8 things you can do about 50 Shades of Grey

Yesterday, I wrote a post called "Fifty shades sick of this" describing my sadness and disgust over the existence of and hype surrounding the Fifty Shades of Grey movie. I didn't know what the response would be. Maybe people would call me a prude. Maybe people would call me out for being judgmental. Maybe people would just ignore the post all together.

What happened was the post resonated with a lot of people. It has been shared many times. It has started multiple CIVIL conversations on the topic. Not everyone is in agreement. A few see the story as a romance. Others find some redemptive value in the story as played out in the trilogy. The majority, however, expressed similar feelings to mine, that the film and the books are a glorification of sexual abuse and the permeation of the story into nearly every media stream is dangerous.

So now what? Do I sit back and just periodically check my blog analytics to see how many people have read what I have to say about Fifty Shades? Nope. Now, my mind is on to thinking about what can I do, what can you do, what can we do in response to both the movie and the media hype surrounding it.

The list below is a start. Although I compiled the list, the ideas and links were shared with me throughout the day today. Please, if you have other resources or ideas to share, add those in the comments.

1. Don't go to the movies. Well duh. Don't go see Fifty Shades. But maybe don't to the theater at all this weekend. Show the theater owners that you won't support a company that chooses to show the Christian Grey trash.

2. Go to the movies (hey, it's a woman's prerogative to change her mind) and see a movie called Old Fashioned.  It also opens this weekend in limited release. The website says "Chivalry makes a comeback." I could get behind that.

3. Educate yourself. Read from people far more educated than I am why Fifty Shades and the
circus surrounding it is harmful to young people. Dr. Meg Meeker, a pediatrician, said "There is no question that any child under 25 will be negatively affected by it." Read more of her thoughts here.

If you haven't read the books -- or if you have -- educate yourself about what's in them and why it is harmful. This article discusses 50 abusive moments in the novel.

4. Talk to your kids. Need some help? Check out this article written for young people by a psychiatrist.

5. Talk to your husband and your girlfriends. Share with them why you feel so strongly about this movie and the messages that it sends. Maybe they feel the same way. Maybe they don't. Just start the conversation.

6. Put your money where your outrage is. Huff Po shared an article about an advocacy movement #50DollarsNot50Shades which is encouraging people to make a contribution to a domestic violence shelter instead.

7. Have sex. This author suggests the best thing you can to combat a world that celebrates sexually abusive relationships is to nurture your own loving and intimate relationship.

8. Pray. If you are Catholic (or if you're not) there is an "event" on Facebook called the 50 Hail Mary Pledge, asking people to pray 50 Hail Marys on the show's opening day (February 13). Or set aside 50 minutes of time to pray, or even 5 minutes. You could even get radical and pray outside the theater.

Fifty shades sick of this

Dear Christian Grey: Go away.

Dear E.L. James, creator of the Fifty Shades of Grey trilogy: Stop writing.

Dear American media: Find something worthwhile to celebrate.

I am sick to death of hearing about Fifty Shades of Grey the movie. I'm tired of turning off the commercials as they air on TV. I switched radio stations about 4 times today because every station I tried was having some discussion about or parody of the movie.

When I googled the name of the author of the series, I saw that the Fifty Shades franchise (books, movies, "pleasure packs" that are advertised on the radio) is identified as "provocative romance." Yes, and ISIS is just a "bully."

There is a part of me that doesn't feel qualified to host this conversation here because I haven't read the books. I was going to. I had plans to borrow them from someone I know. Everyone was reading them and I didn't want to be left out.

Then a friend, who is also a child sexual abuse survivor and an author, posted one short message on Facebook. She said that proliferation of books like Fifty Shades of Grey made her sad because the idea of dominance and sexual power is what fuels so many child abusers. Suddenly, the books weren't just something to read and chat about on Girls' Night Out. They were...and are...seeds of evil.

So, I haven't read the books. I haven't tried heroin either and I'm still strong in my belief that it's not something that I want to get into.

As a mother, I felt an obligation to talk to my kids about the movie. Annie will be 18 (!) in two days, old enough to go to an R-rated movie. But that didn't stop me from asking her not to see it.  Charlie is only 15, but I told him the same thing. I said that some kids may go see it, might sneak into see it, but that I was really adamant that he not watch the movie.

Sex, I told both of them, can be an awesome thing. But it's something for two grown, consenting, married adults to discover together. (Yes, I said married. Yes, several people will disagree with me and that's ok. They are my kids and this is how I choose to parent them.)

