in a way.

Ignoring the implications of at least half my heritage hasn't been working for me though. Most likely, I have not felt WORTHY enough to embrace all of my past. Not worthy enough to even feel guilt about the horrors of being human. So that maybe Kurt means that we humans AREN'T Trafalmadorians and DON'T have the luxury of looking at our atrocities through space alien eyes.

In any case, I feel much better for having gotten that all out into cyberspace.

If the novel ever DOES get written, and published, and maybe even becomes a big hit, you can say you read it first here! And front row seats to all 18 of my loyal fans (17 really, since my sister is signed on twice! but I really need the numbers for an ego boost right now!) when the movie version premiers.

In the meantime life continues on Trafalmadore, ie Iglersreuth. We will contact Earth as soon as our spaceship lands. (Not metaphorically, that could be a while for me, rather when we land in Brisbane and get our phone and internet up and running, sometime the second week in November.)

"Poo-tee-weet?" (Read Vonnegut, the man is brilliant.)

"Wir Haben Eine Drei Bekommen"

I'm going through my writing this morning, making sure everything is loaded onto the laptop before the desktop gets packed up on Tuesday. I never DID translate this into German and send it to the publication it is addressed to. But I'd like to share it with other parents schooling their children in Germany before I defect to the Australian education system. The editorial was a well-written, humorous glimpse of life as the child of an educated, literate German couple began school. These two parents, themselves schooled in the system, had the same difficulties facing many of us. THEY got a 3 on the reports and homework assignments they were doing with their child. (The equivalent of a "C".) Mostly because they had a hard time figuring out what was expected. The piece was tongue-in-cheek, that two educated German parents couldn't pass third grade here in Germany today, but did address the basic problem I see in the system: the fact that parents have no inherent right to participate in their child's schooling, in fact are mostly discouraged from participating (which is considered interference in what should be the teacher's affair) at all. This was written in early June. Here goes:


I was thrilled to read your editorial addressing schooling in Baden-Wurtemburg. I, too, have always believed that schooling was an activity for the entire family. I too laughed at some of the apparent silliness inherent in the system here. But the humor hides a problem that needs to be addressed.

You see, we are not the only ones who are having to provide our children with what amounts to home-schooling because of an inherent failure in the system. There are too many families out there struggling to help their children learn, without adequate help from the very system that is supposed to be teaching their kids.

Parents should – and need to be- involved with their children's education. But that is made almost impossible here by a system that doesn't encourage active parent involvement. Two Parents' Nights a year are not enough. Unless I push, or cry or threaten or scream, I have a total of ONE personal parent-teacher interview IN TWO YEARS. Do I even need to say that this is not enough?

The teachers try to reassure me that no news is good news, that if something is wrong, they will come to me. But that is not true. If I hadn't made waves myself, I would never have spoken to my daughter's teachers. And they still haven't recognized her learning disability.

There are a number of issues that contribute to this problem. The first is obvious. We need more teachers with longer hours, so that one teacher can concentrate on a given class. We need teachers trained to recognize and handle mild learning disabilities. We need teachers' aides. We need more staff. We need programs both for the academically challenged and the academically gifted. Baden-Wurtemburg needs to invest in its future.

The first problem I would address is the one of communication and cooperation between the teachers and parents. Pay the teachers more. Extend their hours. Do what you have to to allow (encourage, DEMAND!) the teachers to communicate with parents. Teachers are public servants of the state. Currently, this makes them immune from their responsbilities to us and our children. They are protected from having to produce acceptable results. Make the school system answerable to the parents, not other way around.

Is it really humorous when your child comes home with absolutely no idea of what is expected on the homework assignment? And when the phone calls begin and it turns out that no other child in the class seems to either?

We, as parents, need clear, written expectations for the school year. We need to see the goals our children are expected to achieve, the benchmarks that are being used to measure that achievement, and the programs in place to help those children who aren't meeting expectations. (Or those that are overshooting them.)

And we need regular, personal parent-teacher meetings at least four times a year. For children who are doing well. More for those who aren't.

It is a lot to ask. It is a lot of work and a lot of time. It will cost money.
But the current system, where parents are left floundering on their own, thinking they are alone, is not working.

YOU ARE NOT ALONE. It is silly that so many of us are fighting the same battle individually, privately worrying about what we've done wrong, wondering how we can do better, where we can get the help we need. WE ARE NOT ALONE. And we can work together – WITH the schools and with the teachers – to get our children the help they need.

