When the Battle Picks You

A few weeks ago, when Trump posted that video of Barack and Michelle Obama to social media, the reaction was palpable. One Facebook friend noted that "This was a new low," (I thought, Is it?) Plenty of non-black people denounced it. Discussions took place about not wanting to give the image any more attention, even when speaking up to say posting it was wrong. I noticed not much reaction from black friends, because really? Cartoon apes? In the larger scheme of terrible things about Trump, using a tired old, elementary school level insult dressed up with A.I. is not shocking, or even damaging in comparison to racist laws, being killed by police, or any number of other atrocities from the entire history of this country. Getting angry felt like a waste of energy and it felt like a way to distract us from other horrors unfolding in real time. What are we going to say, exactly? The racist is being racist?

A friend of mine, a white woman I know who leans liberal and tends to be vocal about her political opinions, posted this:

I don't want to include her name because it doesn't matter. She believed the senators on the list should have spoken up to condemn a racist meme. This person was a former coworker, and someone I considered a personal friend. In the two years we got to know each other, we bonded over our shared experiences of getting divorced and raising our kids. She is 15 years older than I am, and she encouraged me, and shared some stories of her own. All that said, I felt compelled to challenge her. That list above, which is cropped, included every black senator who had ever served, to include Barack Obama. The list is pretty short when considering the total number of U.S. senators who are currently serving or who have served in the past. There have been 14 black senators out of a total 2,018 senators to serve this country -- percentage wise that is just shy of 0.7 percent. Against my better judgment, and my usual rule not to get into an argument on Facebook, I said, "Why just these particular senators?"

I got the answer I suspected.

Because they are black.

I appreciate the outrage, but it is futile when we have been trying for decades to tell everyone the racist is racist. New Yorkers tried with the Central Park 5, and housing discrimination. Black people tried to point out the myriad of ways criticism of Barack Obama was unfair, and racist. What happened? We gave attention to a failed businessman turned reality TV star who demanded to see his birth certificate. He won an election after a debate where he proclaimed Haitian immigrants were eating cats and dogs. Without even acknowledging the countless other horrors we have had to witness with this guy, how is anyone surprised he'd post that video? Why should anyone waste their time addressing this?

I noticed in her response she caught herself by acknowledging the white senators needed to speak up. But the main point: the black senators, who comprised not even one percent of the total number of people who had served in the U.S. Senate, had to take the lead. To his credit, Senator Van Hollen understood the assignment:

"In the same way that men need to speak up when women are being victimized," goes completely counter to her original point -- white people weren't being called to speak up, only the victimized black people. I suspected when something happened to women, she wasn't posting that women had to be the first ones to speak up and condemn the mysogyny, so I said this:

She got it. My friend also happens to be the mother to a daughter who is transgender and another child who is queer and nonbinary. She understands the concept of allyship. Why was it hard to extend that thinking to black people? Why was the expectation that they had to lead the charge on speaking up? Why this? In the grand scheme of all of this dude's actions, this A.I. video, to include the gaslighting that a staffer sent it, and that it was a spoof on the Lion King, is pretty minor.

To her credit, my friend owned her mistake and updated her post:

I'd be lying if the side of me that appreciates dark humor didn't laugh over this:

My friend texted me as well, again asking me to please educate her if she was wrong. I don't mind anyone wanting to learn, and I appreciate that more than someone who is content to remain willfully ignorant, but I felt annoyed. Did she not see how it looked to be a white woman demanding that very small group of black people (at least one of whom was dead) speak up over this?

Confrontation feels uncomfortable and can result in exhaustion with no guarantee of understanding. It's a gamble when one's energy is limited and needs to be used wisely. As I get older, I gain a deeper understanding of the saying "Pick your battles." In our texting conversation, I expanded on my point.

Obama was president, so why single out black senators as who *should* speak out?

Why should black people be burdened to point out Trump is racist? We’ve been pointing it out since he was in NYC in the ‘80’s with housing discrimination and the Central Park 5, and again when he made a stink about Obama’s birth certificate. Has anyone listened or cared?