Reading a book or watching a movie that reduces sex to animalistic urges is not going to lead to a healthy adult sex life. Watching a movie is, in my mind, worse, because the images are provided to you. Nothing is left to the imagination. Instead, those images become burned in your mind. When I was a teenager, some of the families I babysat for had HBO. I watched a few of those "HBO After Dark" shows and I'm sorry I did. Why? Because now, 30 years later, those images still come back to me. There are some things that can't be unseen.

Both kids promised that they would not watch the movie or read the books. Of course, what else would they say? "Actually Mom, I planned to buy a ticket to the Spongebob movie and then sneak in to Fifty Shades." I'm not with them 24/7. But at least I made it abundantly clear what my thoughts about the movie are and if they are presented with the sad opportunity to watch it, I hope they remember our conversation.

Then I went to my husband. He is certainly an adult and can make his own decisions. But I wanted him to know how I feel about the movie and to ask him to respect me by not watching it. If we didn't talk about it, how would he know?

I'm not a Puritan or a prude. I wouldn't presume to tell people what they should or shouldn't do in their own bedrooms and their own relationships. But I don't need or want a front-row seat to what goes on behind their closed doors.

The only fifty shades I'm interested in seeing are variations of pink, yellow, lavender and green -- fifty shades of springtime.

Can't we all just get along?

I love social media and technology. I love living in an age where I have access to news from around the world and opinions from people who are not mirror images of myself. I love being able to connect with and stay connected to people I would not have even ever heard of if Al Gore hadn't invented the internet (wink). But sometimes social media wears me down.

The conflicts and heated exchanges between the vaxers and the non-vaxers. The tales of politicians losing sight of the people they were elected to represent. The constant "you have to stand up, speak out, do something about..." The evil lurking in our world and the video proof that exists to dispute claims otherwise. Even my favorite morning radio show has made a weekly feature of "mean tweets" where they share downright ugly things people have tweeted about the show's cast. Sometimes it's enough to make me want to chuck my computer and iPhone into the nearest body of water.

Today is one of those days. Today is one of those days where someone on Facebook or Twitter would argue that drinking milk after 10pm will give you colon cancer and make your children ugly. I know I shouldn't shoot the messenger -- it's not the vehicles of communication that came up with the ugliness and terror and incivility they share. But when so much of the world's hatred and disrespect and even just foolishness are out of my control, cutting these stories/tales/opinions off at the source is one thing I can control. 

When I wake up tomorrow, I will ask that God help me face the challenges of my day and of the world with renewed vigor and hopefulness. I'll focus on what I can do to make my corner of the universe a brighter, more loving, more peaceful place. Maybe I won't turn on the radio. Maybe I'll choose to not engage in a conversation that won't matter in five years anyway. Maybe I will step out and take a stand for something that will indeed matter in five years. 

I don't know exactly what I will do. What I do know is that it's time for me to walk away for today. To log out of Facebook and turn off the TV. To lay my head on the pillow and have a conversation with God, thanking him for my blessings and seeking forgiveness for the wrongs I've done.  And to pray that tomorrow we can all just get along a little bit better. 

Curtain call...on studying theatre in college

My recent post, "My kid wants to study theatre and I'm not sorry about it," was met with several comments, most of them supportive. I have a feeling that the nay-sayers, those who are shaking their heads at my naivete, were just being nice and holding their tongues.

Usually when there are comments, I try to reply to them within the context of the comments. But there were so many things I wanted to say, that I decided to give it another piece of real estate here in the blog.

I loved what Ellie had to say about her son's non-traditional major in college (he studied library science): "He didn't treat college like a vocational school." Yes! Exactly. What happened to the idea that college is the place where people go to learn about different perspectives and different ways of viewing the world?  There is nothing wrong with vocational education, but the idea that going to college to be an X is so limiting. What happens when you've spent so many years learning to be an X, working as an X, and you wake up one morning and figure out you are really not meant to be an X, that your true calling is to be a Y or, God forbid, an H -- something so far removed from what you were trained to do? There is a difference between being trained and being educated. It does put the burden of work and creativity on the person willing to seek true education, yes, but what an exciting way to face life.

Heather has had some experience going from being an X to an H. She said "If it doesn't work out, use that experience to build on and remake yourself." We are no longer in an era where people work for the same company for 30 years. For some, we are no longer in an era where people even work in the same field for 30 years. I want my kids to go into life knowing that remaking themselves is an exciting, even enviable, option -- not the mark of failure.