Schooling is a process that should involve the entire family. Parents should have the right for active involvement in their child's education. This can't happen without communication.

I personally believe it is a problem of perception as well as of cash. I have continually heard from my children's teachers that schooling is their concern and not mine, that school problems are their problem to deal with at school and that I shouldn't have to concern myself with them. It is well meant, but wrong. I have also heard that all children develop differently, that not all children are the same, that I shouldn't expect too much from my child, that I am too ambitious. All answers designed to reassure me – and keep me out of what they consider their business.

Except they're my children.

Why did I not hear from the teacher when my daughter had been doing the homework incorrectly for two weeks? Why didn't I know that my son had been having math quizzes every week until five weeks later? Why isn't the homework corrected? (Especially if they're telling me that I shouldn't be doing it with them myself at home.) Why is the classwork often wrong? Why are my children sometimes released early from school without my knowing about it? Why do I have absolutely no idea what is going on at the school? These are all problems of communication. And problems we, as parents, are encouraged to overlook and accept.

This is not the time to place blame. This is the time to make a change.

Working together, cooperating and COMMUNICATING, schools AND parents, can achieve so much more.

I give Baden-Wurtemburg's school system a 4. (I believe Germany's PISA scores are similarly low.)

Is this really the best we can do for our children?

Say You're One of Them / Uwem Akpan

Say You're One of Them.

A collection of short stories written by Uwem Akpan, a Jesuit priest from Nigeria. Fictional stories about children in Africa that are so heart-wrenching they become real. A man writing about children. But a man, an African man, who has captured the heart of Africa's plight through these children's stories. And made their plight our own.

They're not easy to read. Certainly don't read them all at once. Homeless children sniffing shoe glue on the streets of Kenya. Been there, seen that. But - if I'm honest with myself - never allowed myself to think of them as human beings until now. Rwanda. Genocide. Again, not easy reads. But about people who could really be us.

The one that completely shocked me was set in Nigeria. Just like a second book, Little Bee, written by Chris Cleave. Another man, a white English man this time, who manages to somehow channel this little black Nigerian girl and make her world our own.

The thing is. This is our world. It is happening in real-time as we sit in front of our computer screens or play with our children at the pool. And we know nothing about it.

Did YOU know there were oil wars in Nigeria? Did YOU know the Muslim North was fighting the Christian South - and that the oil in the south ........no, I really didn't bother to pay attention. Because it's the same old story all the time.

That's why we need books like this.

BP and Shell and Mobil have been destroying the environment for decades. The only problem recently was that BP had the misfortune to do so in a rich, white country. No oil company has had to pay Africans for their destroyed land and rivers, for the loss of homes, towns and yes, the brutal slaughter of people who mattered so little that they were able to kill them without the rest of the world even caring.

Makes you really want to read these books, doesn't it? But I promise you - the good thing about these books, the reason these authors are great, is that they don't preach and philosophize the way I do. They let you know a person and hear their story, without pity, without sympathy.

They tell it honestly, from the minds of children, and let you take what you want from the telling.

They are fantastic stories first a foremost. Because they DON'T rub your face in it.

The first person I passed "Little Bee" onto was Lynn. Unwarned. (And the thing is - it tells you on the cover not to reveal the ending to anyone - it is a journey from beginning to end that must be read and absorbed alone without discussion.)

Poor Lynn. Her words (she worked for a newspaper in South Africa and is no slouch with the writing!) :

Little Bee is the most riveting story I have read in a while - I keep wondering what happened to her...... left me feeling apprehensive, and angry...
Thank you so much for letting me read her story..... ahh it broke my heart and challenged my own conscious...... you see I still drive my car around, would I give it up? since the petroleum I purchase is probably linked to the destruction and blood of others? 'Yes, yes yes,' my heart cries ! Then what? Buy an electric car? Can we afford it?
Next option - which brand of diesel /petrol could I support that is not linked to any evil? According to Forbes Fortune 500 - Mobil, Shell and BP are listed as the second, third and fourth richest companies in the world...... only beaten by Walmart listed first. Shell and BP are definitely in the Delta and I do not know much about Mobil and their history ...... Thomas doubts their are any oil companies that are not tainted with blood and destruction in some way .......

If you are a global economic power it is all about the money - you own the politicians, pretty much a licence to do what you like, start wars, displace (indigenous) communities, destroy the environment and the list continues..... our greed is not only linked to oil - how many brands are ethical when only the bottom line counts?... and marketers try and own the consumer, we live our lives consuming, complaining and ignoring the little voice when it tries to remind us of what we are accountable for when we support unethical companies by purchasing their products or working for them...... So what do we do? Go back and live the life of a plain lady like your friend? Or live the life of a renounciate and find a cave in the Himalayas ...... So how can we live an ethical life in the world of consumerism?

