Expanding our adjectives

Published in the Idaho State Journal in February 2023

I attended the Marshal Public Library board meeting this past week. I’d gotten wind of the growing presence of Idaho MassResistance and their objections to goings-on at the library.  There was a woman seated in the back row holding a sign saying, “Drag is not for kids.”  I might have had that thought, too, when I first heard about story times cropping up across the country, but I checked my biases and did a little self-reflecting and research to find common ground. My opinion changed.

Saying “drag is not for kids” is like saying “movies are not for kids.”  Some movies surely aren’t suitable for young audiences, but some are filled with artistry, wonder, and life lessons – just like Pocatello’s Reading Time with the Queens (RTWTQ).

Perhaps when people hear “drag queen” they think risqué, sexual and R-rated. While adult drag performances can embody any combination of those things, this production in Pocatello does not. There are so many more adjectives to describe the style of drag that is showcased in RTWTQ.

The RTWTQ website describes their brand of drag as kind, family-friendly, courageous and loving. Their drag “teaches us to accept others as we wish to be accepted ourselves.” Each of their monthly programs is available on YouTube to see exactly how they endeavor to put this into action, and it’s worth noting that they advertise their offering to parents and children, not just children.

As we look for other adjectives to describe this different type of drag expression, there are two key considerations: performance and representation.

The RTWTQ leader, Cali/Joseph,  is a singer and creative performer. As Cali, she’s charismatic, engaging, and confident. She radiates joy while singing, playing musical instruments, and reading. Years ago a friend who was a drag performer lamented how disappointing it was that the only place in town for them to sharpen and share their craft was at the local gay bar late on weekend nights. For those who are not into the bar scene and/or prefer to be in bed by 9pm, this is unfortunate. I appreciate efforts of LGBTQ community members to expand our culture beyond the walls of gay bars to more inclusive public spaces.  They are inspiring, promising and positive.

The second element of RTWTQ to consider centers on “out and proud.” One of my favorite sayings is “be the adult you needed when you were growing up.”  This is how I have tried to live as an adult mentor to my own kids as well as to the kids I’ve worked with over the years coaching athletics, math and robotics teams, and working with youth civic clubs. I’ve tried to model happiness and community; getting involved and contributing where I can with my strengths and perspective. This is also exactly what the producers of RTWTQ are doing.

I didn’t have the language to articulate it, but I recognized I was gay well before puberty. I didn’t grow up with openly gay role models or mentors, or even women who dressed like I wanted to dress. Instead,  I grew up with a veil of shame and pressure to hide that part of who I am. It was a confusing and unhealthy way to traverse adolescence, and I’ve seen how this leads many gay and questioning kids and adults to isolate in anger, fear and suicidal thoughts.

Because of my name, haircut and extreme tomboyishness, each day during my first week of kindergarten, Mom made me wear a dress so my classmates would know I was a girl. It was miserable and horrifying.  As RTWTQ presents adults –happy adults—in clothing and costumes along the spectrum of masculine to feminine, I’ve thought how young Billie Jo (and her mother) might have benefited. The queens and other performers are validating, uplifting and meaningful.

None of the merits of the program, the organizers, or how I might have benefited from it as a child really matter in this discussion.  The meeting room at the Marshall Public Library is available to the public to use, and the performers and patrons of RTWTQ have a right to reserve that space free from disruption.  RTWTQ isn’t even a library-sponsored event; it’s something a group of citizens put together utilizing public space. A few more adjectives to consider with these drag queens and performers include tax-paying, informed, and worthy.

At that library board meeting this past week, Reading Time with the Queens vice-president Rowan Smith’s comments included, “they are afraid that our organization will demonstrate to children in our community that a happy, fulfilling, blessed life as a gay person in Idaho is possible.” Now that is what I am talking about. It would be great if we could expand the adjectives ascribed to the queer community to emphatically include those: happy, fulfilled and blessed.

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.


 

My Election Decision Trees

I love a good local election that doesn’t make candidates disclose a party affiliation. So often voters use that (R) or (D) next to a name to fill in the circle – or not.  Sure, voters still look for indications of affiliations and endorsements, but I like thinking that the possibility still exists for “person over party.”

