One night I let a man in the house where I was living with a dozen other students because he said he was a friend of someone’s and I didn’t know any differently
Then he stole the TV
Twenty-five years later I still tend to believe everyone is telling the truth about who they are
even though I should know better by now
And when I find out what’s real I wonder who I am and why I never learn because I know I would open the door again today and let anyone take what they wanted
No room left in my brain for completing a task even a simple one like editing an article or making a salad or sorting out an insurance claim (ok that’s never simple)
All my constructive, purposeful thoughts are crowded out, shoved to the side or hiding under benches as the what ifs and the worst case scenarios jockey for position shouting above the already deafening decibel level
The what ifs and worst cases are bullies of the worst kind because they are subtle not resorting to physical violence, but mostly trafficking in intimidation knowing the good thoughts will slink away in fear with a sour taste in their mouths because of too many hours and days deprived of fresh air and healthy food all that’s left to do is sleep when they aren’t allowed to exercise or even move about freely
Meanwhile, the what ifs and worst cases gain strength
Last Sunday my friend D and I led the service at UUCA, on the theme of Embracing the Mess. D wrote a great scene in which our kids (and one bonus kids) demonstrated how to make a mess and we figured out how to deal with it. This was not much of a stretch for any of us.
A moment from our “Embracing the Mess” service on July 14.
If you’d like to watch the service, visit http://www.uucava.org/livestream/ and click on archives and click on the July 14, 2019 service.
Here’s my reflection from Sunday:
One of the reasons I became a Unitarian Universalist after spending many formative years as a Presbyterian was that I wanted more variety than the Bible seemed to offer. When I discovered that UUs looked to many sacred and secular texts as sources of inspiration, I was delighted. As a writer and reader, I love discovering wisdom from new people and places.
That said, I acknowledge that the Bible includes some great stories. They’re not always easy to understand, universal truths are embedded in those parables. My perspective on Jesus is that he was a kind, compassionate, and generous person and a powerful teacher. When I think about embracing the mess, I keep coming back to this story from the book of Luke, chapter 10, verses 38-42.
As Jesus and his disciples were on their way, he came to a village where a woman named Martha opened her home to him. She had a sister called Mary, who sat at the Lord’s feet listening to what he said. But Martha was distracted by all the preparations that had to be made. She came to him and asked, “Lord, don’t you care that my sister has left me to do the work by myself? Tell her to help me!”
“Martha, Martha,” the Lord answered, “you are worried and upset about many things, but few things are needed—or indeed only one. Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her.”
Picture the scene. You have an unexpected celebrity guest—plus his entourage—and you’re working frantically in the kitchen to find something suitable to serve. You’re pouring chips and salsa into your best bowls. You’re searching for the corkscrew to open a bottle of sauvignon blanc. You’re preheating the oven to pop in some Trader Joe’s appetizers.
And you’re doing it all by yourself, while your sister is in the other room laughing at your guest’s amusing anecdotes and not lifting a finger to help you. Maybe it’s not your sister, but your significant other or your roommate. Regardless, you’re growing increasingly frustrated at them for having a good time while you’re working your tush off.
I have a question for you. How many of are familiar with the enneagram? How many of you are type 2?
For those of you who don’t know the enneagram, it’s an ancient tool used to help us understand motivations and behaviors. The enneagram can be a useful way to examine the choices we make and help us to become emotionally healthier.
Type 2 is known as the helper or the giver. Martha was likely a type 2. A bunch of guys show up on her doorstep and she immediately gets to work making dinner. There is a need to be met, and she assumes it is her responsibility to meet it. She does not understand why no one else is helping, because it is so obvious to herthat there is work to be done.
I will confess that I am also a type 2. After years of emotional work, however, I would like to think I am a healthy 2. This means I would probably head to the kitchen to get snacks for Jesus and his friends, but then I would order pizza so I could join in the conversation sooner. I might ask the apostles to take everyone’s drink orders.
