Thoughts from a Woman

Published in the Idaho State Journal on December 19, 2021.

 
Please note that this column broches the topics of child sexual abuse, rape,  and abortion.  In the week before Christmas, it’s tempting to save this content for another time, but it’s also the week of my 49th birthday. My birth and life as a woman is central to the conversation that’s come to a crescendoing peak in this country.

How many op eds have appeared in the Idaho State Journal from a woman on the topic of abortion? When there’s been a catalyst in current events for me to share my thoughts on the topic – be it a new Texas law or a new justice on the Supreme Court –the words have been impossible for this woman to find amidst the rage, fear, confusion and disgust.

My columns tend to read more like personal blogs. That is intentional. I don’t like to be told what to do or what to think, so I try not to do that when I write. I’m also careful not to speak for all Idahoans, all LBGT people, all engineers, all redheads or all of any group I belong to because my life experience is unique to all of these identities that intersect in what is my life. My perspective. My being. My editorials, including this one,  are about my lived experience from childhood as a young girl though adulthood as a woman nearing 50. I can’t (and shouldn’t) speak for all women, but I can speak for me.

It’s outlandish in a nation that prides itself on individual freedom and privacy that I would even need to discuss my sexual history or whether or not I have been assaulted in the arena of public discourse, but in the conversations and legal debates about individual freedoms, that’s where this conversation goes. So fine. Let’s talk about me.

I have never been raped or sexually assaulted. I have also never engaged in consensual sexual intercourse or undergone in vitro fertilization treatments. Nothing has happened to me that could have resulted in a pregnancy, nor have I chosen to engage in an activity that would lead to pregnancy. Yet because my unique, logical, compassionate, happy-to-be-on-this earth body and soul came with a vagina, uterus, ovaries, fallopian tubes, I have always been at risk of needing an abortion.

Throughout my life, I’ve considered that I would need an abortion if I became pregnant, but the truth is, I have no idea what I would need in the aftermath of such a horrific and truly unimaginable tragedy – because the only reason I would have become pregnant would have been the result of an assault. An attack on my body, my mind, and my agency.  I can imagine all I want, but without living through something so ghastly and life-altering, I cannot say for certain what I would want – or when I would want it.  I cannot say what I would need – or when I would need it. To lose my agency in a sexual assault is one thing, but to further lose my agency as a result of something the American Government or Idaho laws dictate is another. Both scenarios are vile.

Growing up, I had a lot of serious conversations about abortion with my mom who was a child protection social worker. One of our first was on a workday evening after she took a report from a 13 year old girl who had been raped by her uncle. I was her same age. She sat with her for hours listening to her process what happened to her. In those moments the girl didn’t know if she was pregnant, but Mom got to see how the most critical thing for this girl in the immediacy of the trauma, was that she had options. After not having any agency whatsoever over her own body, it was critical that she now did.

Because of my lifelong risk of needing an abortion is central to the behavior of men whose paths I cross, I don’t think men should be excluded from the discussion. I  wish, however, men would focus on what they can do themselves when it comes to abortion.  They can be responsible ejaculators. They can encourage each other and their sons to ejaculate responsibly. Can we normalize the use of the word “ejaculation” in the conversations about abortion?  No abortion was ever needed without an ejaculation occurring first.

When a man chooses to ejaculate out of pleasure, power, malice, affection or indifference, his act could lead to an abortion. If men want to be absolutely, positively ensure that an abortion doesn’t happen, they have the agency to ensure that through their own behavior rather than regulating mine. Discussing the merits, nuances and legalities of criminalizing how men ejaculate bring to light the government overreach in many abortion regulations and exactly who is being controlled and condemned.

Would Americans ever consider regulating ejaculation? If truly limiting abortions is the goal, then perhaps they should.

Seizing the Thunder

Published in the Idaho State Journal on November 21, 2021

Last weekend the Pocatello High School football team ended their season with a third place finish. I followed their advancement through friends who had a son on the team or who were involved with Poky Nation. “Poky Nation” is the student cheering section. The pictures and videos of their season portray a palpable Poky Pride.  These kids have embraced their new Thunder nickname with a fervor that surpassed anything I could have imagined or hoped for them.

It’s not just the football team or Poky Nation that has surprised me. I have been plunged into a subculture previously foreign to me that is bursting with school spirt: the speech and debate team. At Pocatello High School, they are now known as the “Voice of the Storm.”  

Last weekend while the football team was playing in Holt Arena, the PHS speech and debate team was at the Gate City Tournament at Highland High School.  The “Voice of the Storm” has team uniforms this year of matching navy suits with a maroon vest and options of a traditional or bow tie. They look sharp. On Friday after school, I received a text from our speaker while he was on the bus heading across town. (Shared with his permission.)

“Is it possible for you to grab my debate tie tack please? It’s in my room, probably on the floor because my room is a mess. It is in a small pink box in the bag that has the bow tie and pocket square in it. Again, probably on the floor.”

He’s a smart kid. By acknowledging the mess, I’m less likely to give him grief.  The box was right where he described. Curious, I opened it. Then I stood in his doorway smiling. It is a sterling silver lightning bolt. He could have gone through the evening just fine without it, but this was his personal symbol of the Storm.  His badge of Thunder.

An earlier season tournament in Idaho Falls laid the foundation for my recognizing the importance of his tie tack to him. These kids will spend four to six hours in speaking competitions on a Friday night and then turn around for another 10-14 hours the next day. Add a couple bus rides on top of that. When he gave us his first post-tournament report, it began with, “we scared the bus driver.”