Having white people police their own ranks and be the first and loudest to call it out seems more effective and likely to be heard me than demanding the black senators do it. If someone already thinks we are subhuman, black people declaring racism and begging others to see our humanity is a waste of time and energy that could be used to accomplish other things. And it puts us into the trap of being seen as “the angry black.” Not worth it.

Senator Van Hollen used his privilege to speak up and call it out. Telling black people to call out racism? Have we not been doing that repeatedly and consistently? This is where allyship matters.

Asking me to educate you — you’ve been on this earth longer than I have, you claim to be an empath, you can’t step into my shoes and understand how this looks to me?

To her credit, my friend listened. She owned it, she apologized. I asked her to watch "Becoming" on Netflix. I had recently watched it myself, and I cried watching the sheer number of people who showed up to Michelle Obama's book readings, seeing the high profile people who seemed excited to interview her, and feeling the pure joy of each person who spoke to her as she smiled and signed books. We don't acknowledge often enough that the existence of the Obamas is offensive to every openly (and closeted) racist person that believes they are out of their place. Their success, their joy, their appreciation of, and affection for each other, and the sheer number of people who were buoyed by their time in office summons certain people to react with vitriol. We do not have to accept every invitation to a fight, legitimize every demand to see a birth certificate, or prove we have rightfully earned our place to anyone who has the audacity to ask.

In the end, Barack Obama eventually did respond.

"There's this sort of clown show that's happening in social media and on television," Obama added, describing much of the noise around Trump's presidency as a "distraction."

So did Tim Scott, though I question his assessment that this is the "most racist thing" he's seen out of the White House.

I have had other friends voice their fatigue at being expected to educate others when it comes to race or intersectionality in this country. I have not been put in that position until now, and I'm figuring out how I feel about the entire interaction. My friend followed up by sending a video with a song, which I briefly opened and quickly closed. Along with the song, she texted, "You're more than the struggle."

I don't even know how to respond.

Unhinged

I have once again dipped my toe into the online dating experience; my aim is not to hurry up and go on dates, or land another husband, but to observe, as if I were conducting a social research experiment. This time around I am armed with the "Burned Haystack Dating Method," created by Dr. Jennie Young, which, as the name implies, teaches one to find the needle in a haystack by burning the haystack.

The idea of eliminating as many men as you can based on keeping a keen eye for possible red flags, things that seem icky, and personal preferences seems to go completely against the way women are socialized to keep the door open to any man paying attention to us. It disposes of the ol' "give him a chance" mentality, and encourages being picky. In college, I used to always get accused of being "too picky" as if it were a crime to have standards. Even in my "pickiness" I still chose someone who was widely known as a good guy who has shown himself to be something else. Being picky can does not always protect us from choosing wrong.

I set up my profile on Hinge with the the required six photos and chose my prompts. Within a day I had 39 notifications alerting me that different men on the app had left comments on photos or prompts. As I attempted to sort through the profiles, I got a pop up saying my viewing would be limited because I was not using the app with a paid subscription. Gotta love capitalism!

That's the conflict with these things, it's the dating version of LinkedIn pushing you to the premium membership so you can see the 16 people who viewed your profile. Curiosity is supposed to entice you to pull out that credit card and sign up, and if setting up a subscription is the expectation, do they really want any of us to meet up and delete the app?

With a much more discerning eye, I am using this experience to fine tune what profiles are acceptable. Acceptable isn't the same as good, it means there are no red flags on display given this first glance at a very small amount of information provided.

In no particular order, here are some of my "Do not pass Go, Do not collect $200" criteria:

* Multiple car selfies

* Bathroom selfies

* Unflattering photos. One man posted a photo of himself in a bed wearing a hospital gown and sporting an oxygen tube. A+ for transparency, but what in the seeking a nurse with a purse is taking place, here? There was another who posted a shot of his torso -- no head, no lower legs and feet, which I'm guessing was an attempt at going beyond the basic selfie/headshot, but really, this was the best he could do?

* Every photo includes them wearing sunglasses, a hat, or other accessories of disguise

* Obviously fake names (I kid you not, one man listed himself as "beach bum," and a countless number of black men have gone with the name "King")

* Anyone mid-40's and up "looking to start a family"

* Political views consisting of "conservative," "moderate," "other," "not political" or not making their political views visible. It astounded me how many black men claimed to be "not political." Sir, have you seen the news? Being Switzerland is not a luxury you can afford in 2026. Anyone who doesn't care about (or is committed to) electing officials bent on eliminating the rights of selected segments of the population is a no for me, dawg.