And, since the book made us feel so good, we of course want to share it with the rest of the group!

How's that for a bunch of stay-at-home mommies supposedly spending our mornings painting our nails and the afternoons taking it easy with the kids at the pool?!

What can we do? How are we, each of us, individually, going to save the world? How are we going to keep smiling and living happy lives when confronted with the atrocities around us? The list is long: oil, war, poverty, racism, disease...how can we live with ourselves knowing we are doing nothing about them?

Lynn again - with an answer -

'Mommy can you play with me?' ..... there's a start to my question this morning.... be a good mother, buy local, consume less, live a simple life, try and make a difference where I can .........

And Michael. Man in the Mirror. We can start by becoming better people ourselves. We can recognize our flaws - our own pettiness, our own selfishness, our own unfair prejudices and work to become more compassionate ourselves.

We can learn to recognize ourselves in others.

So that when we DO see somewhere where we can make a difference, we will help someone with a wheelchair, or someone who has fallen on the sidewalk. Love the neighbor's child - who really is quite the little monster - as our own.

I don't know that smiling and helping your elderly neighbor with the groceries is going to do anything about the atrocities in the world. But I do know it's a start.

Say You're One of Them. Uwem Akpan.

Little Bee. Chris Cleave.

Do read them. They're a look in the mirror.

Man In The Mirror

A friend of mine wrote a piece about auras a while back. In it, he defended his idea that NOT all people are created equal, that people are different, and that we notice this on a subtle level when we interact with others, when we are attracted to some people and more turned off by other people. For him, it was about spirituality and intelligence. And we recognize others like ourselves and are automatically drawn to them.

The Hindus explain this instant attraction to someone you've never met before through reincarnation. Someone you feel an immediate bond with was probably someone you have known - and been close friends with - before.

We've all had it. You run into someone for the first time and could spend hours talking to them. Or you meet someone and know right away this person is going to be trouble.

I've known people who believe they can read auras. And always been afraid to ask. I had a guy in India begin to read my palm once and draw back in fear. So sometimes you don't want to delve too deeply. (I apparently have a double lifeline, and that's not a good thing.)

But the man in India also told me that you can change your lifeline. And I am quite certain that you can change your aura.

"I'm starting with the man in the mirror.
I'm asking him to change his ways.
And no message could have been any clearer.
If you want to make the world a better place,
Take a look at yourself
And then make a change."

Michael really is brilliant.

I don't know what my aura was like when the twins were born. I've been told I have way too much fire in my astrology chart. My guess is red. After the twins were born, I think I may have lost my aura. It disappeared entirely. And then it came back black or gray. Yuck. When I finally got color back in my aura again it turned an angry red. Who would have wanted to know me then?

I didn't lookup what the colors meant until just now. But no surprises. Red creates a lot of friction. Black and gray relate to blocked energies and health problems.

I believe I'm lucky I had any friends at all the last four years.

This week I did a visualization exercise and saw pink. The gray was leaving me. I was letting it go. I do feel more compassion - for myself and for others. I am more sensitive, slower to anger and more eager to understand and empathize.

I am a much healthier, better person to know.

And I know my aura reflects this.

When I was black, I bounced everyone else away. When I was red I pissed them off. Now that I am pink, I am amazed at all the people who come out of the blue (not picked intentionally, but a blue aura DOES signal sensitivity, generosity and communication!) and find me. Some need to talk. Some offer guidance and comfort.

But it's unbelievable. HOW DO THEY KNOW? How do they know they can confide in me? How do they know that I need to hear what they have to say?

These are people of all ages, sexes, races, religions and nationalities.

Why are they finding me now that I am leaving?

When I was in highschool grown-ups always asked me what I was going to do with my life. "I'm going to save the world." I replied. (How I was going to do this as a veterinarian was entirely beyond me, but my reasoning at the time discounted people as a bunch of pinheads and animals and the environment as way more worthy of saving than the human race.)

Saving the world is a big task. Worthier men - and gods - than I have tried and failed.

But if I'm just one more person looking in the mirror and getting the message, maybe we're just that tiny bit more closer to a better place. I am, anyway.

No, Mark. All people are NOT created equal. (Hindus explain this so nicely too, as karma creating your present circumstances so that you can learn from them.) But we are all one. And we all have the opportunity to change.

