I write because there is always something wanting to be said; always an unspoken voice wanting to be heard. I write so I can hear it, so that I know it has been said. The world has not been saved by whatever has been spoken, written, but it has been changed, perhaps even improved a very light bit, because something that wanted to be said has been said and I have heard it. I am probably the only one changed by my writing, and so I keep on telling a story, never knowing where it goes or even where it comes from. It seems to come perhaps from my interpretation of my experience, but, though it may be my interpretation, is it actually of "my" experience. Back in 1970, I was a Conscientious Objector, objecting to my participation in the war in Vietnam. That is a story in itself but I was "assigned" to work in a residential care facility near Millbrook, NY at which I was a "child care counselor" or houseparent to a group of "emotionally disturbed" boys, ages 3 to 12. Most of these kids were from Harlem, NY, and had lived hellish lives before they were taken out of their living situations and put into this "institution" where I worked. When some of them first arrived, they were very afraid of the trees, which flailed wildly in the wind at times. The kids thought the trees were monstrous and were going to "get them." They had actually never seen such "wild trees" in their lives and thought that they were somehow moving on their own volition. I, man of the world that I was, and one quite familiar with wild trees, helped allay their fears. But the interesting part is that when I was a very young child, my mother parked me in my carriage in the park near where I lived, and I watched the trees moving for hours, and came to believe too that they were quite alive and moving on their own. I had forgotten about that until these little kids came along, and I still have the same thought when I walk these days in the Forest of Nisene Marks, a great redwood forest where I walk frequently. In fact, I tell people that the "big joke that the trees play on humans is that they all move their branches around at the same time so that humans will think it is the wind blowing."
When I moved to my house in the "burbs" ten years ago, I looked out this window in my office and saw only houses around me. Now I look at out and see ... trees--pines, oaks, apple, birch. The biggest one blocking the view of the houses is an Italian Pine Christmas tree I replanted (and there are three others at various stages of growth). And my yard is so tiny. In 1987 I bought Dick Smothers' (of the Smothers Brothers) estate on thirty acres and nursed every little tree, most oak and pine, until there was a literal forest on the ex-vineyard in front of the house. Trees are mostly good listeners and very rarely answer back, though one time a dead branch fell, hit me in the face, and gave me a bloody nose. There was no wind, it had been listening to my babbling, and must've had enough. Three inches more and it could have cracked my skull. Such a sense of humor.
Now a blue jay is looking around for peanuts that I sometimes put on a plate outside on the deck. My daughter tells me that it is not "environmentally sound" or perhaps even "morally correct" to feed wild animals. But she seems unaware that it was the wild animals that tamed us humans and that they are far more "civilized" than any human beings. Though I have always wanted to have a bumpers ticker (still another silly) that read: "I eat dogs and I vote," just to irritate people. It is the sheer, stupid complacency of society that has always bothered me. This is why I am compelled and condemned to be the Devil's advocate.
Let's talk about that. I already noted that I was assigned as a Conscientious Objector to work at the children's institution for two years. Within the first week, my boys started school at the on-campus school. And within the first week, the young and inexperienced teacher complained to the administration that the boys were "out of control" and "unteachable." And then within the first week, the administration had a meeting with the institution's "medical team" who decided that all of the boys should take Ritalin as a "mood stabilizer" so that they can be "properly educated." I will avoid "going racial" here. I was quite unfamiliar with Ritalin and did administer it initially to the kids before they went to school.