Unhealthy 2s plow ahead with all the work themselves, becoming increasingly resentful. Healthy 2s will ask for help when they need it, or even decline a request that someone makes of them. My spiritual director calls this “the holy freedom to say no.” The enneagram provides a direction for each type to move toward in order to balance out unhealthy tendencies. For type 2s, we are guided toward 4, known as the romantic or the individualist. I suspect Mary in this story was a 4. When Jesus showed up at her house, she knew exactly what she wanted to do, which was sit and hang out with him. What could possibly be more important?
I can’t count the number of times when I was younger that I cleared the table and started doing dishes when I had friends over just to get the mess out of the way. And then missed out on time I could have spent having fun and laughing with people I loved. The dishes will always be there. I have learned that community, conversation, and connection are much more important.
A couple months ago, a friend of mine from college emailed me to say he and family were going to be in town and wanted to get together. He asked if we wanted to meet at a restaurant, but I suggested they come to our house, knowing it would be more relaxing, and that the kids could play, and we would have more time to talk. He agreed, although he suggested we get takeout and he offered to bring wine and dessert. I ordered dinner from Bangkok 54 and we had a fabulous time, and I did very little work.
Of course, I’m not saying you never have to clean your house, but that embracing the mess provides an opportunity to cultivate both connection and creativity.
How many of you have ever lived in a house overrun by Legos?
This has been my house for the past decade.
We have built Lego sets of a lunar lander, Hogwarts, the Millennium Falcon, the Beatles’ Yellow Submarine, countless superheroes and villains and their vehicles, and many more. We have thousands of Legos that have been used to build fabulous creations even more imaginative than the sets you buy at the store. Everyone at our house is a builder, but Zeke in particular is on his way to becoming a master builder. Where I see Legos scattered all over the coffee table and the floor, he sees superhero hideouts and innovative spaceships and cars that can dive and fly and so many technologies that might actually come to fruition someday. I have no doubt that he could become an engineer and design the prototype for an actual car that flies.
Our house is also littered with overflowing bins of art supplies, books piled up next to densely packed bookshelves, and magazines with ideas for making new stuff out of old stuff you have lying around. Sure, sometimes I wish my house looked like something out of a magazine, where you’re sure no one actually lives there because there’s no stuff. But at the same time, I wouldn’t want to give up the time our family spends making art, reading, and creating with everything that surrounds us.
Embracing the mess opens up possibilities and allows for freedom. This can be risky. And liberating.
Both my kids attended AUCP, the phenomenal preschool located here at UUCA. After Zoe graduated and before Zeke started, AUCP launched a program called Timber Tuesday, where, every other week, a class spends the entire three-hour school day in the woods near Long Branch Nature Center. Rain or shine. I have never been an outdoorsy person, and I was skeptical about this at first, but AUCP’s director Susan Parker quickly sold me on the value of spending this time outside. Kids who struggled to conform to classroom expectations thrived outside when given plenty of space to explore. Kids with sensory or motor challenges pushed themselves to climb rocks and touch trees and splash in the creek. As a parent, one of the most important lessons I learned was that it’s ok to get messy. Just bring a change of clothes. Or be prepared to ride home in your underwear.
I remember sometime after I had become a Timber Tuesday convert that my kids and I were out after a rainstorm. Instead of instructing my kids to avoid a puddle, I encouraged them to jump in it. They were astonished.
They have certainly taken that encouragement to heart. Two weeks ago, our family was on vacation in Lewes, Delaware. One evening we went to the beach to watch the sunset. One minute we were walking with our toes in the water, and next thing I knew both of my kids were laughing and splashing, submerged up to their chests in the Delaware Bay, fully clothed. Then we went to get ice cream. Because why not?