* Any references to their love language being "physical touch" (and 99.9% of the time, those responding to the love language prompt will mention "physical touch"). Also grounds for dismissal: reference to "a woman's touch," "passionate hugs in the kitchen," "cuddling/snuggling," and any declarations that they like good kissing or sex. There is nothing wrong with liking these things; however, this is a dating site profile. Would it be appropriate to declare any of this to a dating prospect when introducing oneself for the first time?

(nice try, I'm not choosing this particular "Bear.")

* Nonmonogamy or "figuring out my relationship type" or checking off all of the relationship options in what should be a single answer

* Low effort, to include poor grammar and spelling, one word responses to prompts, incorrectly responding to prompts, text talk in the age of everyone having easy access to a full keyboard (only Prince could get away with substituting "U" for "you")

You go crazy for Burger's what? What does a burger possess that makes you crazy? Oh the suspense!

* Using prompts to tell me who I should be, challenging me to message you because no one texts on the app, any reference to "No drama." The ones doing this seem to forget the intention should be for them to inform me why I should be interested in them, not a checklist of what I need to be to win them over.

* Anything that has the slightest whiff of fetishism (looking at you, white dude named Jerome, for stating that you "prefer dating outside of (your) culture and race,)" and you, other dude who answered the prompt "I go crazy for..." with "FEET!" Again, is this appropriate to mention in a basic introduction?

Win me over by accepting my fetish which shall not be named

* Anyone lying about his age. Looking at you, Barry, who states he's 58 on his profile:

and then shares within a prompt that he's actually 64.

Can ya believe it folks? Barry saw nothing wrong with lying and attempting to lighten the mood with the ol' aw shucks, but I'm young at heart defense and sealing the deal with a "Woot!" as the youths say. If you'd seen Barry's profile photos, it was not that hard to believe the man was his actual age. The deeper message is that he thinks he's entitled to be a prospect for anyone who filtered out his real age. Barry believes he can convince women who purposely filtered out the 60-somethings to make an exception for him. That "Woot!" is sure to charm the ladies into reconsidering their age limit. Good luck with that, Barry.

A lot of men seemed to be more focused on describing what they want in a woman instead of telling women about themselves. Quite a bit of ordering from the menu style descriptions show up in these prompts, as if they are stacking a bacon double cheeseburger with their favorite toppings. You'll see the words "loyal," "drama free," and "feminine," repeated, along with menu orders for "playful," "fun" and "doesn't take herself too seriously." There are very few asking to meet curious, intelligent, and funny women. Many of them want women who will smile and laugh at their jokes, cuddle on the couch, and join them in their hobbies, to be the cheerleader to their life while not offering to provide the same type of support themselves. They may have better luck adopting a Golden Retriever instead of expecting a constant one directional flow of adoration from a mentally sound adult human being.

"Intellectual Alpha" isn't asking for too much, right? A big booty woman of any race will do.

Or, you know, be a smiling *or* laughing woman dancing freely barefoot -- because that's not in any way unrealistic or delusional:

If those were too much, try being a non-argumentative lady who wears dresses and skirts. At least one man will go crazy for you if you can match his not-too-demanding request.

Or, you know, be a grown up Powerpuff Girl:

Sometimes the descriptions, which, if I understand the concept of these prompts correctly, are intended to show why we should be interested in these men, do the opposite.

I'd have to ensure we have the same understanding of "fun." Is dating like waiting in line or is it the actual ride? Did he really think this was the ideal metaphor to describe dating him? What works for a three minute thrill ride may not be what I want to experience for the duration of a relationship.

And then there's this:

Would I want to date someone who feels like preparing for a test? Is the prompt itself the test? Life is hard enough and in the end, we're all gonna pass anyway (bah-dump-tshhh!)