Tricia is a mom like me with an arts-loving kid. Yet, based on her own experience, she is encouraging her daughter to look into related careers. That is a prudent path. I've spoken before to Annie about "Plan B." She nods her head. She understands. She had her first kick in the gut when when audition led her to a spot in a program, but not the program she wanted. It hurt. She was angry. But she is undeterred.

I could have circled back with a discussion about other career options, but as a mother, as much as I watch how theatre feeds her, I also see how "Plan B" sucks the wind out of her. This is her time. This is her life. If she wants to throw herself into a "crazy" dream, then who am I stand in her way. If she willing to drive herself to live her dreams, then I'm not going to go around deflating her tires.

Momza had a really interesting thought -- should the cost of a degree be based on future earning potential? Working in higher ed, I can tell you right off that no professor in the world would go for that. In fact, some theatre programs charge a premium above regular tuition. If the cost based on potential was the equation, there are a lot of schools who would find themselves on the short end of the stick when their graduates go on to make blockbuster films and platinum albums. Maybe the cost of a degree should be based on future giving potential -- how much will the degree earning be giving back to society when they work in their chosen career. Based on that equation, teachers would be earning millions.

I loved hearing from Jennifer, whose son is also studying theatre, and Kimmybee, who is counting on the day when she can say about Annie, "I knew you when." But in the end, it doesn't really matter what anyone else thinks. It doesn't even matter what I think. What matters is that my kid has found a passion and is willing to go all in for following her dream. So once again, my kid wants to study theatre and I'm not sorry about it.

Can magic happen twice? #LTYM

Nearly two years ago, I was part of something magical. It was the first Listen to Your Mother show in Indianapolis. A group of women from different parts of Indiana, the Midwest really, with different jobs and experiences came together to discuss what tied us all together -- motherhood. Being in the show was fabulous. Getting to know these women was even better. And now, the call is out for submissions to this year's Listen to Your Mother show and I wonder if I have it in me to make the magic happen again.

The deadline for submissions to the Indianapolis show is January 31. I've been mulling over some ideas in my head, but nothing seems to stick. My entry for the inaugural Indianapolis show was a humorous piece (see the video here). Should I go that route again? Maybe I should dig in to something more emotional? Or something with a spiritual bent? I guess I need to just sit down and start writing and see where it takes me.

I've also given some thought to auditioning for the show in my husband's hometown of Evansville, Indiana. This is Evansville's first year for LTYM. One of the producers is Hillary Melchiors who was a member of "my" cast in Indianapolis. It would be so great to be a part of growing LTYM to a new city. Auditions there take place next month, on a day it just so happens we will be in town for a college visit.

And if I were even to get selected for the Indy or Evansville show, would the magic still exist? It would be different magic for sure. I'm a different person and the cast would be different. But I choose to believe that the camaraderie of the cast and the electricity of sharing my own words on stage would be magical in its own, new way.

What about you? Is there a LTYM show near you? Probably -- there are nearly 40 shows this year! Do you have something to say about being (or not being), having (or not having) a mother?

If telling your story on a stage is not your style, I really encourage you to step out of your comfort zone and give it a try. Or just write your story for yourself. There is real power in that, too. At the very least, find a LTYM show near you and be in the audience. You won't be disappointed. I swear on my mother's grave (except she is happily alive, but you get the idea).

My kid wants to study theatre and I'm not sorry about it.

Get into a conversation with a parent in which one or both of you have a child who is a senior in high school and the topic at hand inevitably turns to college. "What does your child want to study?" "Where does she want to go to school?" My daughter Annie plans to study theatre and I'm not sorry about it.

When Annie first started talking about majoring in theatre performance and making the stage her life's work, I was excited for her. She has a passion for it. She doesn't just memorize lines and spit them back out. She studies her craft. She reads books on the techniques of acting, seeks critiques of her performance, works tech to learn another side of production. You can see in her eyes and her smile how theatre makes Annie come alive.

But when people started asking me what Annie plans to study in college, I kind of felt like I had to apologize for her career choice. After all, studying theatre isn't exactly a "responsible" choice like studying finance or medicine or education. I would deliver my answer of "theatre" with a slight smile and a quick roll of the eyes, as if to say, "You know kids and their unrealistic expectations." I thought that was how people expected me to react.

My husband and I have talked to Annie about the realities of a career in theatre. Jobs may be scarce and may not pay well. Waiting tables to make ends meet is a real possibility. Grad school may be a necessity; apartment sharing will definitely be. But this is what she wants to do. She is willing to make those sacrifices. No one goes back to school to study theatre. Now is her time.