When I consider a candidate, the first questions I ask myself are “Do I know them personally?  Have I ever hung out with them, and how did that go?” For instance, in the Pocatello Mayoral race, the only candidate on that list with whom I have had personal exchanges is our current Mayor Blad.  Truthfully, ever since the guy threw on a cow suit with me to take a picture in 2013 while I was cheering at a race, he secured my vote. I was in the middle of getting over being mad at him, and that gesture certainly helped. A few years later at another fun run, he did it again! We spent an hour high-fiving kids together and encouraging them to “keep moooving.”  I don’t agree with everything he has done as Mayor, but I appreciate his willingness to engage with citizens and I share his lifelong love of Pocatello. It’s a short decision tree for me when I can vote for Brian Blad.

For my city council races, I also know Linda Leeuwrik. We met at a barbeque at a mutual friend’s house over 20 years ago. I had almost forgotten about the evening until our paths crossed at a library event a decade later. Linda remembered me, and in doing so, her graciousness reminded me that I could stand to be better about remembering people.  I enjoyed our quiet library chat about our presentations, and I left that night thinking, “That is one smart, resilient and humble woman.” It’s another short decision tree for Linda Leeuwrik.

If I don’t know a  candidate all that well, my next series of questions are, “who is the Pocatello Firefighter’s Union voting for and why? And, who are some of my closest friends voting for and why?” I like putting stock in the local firefighters because, let’s face it. If I’m willing to vote for someone because they’ll suit up and cow with me or because I liked chatting with them at a barbeque, it’s prudent to consult groups and individuals who rely on candidates’ credibility and performance in case my bovine-and-barbeque litmus test if off base. With the local firefighter’s union supporting Rick Cheatum and Josh Mansfield, along with Leeuwrik and Blad, it’s easy for me to get behind them, too.

I was disappointed that Councilwoman Heidi Adamson didn’t run again because I have appreciated seeing her at a wide assortment of community events. She has been a good ambassador for our city.

My zone does not have a school board candidate up for election this year, but since I’m invested in who our Trustees will be, I can’t resist chiming in.

Only one candidate filed for Zone 1 in Chubbuck north to the Bingham County line, so Angie Oliver will have that seat. Mrs. Oliver’s uncle, Clayton Armstrong, is running against Heather Clark in Zone 2 which covers Pocatello’s west bench and the southern Mink and Johnny Creek areas. And, we’ve got incumbent Dave Matteson and Deanna Judy running in Zone 5 which is east of the hospital toward the Highland area.

Regarding the Mattson/Judy contest, I do not know Mrs. Judy, but I know that she is running in alignment with Mrs. Oliver and Mr. Armstrong. I’ve gotten to know Mr. Mattson a bit from his time serving on the school board and because we both hit the same taco place on Wednesday nights.

Mr. Mattson has served as the school board chair during this pandemic, and he’s opted to run again.  If I were in his shoes, I’d run for the hills with my phone on silent, a vat of bubble bath and a case of Reese’s Peanut Butter cups. In a piece I wrote last fall titled, “The Bedrock of Education”, I noted the six categories of people that I think a local school board should listen to: parents and students; the Superintendent and his/her staff; school principals; school teachers (individually and a collective union if one is active in the area); support staff including bus drivers, cafeteria workers, the IT Department, Human Resources, and Accounting; and community agencies like the City of Pocatello, the Pocatello Police Department and Southeastern Idaho Public Health.

I sincerely feel that our volunteer school board has worked to listen to each of these groups, and each Trustee has worked to process and appropriately prioritize conflicting opinions that have arisen.  They are constantly between a rock and a hard place and unable to please everyone, and if Dave Mattson with his institutional knowledge as the Board Chair is willing to run again, I would vote for him in heartbeat.

