ACTIVE VOICE FOR CHILDREN

In many cultures over the centuries, children have been marginalized and viewed as empty vessels needing to tbe filled with information, training, discipline and facts unrelated to their nature, their hearts, or their life purpose.  The adult world has often missed the person in favor of convenient labels and behavioral descriptions. 

If I slow down enough inside myself, I may explore how I personally view children and how "we" view children collectively.  What are our beliefs and expectations of children, educational systems, parenting and, possibly how our beliefs may interfere with easy harmonious, respectful relationships between children and adults.

I might even discover fresh ways to be with children and myself.  I could reclaim  my own sense of innocence, play and being present and real with myself and especially children.  I might even practice seeing through the eyes of children with a sense of wonder.  I could even ask myself "what would I have wanted from the adults around me, when I was a child?  What would have worked?  What would have been welcome?  

CHILDREN ARE FUNNY

What's funny about children.  Everything is funny about children. They play, they laugh, they hug, they kiss, they play more, and they cry when their bodies demand it. 

They communicate with people, dogs, cats, butterflies, bees, stuffed toys, pillows and
all so-called inanimate objects. 

They see things that we once saw but now tend to dismiss as not there.  They feel and sense things that we would feel too, if we slowed down and agreed to feel everything that was within and around us. 

The children, without being taught, care about everyone.Until taught differently, they see no separation between others and themselves.  They own nothing.  It is not mine, it is ours.  They have no need to own stuff.  Only play with it, study it, or hug it

Children really are funny, in the most positive way.  They can laugh and cry, always coming from the same internal source of expression.  Simple expression.   Children really are us externalized.   Children are a constant example of what we really look like inside,, whether we call them our own, or they’re free range children running through our lives……. having no need for adult identities, a public self, desire to look good,

impress anyone or have need to be right. 

Children are us, someone once told me.  Actually it was me that told me that. 

NORMA

My son and I went to a celebration/funeral today for a Native American/American Indian elder woman.  Her name is Norma.   Norma passed on, died, left this earth dimension in mid-June, 2015.  Her age does not matter.  

We met Norma five years ago when she volunteered to "teach" some students at his school how to make a Dream Catcher, something Native people often live with from birth. 

We only met Norma a few times, yet she often felt like "family."   I expected the church "celebration of life" to consist of a few people and family.  Instead over 500 people showed up,  people of different color, background, age and religion. 

We learned that Norma had led a life of connecting with people everywhere, dedicated to her five children, now older, and being an activist and advocate for all people.  She combined her Christian life with the ancient ways of Native Americans, specifically Apache. 

When I would sometimes sit with Norma, I listened to her stories of physical and emotional pain, her dedication to bringing about respect for everyone, and her great love for her family, comprised of grandchildren, and the children of others.  Norma insisted only that her children be of service, use no alcohol, cigarettes or drugs. 

She is an example of a human being that holds "space" for everyone.  Her daughter Andrea,  met Boye and I "one" time years ago.   And today, amongst over 500 people, Andrea, one of the speakers and singers at the celebration, hugged Boye and I, and remembered our names.

For me, I knew we were "seen" by Norma and family.  They saw who we were inside, beneath our outer personality, and ways.   

Norma and her family remember people.  They remember because they live out what they teach.  These five hundred people were part of her community of spirit. 

When I was eight years old, my father sat on the edge of my bed, as I was about to go sleepy time.  He
quietly started to

EVERYTHING IS ABOUT RELATIONSHIP

It was Linda Worldturner, an 18-year-old Lakota-Sioux Native woman who taught me that everything in life is about relationship, and, what that looks like when practiced daily.  Linda grew up on the Rosebud reservation in South Dakota.  Her home life was filled with alcohol, drugs, violence and stuff that can destroy the spirit.  Yet, for whatever reason, her spirit soared  

 

When I first met Linda at a unique program for, what were referred to as American Indians, I was just a standard white guy who grew up in L.A. on sandy beaches,long freeways and an awareness of Native people only from the movies.  Linda shared her life story once, and never again.  She didn’t need to.  Instead, she practiced connecting with everyone, even the all white staff that tended to hold Native people as needing to be civilized. 

By watching Linda interact with people of any age, color or racial belief, I saw what sacred looks like when practiced, and lived.  Relationship, I learned, wasn’t just about getting to know someone, or living with another person.  It is a way to be in life daily with all people, all the time, everywhere.  Without using or thinking the word sacred, I came to practice, more often, relating to people as sacred no matter what they believed, or who they were. .   

Linda never spoke of these things.  She simply smiled often, looked into your eyes and and cared for everyone. 

 

ARMEN: BIG BOY RESTAURANT

My son and I were in Bob's Big Boy restaurant in Burbank, near Los Angeles, a place that's been there for over sixty years, and is a hangout for everyone, including movie people and lots of non-movie people.  

We go once a week and have a favorite server named Armen.  When we arrive, and it's
crowded, we ask to wait for his table.  When he was told we were waiting for an open table with Armen, he came over to us, and apologized for not having a table available.
"We will wait for a table of yours to open up." 
"No, no," he said, "I don't want you to wait 20 minutes."

We insisted we wanted to be with him, and waiting was just fine.  "No, no, I can't have you do that," he insisted in a voice of caring.  "I feel guilty keeping you waiting."

Minutes later, he returned to tell us he had asked another server to turn one of his tables over to Armen so we could sit right away, and he could serve us.

We took the table, sat down, and Armen came over, during the crowded lunch time, remembered our order exactly (well scrambled eggs and hash browns with fruit), from a week ago, and with tears in his eyes, said, "Thank you.  You guys mean so much to me."  In the midst of lunch time crowd, we held hands.  He had tears.  He knew he mattered to us more to us as a person, more than the timing.   We had just met Armen the week 
before, just one time.  The food was secondary to us.  The relationship with Armen was primary. 

       

The Rabbi

I was hired as the director for a Jewish Temple Day camp in Los Angeles when I was 21.  Some of the campers were Jewish, and most were something else.  The 65 campers ranged in age from 6 to 14. 

I got to hire the 10 women and men counselors, and I was also the driver of the 65 passenger bus that took them to the beach, and all kinds of interesting places around Southern California.  I loved it.  All the counselors I hired were people-people. 

At the end of one day, before dropping the young people off at their homes  I first stopped by to see the Rabbi at the Temple to check on the schedule for the next day.  I left the bus waiting at the curb with the 65 campers plus 10 counselors.   "Bruce," the rabbi began, "When you drop off the seven-year old negro boy, tell him he cannot come back any more. Don't tell him why." 

”Tell me why,” I asked. 

"Because some of the parents said they did not want their children around negros, and

would withdraw their children." 
"No," I replied, "I will not do that." 
"It's a business decision," he said.  "We have to stay in business."
"I will not do that.  I will quit now if you ask again, and you can drive the children home and find another director.  With our history of being discriminated against and killed because we are Jewish, how could you even ask that?"

Instinctively, he replied with a standard business  response.  I was silent. He paused, and looked into my eyes.  In silence, he withdrew his request. 

I drove the "campers" home and the "negro" child got to return, and no parents removed their children over the rest of the summer. 

For me, I got to remove the pedestal  I carried about men and women of God   More importantly,I discovered a bit more awareness, and natural instinct to stand for, and with everyone, including the Rabbi.