I believe that's what we're here for.

It's up to us whether we look into the mirror and rise to the challenge or not.

German-American

Being half German, I have always wondered what I would have done as a German during World War ll. Before having children, the answer was clear. I would have fought, worked with the underground, rescued as many people as I could and worked to destroy the government.

Having kids made me way more vulnerable. Would I have put my kids lives in danger to save someone didn't know? Would I have spoken out against the regime when I had more than myself to worry about?

I admit. I would have been more cautious. But I know I would have worked to save any child in addition to my own. More I can't promise. But I would have tried to save the children.

I know. This is all very serious after a silly town meeting. But it was held in a Rathaus that saw town meetings during both World Wars. And the tone was distinctly authoritarian. Polite and polished. But authoritarian.

And now I know where I would have stood. I wasn't at home. (Although my children were.) I wasn't intentionally rabble-rousing. I wasn't even a leader.

But I was part of the rabble. And I enabled the leaders to communicate more effectively.

"So, what do we do now?" my friend asked.

"I say we go to the papers." said a father from the other kindergarten. (Look at that - strangers from both sides of town working TOGETHER! I am SO proud.)

I got out my pen and notebook and had them exchange numbers. Next we figured out how to arrange the next two meetings of the two separate kindergartens.

"Our Elternbeirat is already sending out a letter telling us to leave it alone and forget about it." said someone from our kindergarten.

"And that's okay." I replied. That is their job. We can do this without them, as concerned parents in our own right."

They'd honestly never thought of that.

Then again I'd never thought of not paying the monthly kindergarten dues.

And when one dad suggested a rally with the kids in front of the Rathaus, well, I honestly thought I might be in France!

I felt silly being there since we are leaving Altdorf in September anyway. But the word had got out that I had councilled a friend this morning for over an hour. And told her I would stand behind them. The phone rang all afternoon. And I was there.

It did mean something to them that I was there supporting a cause that wasn't really mine to fight anymore.

But it means as much - or more - to me to see them working together. It gives me hope in this country, in my fellow countrymen.

It takes a few, brave individuals to start a movement.

"Why didn't they even let the parents from both kindergartens talk to eachother?" asked one mother.

"Because that is their biggest fear." I replied.

There IS strenght in numbers. A united front is the biggest danger.

When we all realize that we can work together - that we all DO have enough in common to work towards a common goal. Well, these little movements change the world.

OKay. Okay. It;s only a litte town meeting. I was this excited when I got voted onto Elternbeirat the first time six years ago too. Think of all the good I could do! Until I realized it was just the mouthpiece of the school administration.

But this time it's not about me. Turns out I like being the back-up, the support.
I LOVE watching someone else build up a strategy.

And I know what I would have done sixty years ago. I would have done my best to keep my family safe. But I am just not the type who can sit by and let my friends fight without my support.

Altdorf Democracy

I had a chance to stand up for what I believe in Tuesday night. And I did it. Along with about thirty other parents from Altdorf who are dissatisfied with personnel changes between two of the kindergartens here.

The mayor and elected officials listened politely to the first mother, representing one kindergarten. But began to roll their eyes at the second.

I had been planning to keep my American-accented mouth shut but really felt I couldn't leave her to stumble alone.

This was hard. All men on the board (one woman in twelve positions), in business suits, mocking the stay-at-home moms who obviously had nothing better to do than waste their time worrying about something as dumb and mundane as kindergarten personnel.

"Do you have a question?" asked the mayor's appointed stooge. "This is a question and answer session not a time to voice your opinion."

Oh please. Like I can't voice my opinion in the interrogative form!

"Why weren't any parents consulted before any of these decisions were made?"

They laughed. Loud and outright. All of them. While rolling their eyes.

"We did send out the letter informing you of our decision this week."

I was honestly embarrassed for them. And I had another question.

"But - and correct me if I'm wrong - but isn't that what democracy is all about?" I was admittedly treading on thin water. I wasn't quite sure Germany defines itself as a democracy. And I have an obviously American accent. But a number of parents nodded their heads. Good. Apparently they'd learned about democracy too.

And I really wanted to know. "Mr. Mayor. I understand you have to make the final decision. That is why we voted for you. But...what I don't understand is why the parents weren't brought into the decision process at all."

They laughed again. And laughed and laughed.

I still don't get it.

Maybe I should look up the definition of democracy but....I come from New England and I remember learning something about town meetings and...yeah, I think debate and discussion were a big part of those.