This place seems as good as any to see a ghost this tantalizing space between vulnerable and safe the constant creaking of wood wind shaking the tops of trees the insistent clank of boats knocking against their moorings lapping of the dark water on the banks of the invisible canal distant chorus of frogs I can see no one but I am surrounded by the night
All evening while everyone else was playing and eating and swimming and reading bedtime stories I was plastered to the bed by a migraine only vaguely aware of anything else Still more hours lost to pain
And now, while everyone else sleeps I keep watch from the screened porch of someone else’s house who I have never met
In a few minutes I’m headed to a school board meeting to speak on behalf of protections for trans kids in our school system, such as training teachers to effectively support them, and letting trans kids use the bathrooms and locker rooms in which they feel comfortable.
Here’s what I plan to say:
Good evening members of the school board. Thank you for the opportunity to speak. My name is Betsy Rosenblatt Rosso. I have lived in Arlington for 22 years. I have two children in Arlington Public Schools, and I have been a school volunteer for several years and an occasional substitute teacher.
The summer after fifth grade, my daughter’s best friend came out to her as non-binary and later as transgender. I know the evolution of their identity was not out of the blue, it was not on a whim, and it was certainly not easy. Thankfully, their parents have been supportive, and their school has helped ease the transition.
People have asked me how my daughter reacted to her friend’s transition. My daughter has not missed a beat in her unconditional love and support of her friend. Why would she? The only thing that’s changed is my daughter is now incredibly well-informed about the LGBTQIA+ community, and she is quick to correct me if I accidently use the wrong pronouns.
I’m also glad my six-year-old son has had this personal experience to learn about gender diversity. He creates elaborate family structures with his collection of stuffed animals. Some are straight and some are LGBTQIA+. This little purple sloth is named River, and he is female to male trans. My son decided this, on his own. He gets it. He loves all his stuffed animals for who they are.
I know a lot of LGBTQIA+ kids, some of whom are trans. I have several friends from our Unitarian Universalist church and the community who have adult kids who are trans. They all have their own unique stories of recognizing their gender identities, but I know in every case, these identities did not develop out of the blue, or on a whim. It’s not easy to come out and live as who you know you are inside, even if that isn’t how you’ve presented before. It’s so important for APS to train teachers to support trans youth and to ensure schools foster an accepting and inclusive climate. These are critical factors in reducing the high risk of attempted suicide among LGBTQIA+ youth.
Trans youth and adults are often on the receiving end of bullying and assault. They are not perpetrators. Trans youth and adults are not pretending or dressing up as another gender so they can harm others or have an advantage in sports. They are trans because owning and identity is necessary for their survival, even if it’s incredibly challenging in mainstream society. No one takes a transition lightly, whether they are 5 or 15 or 55. They do it so they can be at peace with themselves and feel as fully human and whole as they were born to be.
I support the school board’s proposed policies to protect the rights and safety of trans kids in our schools, and to train teachers and staff to effectively support these kids. Our community must demonstrate that we support and embrace kids for who they are. All of us are worthy and deserving of that respect.
They were invited to take off their shoes and socks which is usually NOT allowed at school but this was barefoot day in kangaroo class
On the concrete floor the teachers had taped down bubble wrap (the kind with big bubbles and the kind with small bubbles) that padding that goes under carpet and lengths of textured yellow foam– packing material that could be a topographical map of another planet
Along one wall of the classroom they laid out a long sheet of brown butcher paper with gallons of bright paint at one end
Each child who wanted to (which was not everyone– some built train tracks or sculpted play dough or did wooden puzzles of farm animals and vehicles) chose red or yellow or blue paint and the teachers poured a puddle onto a square of bubble wrap and the child stepped in
The teachers had to hold the hand of each child as they squished their toes into the paint because paint on bubble wrap can be quite slippery when you’re two or three years old
Walking along the brown paper path they left small footprints until they came to the end where I had filled a big blue basin with warm water and they stepped in and i washed their feet with my hands even though they did not know me at all they leaned on my shoulders to steady themselves as I gently lifted one foot and then the other to wipe away the paint
Then I held their hands as they stepped out of the water onto a towel where I dried their feet and wiped off smears of paint from their ankles that I had missed (there was still some paint between their toes, but I had to keep the line moving)
Soon they would return having left more footprints now in blended colors because eventually all the paint mixed together
and I would wash their feet again and now they knew me as the lady who was there to wash and dry their feet (still between their toes the paint clung) and they smiled at me in wonder, so delighted by what they had done
At the end, one of the teachers decided to walk through the paint and down the brown paper path and one of the little girls quickly took her hand to walk beside her and make sure she was steady
A place I like to walk is the aisles of the specialty pharmacy where they carry one of seemingly everything for any ailment or stage of life like breastfeeding supplies and tiny vials of baby medicine and one whole wall filled with compression stockings another lined with wheelchairs, motorized recliners, and furniture and accessories for your toileting ease don’t forget the aisle of tall candles and boxed thank you cards because you’re never too ill or incontinent for elegance or good manners.