And so, somehow in the course of Annie moving from her junior year in high school to her senior year, I've lost that obligated, apologetic feeling and the eye roll that came with it. I think about all the joy that the arts -- theatre being one of them -- bring to people. Without people invested in creating that art, that joy would be lost. I look around my own community and see adults working in the realm of theatre -- on stage, back stage, in promotion and development. I can see a future in that for Annie.

Does everyone who goes to theatre school end up winning a Tony or a Golden Globe or inking a deal for a network television show? Of course not. Just as not every finance major ends up being president of a bank and not every med school student wins the Nobel Prize for medicine.

Those who do end up with those career superlatives have certain things in common: they work their butts off; they seize opportunities when presented; they don't take no for an answer; and they do what they do because they are passionate about it.

My daughter is passionate about transforming herself into characters on a stage for the purpose of entertaining, and sometimes educating, people in the audience. And you know what? I'm not the least bit sorry about that.

When death is an occupational hazard

Photo adapted from Three Crosses by Tim Green

Someone I cared about passed away on Saturday morning. Her death was unexpected; at least I wasn't expecting it.

I came to know Pat about 18 months ago when I began taking Holy Communion to her -- and others -- once a month at a nearby nursing home. I didn't see her every time I visited. When the weather was good, she would take the city bus for people with disabilities to go to Mass at our church. But in the winter, I'd get to spend some time with her. It was time I looked forward to.

Pat was blind, but she saw with faith. She used a wheelchair most of the time, but she walked a life a service, even until her death. When I would visit, she would ask me to read that day's Gospel to her. Then I would do my best to recount the message of the homily. On certain days I had to admit that my mind had wandered during the homily and I couldn't recall what the priest had said. Pat & I would talk about the Scripture and what in the passage spoke to each of us. Most of my visits with other residents at the nursing home are fairly brief, made so by the residents' limitations with communication, so these conversations with Pat were opportunities I looked forward to.

Based on how old she told me her children are, I would guess that Pat was about my mother's age. Maybe a little bit older. She was determined to really live the life she had. She had a large reading machine that she would use to read books, letters, the church bulletin. Although she was dependent on others to meet most of her physical needs, Pat still lived the call to serve.

Over the past several years, she handmade more than 1,000 cards of encouragement for members of the Indiana National Guard. In her room, she had photos of herself with some of those soldiers who had been on the receiving end of her kindness. So often people think of nursing homes as a place where old people are warehoused until they die. There was no putting Pat on a shelf.

My last visit with Pat was on Christmas day. I'd gone over to the nursing home in the early evening to visit a few people. She and I sat and talked for close to an hour that night. I learned that she had been a nurse and that she preferred working with psychiatric patients. She told me that it had been her birthday just a few days before. She mentioned that she was having some difficulty with her new reader and that she thought some brightly colored tape might help her see where to line up what it is she was trying to read. I told her I'd find some and bring it with me on my next visit. I had no idea that the Christmas visit would be my last visit.

When the phone rang last night and I saw it was a call from one of the other women in this ministry, I knew it had to be bad news. One of our ladies has been fading and has hospice care set up. I had a feeling that this was a call to let me know that she had passed away. When I heard that it was Pat who was gone, I could not believe it. She seemed so good -- finally recovering from a nasty fall, upbeat and like her old self. I halfway thought that there must have been some mix up and that she would be sitting in her chair waiting for me when I got to the nursing home this morning. I wondered whether I would tell her about the errant message and we would laugh about it or whether I would just silently give thanks that it had not been true.

That was wishful thinking. When I arrived, her name was already off the placard outside the door. I hoped I might see her daughter there, clearing out her mother's things so that I could let her know how sorry I am and how much I really liked her mom. But no one was there at the time. The bed had been stripped, the dark blue plastic cover on the mattress piled high with Pat's belongings -- many of them the holiday decorations that probably would have come down soon anyway. I put my hand on the pile and said a prayer for my friend.

Visiting a nursing home on a regular basis, it's not unusual to know people who die. Since I started, I can count six people who've gone on. Most of their deaths have made me briefly sad. Pat's death? It has left me weeping with an aching sadness.

One of the volunteers told me a while ago that I shouldn't get too close to the people I visit. I don't know how to operate like that. So I just accept this feeling of loss as an occupational hazard, because in the end, the losses are so outweighed by the faith and love I gain.

Rest in God's peace, Pat.