The mayor tried to inform me how things are in the real world.

"You wouldn't have a say about personnel changes if you were working for IBM or Daimler."

"No." And I'll be the first to admit that this last wasn't a question. "But you'd be fired if you were having problems with your coworkers."

Dead silence.

And we were dismissed.

Thirty of us, from two kindergartens, had our own town meeting on the Rathaus steps. Seems two teachers from the one kindergarden had such personal difficulties with eachother that they had to be separated. And come to ours. And two of ours - our two best and the only two under 50 in a staff of 8 - are going to them. Noone is happy. In the real world you get fired. In a socialist government position they aren't allowed to fire you - so backroom deals and shady compromises are made.

"Altdorf is being run by a Mafia." said one mom.

It's not. It's being run by humans, and humans are imperfect.

The decision has been made - for us. And the kids will be fine.

But a few Altdorf parents are getting together to protest anyway. Hang out with the kids on the Rathaus steps. Write a letter to the Boeblingen paper. Not pay our monthly kindergarten fees.

"It's not going to change anything." one mother protested.

But it already has. Thirty parents realized that there is strength in unity. I leave Altdorf knowing there are parents out there willing to stand up to authoritarianism, willing to speak their mind, demanding to be given a voice in their children's education. And they are going to work together to solve a problem.

It's not easy to do in a culture that generally just yields to authority.

I am so proud of them.

I apologized for stepping up to the mayor with my imperfect German and my American accent. "It was just perfect coming from you." said the mother I had supported.

We stand together - two distinct kindergartens - for our right to have a voice in our children's education.

Maybe this "old village" has tasted a bit of the New World after all!

Ubuntu

This is why I like the World Cup.

That's a German man embracing an American man (Damon's step-dad) after the Germany-Ghana game a few weeks ago.

Damon's folks were here for only a few days, but caught the best of us. Smiling, happy, friendly, social, even goofy Germans. All rooting together for a common goal - one that doesn't have the rest of the free world quivering in their boots this time.




Even more so, Africa was on display. And the world rooted with them and for them. Sure, we wanted to beat Ghana, because that's what you do in a game. But we also wanted to see them win. People asked me how I felt after Ghana defeated the USA. Sweet that. But in a game that was billed as "The American Dream" versus "African Hope," well you couldn't be sad the game went to the country to whom it meant the most.

One could say that Africa got screwed as usual, on Uruguay's handball in the goal. And lost because of lack of technical expertise (penalty shots) and not because of lack of raw talent. How typically African. (FIFA is considering changing the rules on handballs in the goal because of that Ghana loss to Uruguay.)

But South Africa really set a standard of generosity and good will for the rest of the world to follow.

It's called Ubuntu. No, not the Linux program, but a south African philosophy of human interconnectedness.

Desmond Tutu defined it in 2008 as "the essence of being human. Ubuntu speaks particularly about the fact that you can't exist as a human being in isolation."

The World Cup brings us together as a nation for a few short weeks every four years. It's the only time I follow soccer, but I know all the players every time. And have opinions on who was fouled and whether an off-side took place, things I know nothing about in the real world, during a non-World Cup year.




But this time I feel the Ubuntu. I do.

I cried when Germany lost to Serbia early on in the elimination rounds. Not just because we lost but because Germans were cheering their team anyway. And because I suddenly realized that Germany winning the next game meant Ghana losing. And that one nation would cheer as another one mourns. That no matter what happened in a game, someone was celebrating as someone else lost.

And goodness, I suddenly also realized that it is only a game. Really. That there are much more important reasons to celebrate and much sadder reasons to mourn.

And that if we could unite as a nation over this, then we should be able to unite as a world over other, more important matters.

Desmond Tutu from his 1999 book:

"A person with Ubuntu is open and available to others, affirming of others, does not feel threatened that others are able and good, for he or she has a proper self-assurance that comes from knowing that he or she belongs in a greater whole and is diminished when others are humiliated or diminished, when others are tortured or oppressed."

It's the exact opposite of Schadenfreude. It's the ability to be happy for your enemy, because they aren't your enemy after all, but a part of yourself. It's what the Taoists call Tao, the Hindus call Universal Consciousness. And I believe what Jesus meant when he talked about us all being sons and daughters of God. Oh. I get it now.

My Ballack shirt goes back in mothballs after last night's win against Uruguay. (And yes, it was nice that we won. Nice though, not life-changing or world-altering.)

But I'm working on keeping the spirit of Ubuntu alive more than once every four years.