Before my second baby was born I used to worry (a lot) about having a boy thinking, “what would I DO with a boy?” as if he would turn out to be a different species than me rather than another gender and that we would lack a common language
Now he is almost six and I understand that what I was afraid of was that he would be a stereotype of a boy or that he would (alarmingly) be a clone of boys I had known who had scared me or disgusted me because of their aggressiveness or crassness or insensitivity which I wrongly attributed to testosterone and the Y chromosome
My son loves to kiss me and snuggle and make art together and battle bad guys (not with me, because that’s not my thing) and build Legos (sometimes with superheroes and bad guys but sometimes not) and watch the Great British Baking Show and do martial arts and play with his multitude of stuffed animals, all of whom he has given names and identities (some straight, some gay, some trans) and family relationships (usually interspecies)
He likes to wear pink and purple (and sports shorts and Adidas) I told him that I’m glad he knows pink and purple are colors for everyone and not just for girls He said unfortunately not everyone at his school knows that and not everyone at his school thinks boys can wear nail polish but he knows how much fun it is to get your nails done and how cool it looks
I used to worry that people would think I was a boy because my hair is short because I mostly wear t-shirts and jeans In high school when I wore Doc Martens I was told “those are men’s shoes.” (Now I sometimes shop in the men’s department for my size 11 feet and I receive many compliments on my brown leather wingtips) In college when I asked the boys down the hall to use the clipper to shave the back of my hair I was told “that’s a lesbian haircut.” and because I wore plaid flannel, “you dress like a lesbian,” (but seriously, it was the 90s) A little girl once asked me, “are you a boy?” I said no but she still said, “I think you’re a boy.” When I wake up and stumble into the bathroom in the middle of the night or first thing in the morning so many times I’ve looked in the mirror and wondered if I looked that day like Richard Simmons or Andy Gibb or Michael Moore it’s always a weird male celebrity I see I used to think that if I didn’t wear earrings when I left the house people would think I was a man even though plenty of men wear earrings when they leave the house like my daughter’s 5th grade teacher who was a middle-aged married father of two who wore basketball shorts to teach and sported a gold hoop in each ear
My son notices when I have new earrings and is the first to compliment me when I get my hair done He often does not care if his clothes are clashing colors but sometimes he wants me to brush his hair and help him choose the perfect outfit for the occasion
My son recites the names of all the Avengers (and their friends such as the X-Men and the Fantastic Four) and their unique capabilities and asks me what powers I would like and then endows me with them and says, “I love you with all my heart and all my dreams.” and falls asleep with his forehead touching mine and his arm around my neck
When I get a massage I am polite but quiet because in the past I have made the mistake of being too friendly and inquisitive and hearing too much troubling information about a person who was supposed to be helping me relax
Chida is my massage therapist now She is usually polite and quiet too
Last week she was bubbling over with excitement because she and her five-year-old daughter are going back to Thailand for a month
Chida said she has to go so her whole family can participate in the rituals to say goodbye to her father who died several months ago but who neighbors say they have seen sitting on his front porch
Chida’s mother told her “You have to come home or your father’s spirit will be stuck here.”
“Miss Betsy,” Chida said to me. “Do you believe in ghosts?”