I envisioned my own impromptu speech about the need to respect the bus driver, when he continued, “because our cheer was so loud.” He went on to describe the scene on the bus and recite a new cheer that some seniors and juniors wrote over the summer. Our 16 year old stood in our kitchen on a Sunday morning grinning through his shouts and waving his hands in excitement. His hair was a mess and his voice was hoarse but this was an unmistakable presentation of Poky Pride.  

Before either of these two tournaments, their season began with a novice tournament at home. Varsity team members served as judges while the novice participants got experience with a lowkey competition. Their coach asked for parent volunteers to help chaperone, and I spent hours roaming the halls of Pocatello High School to make sure the students were where they were supposed to be.

I had time to inspect every single class picture that still hangs in the 129 year old institution. The trophies. The pictures of student body presidents. The pictures of past principals. The “Indians” memorabilia on display. The new Thunder imagery featuring a fierce bison.  It was a very “Dead Poets Society” couple of hours.

That Robin Williams movie came out in 1989 – when I was the exact age that our debater is now.  There is a scene where Williams’ character Mr. Keating, an English teacher at an all-boys boarding school, has his class stationed in front of the old trophy cases and asks them to “peruse the faces of the past”. His message in that exercise is to point out that many of the people in those pictures are now gone. Life is short. We must “carpe diem” or “seize the day.”

I recalled that scene while I wandered and thought.  My ponderings were interrupted when debate kids flitted by looking for their next round or a laptop charger. It was a poignant and beautiful clash of the past and present as their giggles and disputes provided the soundtrack to my own perusing of the faces of the past.  

Many in our community are still skeptical and unhappy about the retirement of the Pocatello Indian - for a variety of reasons. I wish my experience alone in that school a month ago could set hearts at ease. The history on display is resounding. Today’s students are doing right by our rich traditions while making new ones of their own. It’s been a treat to hear their cheers and feel their energy, and when I lean in to look, I can see them seize the day in how they are seizing the Thunder. Mr. Keating would be proud. 

Thunder, the new bison mascot for Pocatello High School

 

Apologies to my Colleagues

Published in the Idaho State Journal on November 7, 2021

 Since companies began issuing remote work edicts, I have heard stories of video and conference call faux pas. There was the woman who forgot she was on camera while she took her laptop to the loo; the guy who thought the call had ended and stood up to reveal his boxers; and the hundreds of dogs barking, kids screaming and cats bumping the web cams causing disruptions. Last week, it was my turn.

I had gone to a community meeting across town at lunch. My bi-monthly staff meeting started at 1 pm, and this particular one offered a training I needed. About a dozen coworkers call in from home, the local office or the office in our Texas location. My teammates in this meeting are sharp and competent with great senses of humor. Hopefully I can add “forgiving” to their list of adjectives.

Before I left my noon community meeting, I turned on my phone’s hotspot and fired up my laptop. With my laptop connected to my phone’s Wi-Fi, I could access the meeting’s audio and visual slides on my computer. I muted my line, and turned up the volume so I could hear the meeting introductions on my five minute drive home. I put my laptop in the backseat so I could drive without the distractions of video.

I have been having terrible back troubles lately, so I break up my days with icing and lying down. I bought a bed desk that allows me to work while doing so, and the setup is perfect for these types of meetings. When I got home, I set the laptop on the kitchen counter while I got my ice pack out of the freezer. I noticed I was still on my phone Wi-Fi and it was draining the battery, so I switched to my home network.

The transfer from my phone’s Wi-Fi to my home Wi-Fi was so quick that the audio and video barely glitched. I didn’t notice I became un-muted in the process.  This is important. Our youngest had a half day, so both he and my wife were home milling around the house quietly so I could listen.  I grabbed my ice pack and laptop and headed to lie down.

Our two golden doodles skittered behind me to nap while I iced and listened. They have interrupted a few meetings during the past year when the UPS guy showed up or when our kids got home from school.  Everyone knows I’m a dog-lover, so it’s never a surprise when their barks break in. I do love them, but they can be a pain in the butt.  Speaking of butts…

Our seven year old pup has had intermittent issues over the years with her anal glands. I had never heard of an anal gland until I got my first dog in my late 20’s. Scientifically speaking, dogs and cats have two small glands near the anal opening that can fill up with liquid and poo. When our dog starts the “scoots” or we notice excessive licking, it’s time to take her to the vet so the glands can be “expressed”. Sometimes when the  glands are full, they will leak a foul-smelling fluid resembling rotting fish and excrement all wrapped into one. Scientifically speaking, it’s disgusting.

While getting my bed desk situated, I noticed a faint stain on a pillow. I thought it might be Diet Dr. Pepper or tea since I’ve been drinking a bunch of both lately. Without thinking, I pulled the pillow to my nose and sniffed. Nope. Not Diet Dr. Pepper or tea.

I gagged and shrieked to the people in the house, “GAAA! Her anal…” Before “glands” could escape in my scream, I noticed I was no longer muted. The presenter stopped talking and said, “excuse me?” 

Still gagging, I paused for a prayer and muted my line.  I watched everyone’s icons, silently pleading for the presenter to continue. When he finally did, I thought that my outburst hadn’t been discernible due to the streaming delays common with technology.

The next day, having already placed the experience in the bowels of my memory bank, I had forgotten about it - until one cheeky fella in the office said with a smirk, “Hey, did you have something to say in the meeting yesterday?” 

I recalled all of the years of workplace training to consider whether discussing my dog’s anal glands at work could get me fired. With nothing coming to mind, I came clean. It was a “ruff” day on the remote work learning curve. In our next staff meeting, I will offer a training on the short-cut keys to mute your line, a reminder to check your meeting settings often, and apologies to my colleagues.