Regarding the Clarke/Armstrong race, I don’t know either candidate all that well so I have paid attention to what they put into the public sphere. Mr. Armstrong’s own words in his ISJ editorials and Q & A responses make me doubt that he’s really interested in listening to perspectives other than his own. Heather Clarke, on the other hand, had me sold with two sentences in her ISJ Q & A.  “As a community, we must recognize this opportunity to teach our children, through example, healthy conflict resolution strategies, constructive communication and provide community support. We have an opportunity to creatively work together and channel our passions in a constructive fashion.”

She’s right. We have that opportunity every day, and I wish more candidates who run for office would seize it.

I early voted this week at the Elections Office.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Raising Men

Appeared in the Idaho State Journal on October 24, 2021.

At dinner this week, I asked our teen boys what I should write about. The 13 year old said, “You could write about my focus issues.” I let him know that since we are all still trying to figure out all of the things entailed in his focus issues, the topic would be a great column (or 12) at a later date.  But with that blessing to write about them, I figured it was a sign to dive into a topic that I have had brewing for eight years—ever since a conversation with a friend.

This friend has all sons. At that time, they were between ten and 18. I can’t recall exactly what we were discussing, perhaps something to do with scrubbing toilets or fixing meals, when she said, “I’m not raising little boys, you know. I’m raising men.”

My wife and I were newly dating at that time and her guys were adorable little boys that I was just getting to know. I was hoping for some years of ninja turtles, Legos, bedtime stories and shoulder rides.  I wasn’t ready to think of them as men, but thanks to those words in passing, that shift of raising little boys to raising men has always been in my mind.

When think about what I can contribute on their trek toward manhood, another conversation with a different friend has fed some of my actions. It really does take a village. That friend had separated from her husband. She had a core group of gal-pals to lean on during that period, but he didn’t.

She noted that she felt empowered to reach out to friends, but he didn’t. “Manly” men weren’t encouraged to seek counseling or lean on friends and say, “Hey, I could really use a cup of coffee and a talk” let alone do the opening up and talking part.  Meeting up at a bar under the guise of watching a game and having a couple o’ beers was acceptable, but for men, a more tender talk in a quiet, intimate environment simply for the sake of talking was taboo. 

These two tidbits from two different friends shaped one of the things I strive for in my contribution to raising our guys: establishing ways they can connect with someone or seek help during life’s struggles.

I try my darndest to display how I reach out to friends, check in with my therapist, or go for a bike ride when something’s troubling me,  but I know in my heart of hearts that my modeling may be no match to the pressures of this world. So, I have worked with their parents to ensure they are exposed to a wealth of activities.

Generally speaking, and this is very generally speaking, when do men get together and talk? When there’s an activity to focus on. Shooting pool, bowling, golfing, mountain biking, hunting, fishing, motorcycle riding, skiing, snowboarding, working out, playing music and golfing are the wholesome activities that come to mind when I think about the men in my life.  (We’ll stay away from gambling and drinking for now.)

Considering this, we’ve taught our boys to play pool at ISU’s student union building. We’ve signed them up through the Kids Bowl Free summer program to help them feel confident walking into a bowling alley. They know Reed Gym. The older son has had piano and golf lessons, and he regularly skis and mountain bikes. The younger son has had guitar lessons and likes running , fishing and snowboarding. They’ve been exposed to everything on that list except hunting. Although we did get a couple of BB guns the other day. (Their dad’s got a motorcycle, much to their mom’s chagrin.)

I recognize that not every family has the financial means, time or energy to expose their kids to every single one of these activities, but in the step-parent role, sometimes I try too hard. Just a few of these options would probably be fine, but I really want these guys to have an assortment of avenues available to them for future friendships and connection.    

Both boys like playing Minecraft and other video games with their friends. And while we wince at the amount of time they spend in front of a screen, we realized that they’re talking with friends about things other than just the games while they play. I’m not a video game fan, and it’s not an activity I would necessarily choose, but I love how they creatively connect with friends over the internet.

In recent years, while they are hunkered in the basement in the dark glow of their games, their voices travel through the vents. Their cackles with voice-cracks have become deep, boisterous laughter. It’s clear that we are no longer raising little boys, but we are raising men. 

The little boys and their dog 6 years ago