When they got home and all went to sleep, I realized that they were now quite "under control." The next day, before school, I made a deal with them. I said, "If you guys will be very good in school and do what the teacher says, I will let you stay up on Friday night and watch Creature Features, make you pop-corn and hot fudge sundaes, bring you out for pizza every week, and make hot dogs out on the barbecue." On that day I refrained from giving them the Ritalin just to see if they would keep their part of the bargain. And so for a few more days. Then, on that Friday, I got a call from the teacher, and she said, "The boys have been wonderful. That medication makes an absolute difference." For the next two years, at every weekly meeting, the administration and its doctors lauded themselves on their "profound success" in drugging the boys with Ritalin, and I dumped the Ritalin down the toilet every single morning. The Epilogue: as I neared the end of my two-year stint (in which I had become as a real parent to the boys), at one of the weekly meetings after the administration once again complimented itself on its great success, I told them, "For the last almost two years, it is the boys themselves who changed their behavior because I asked them to and gave them some minor positive reinforcements. In fact they have not received a single doze of Ritalin since the very first day." The administration threatened me with arrest and jail for what I had done, but they knew that if word got out, that they would be utterly ridiculed, if not sued themselves. So they had no recourse but to fire me just a few days early. Sometimes we can do the right thing, if we do it right.
When I moved to my house in the "burbs" ten years ago, I looked out this window in my office and saw only houses around me. Now I look at out and see ... trees--pines, oaks, apple, birch. The biggest one blocking the view of the houses is an Italian Pine Christmas tree I replanted (and there are three others at various stages of growth). And my yard is so tiny. In 1987 I bought Dick Smothers' (of the Smothers Brothers) estate on thirty acres and nursed every little tree, most oak and pine, until there was a literal forest on the ex-vineyard in front of the house. Trees are mostly good listeners and very rarely answer back, though one time a dead branch fell, hit me in the face, and gave me a bloody nose. There was no wind, it had been listening to my babbling, and must've had enough. Three inches more and it could have cracked my skull. Such a sense of humor.
Now a blue jay is looking around for peanuts that I sometimes put on a plate outside on the deck. My daughter tells me that it is not "environmentally sound" or perhaps even "morally correct" to feed wild animals. But she seems unaware that it was the wild animals that tamed us humans and that they are far more "civilized" than any human beings. Though I have always wanted to have a bumpers ticker (still another silly) that read: "I eat dogs and I vote," just to irritate people. It is the sheer, stupid complacency of society that has always bothered me. This is why I am compelled and condemned to be the Devil's advocate.
Let's talk about that. I already noted that I was assigned as a Conscientious Objector to work at the children's institution for two years. Within the first week, my boys started school at the on-campus school. And within the first week, the young and inexperienced teacher complained to the administration that the boys were "out of control" and "unteachable." And then within the first week, the administration had a meeting with the institution's "medical team" who decided that all of the boys should take Ritalin as a "mood stabilizer" so that they can be "properly educated." I will avoid "going racial" here. I was quite unfamiliar with Ritalin and did administer it initially to the kids before they went to school.
When they got home and all went to sleep, I realized that they were now quite "under control." The next day, before school, I made a deal with them. I said, "If you guys will be very good in school and do what the teacher says, I will let you stay up on Friday night and watch Creature Features, make you pop-corn and hot fudge sundaes, bring you out for pizza every week, and make hot dogs out on the barbecue." On that day I refrained from giving them the Ritalin just to see if they would keep their part of the bargain. And so for a few more days. Then, on that Friday, I got a call from the teacher, and she said, "The boys have been wonderful. That medication makes an absolute difference." For the next two years, at every weekly meeting, the administration and its doctors lauded themselves on their "profound success" in drugging the boys with Ritalin, and I dumped the Ritalin down the toilet every single morning. The Epilogue: as I neared the end of my two-year stint (in which I had become as a real parent to the boys), at one of the weekly meetings after the administration once again complimented itself on its great success, I told them, "For the last almost two years, it is the boys themselves who changed their behavior because I asked them to and gave them some minor positive reinforcements. In fact they have not received a single doze of Ritalin since the very first day." The administration threatened me with arrest and jail for what I had done, but they knew that if word got out, that they would be utterly ridiculed, if not sued themselves. So they had no recourse but to fire me just a few days early. Sometimes we can do the right thing, if we do it right.
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