Speaking of tests, I'd have to "win" this guy over by doing something I hate? Who enjoys subjecting someone they should like to activities they hate? If someone is joining me for something I enjoy, I'd feel terrible if they were enduring something they hated only because they like me. I wouldn't even be able enjoy myself knowing I was burdening someone like that. What is with these sadists men who think suffering and self abandonment are signs of love? This isn't something potentially painful but productive like, say, couples therapy, this is a scary movie, sir. Why wouldn't you just seek someone who, I don't know, actually likes scary movies?

Some descriptions of greatest strengths are not the flexes they think they are.

So you aren't a good listener. Sign me up, said no woman, ever.

So you will always play Devil's advocate when nobody asked for that. Noted.

Some describe themselves and in doing so lapse into telling us what kind of women they like, even if it has nothing to do with the actual prompt.

And he closed it out with that old "as beautiful on the inside as she is on the outside" cliche. Does anyone actually mean this when they say it, or are they trying to sound like they aren't superficial?

This morning I realized one of my favorite current comics, Candy Hearts by Tommy Siegel, uses this type of interpretation in the panels where he mocks dating apps. For years I've been laughing at art imitating life without understanding these very jokes would eventually become a part of my personal reality.

Based on my research so far, I have little expectation that I'll find a match anytime soon; until then I'll burn hay till the needle shines.

When You See How They See You

There are instances in relationships where you get a quick but undeniable glimpse of how the other person sees you. Recently I had a West Point classmate, one I had considered an acquaintance, if not a friend, post several times when Charlie Kirk died. She was adamant that people pray for Charlie Kirk, and insistent that violence on "the left" had to stop. Instead of quietly unfriending, I made the error of engaging. I said it was "disingenuous to ignore that many of this man's opinions were hateful and sowed hatred among his followers for people who did not match their demographic." This friend was a white woman, and she was a Charlie Kirk follower? I only knew about him because my oldest daughter couldn't stand his shit stirring "debate" tactics and shared the opinions that bothered her. This "friend" felt so strongly that she was compelled to ask her friends to pray for a man who stated:

"If we would have said three weeks ago [...] that Joy Reid and Michelle Obama and Sheila Jackson Lee and Ketanji Brown Jackson were affirmative-action picks, we would have been called racist. But now they're comin' out and they're saying it for us! They're comin' out and they're saying, "I'm only here because of affirmative action.

Yeah, we know. You do not have the brain processing power to otherwise be taken really seriously. You had to go steal a white person's slot to go be taken somewhat seriously."

Seeing which people demanded sympathy for someone so open with his bigotry caused me to wonder how they saw me, to include this so-called "friend." It isn't a huge jump to then wonder if person didn't believe I got into West Point fairly. The kicker is, you'll never get the an honest answer. These friends didn't welcome the discussion or try to understand why someone like him was problematic to someone like me. They didn't want to address direct quotes by saying he was killed for his opinions and insisting that his words were taken "out of context."

Every West Point cadet who wasn't white or male has been accused of "taking someone's slot." The unsaid part: that particular "someone" was white and male, the demographic that, by default, was assumed to be automatically qualified and entitled to fill the thousand or so admission slots every year. Anyone not fitting that demographic, to include this "friend," was assumed to be unqualified and unworthy and only there for the optics. Every woman I knew who attended West Point had encountered male peers that hinted that they had "taken someone's slot." How did this "friend" see me? Did she think I "took someone's slot?" If she followed Charlie Kirk, was she in agreement with the opinions he declared as facts, to include who lacked the brain processing power to be taken seriously? When I confronted her, she did not want to have the discussion, and I did what I should have done in the first place: hit the "unfriend" button.

I had a moment of realization with my ex spouse, too. He was curious about people I had dated before we had connected. And, he shared a story about himself, too. He'd gone to a club with friends and a woman was interested in him. He remembered being annoyed with a friend who had also been at the club that night. The woman interested in my ex was this particular friend's "type," a white woman with red hair, and the friend felt he should have been the one to pursue this person. My ex felt annoyed at the friend's presumption, and I doubt it was because he recognized the sexism in the assumption that this woman should automatically be awarded to the redhead loving buddy. It was more likely that his ego was bruised because his friend believed himself to be the better choice and felt entitled to pair up with a woman who was his "type." That aside, she was a little older, and had her own home not too far from West Point, which my ex visited for sexy times. That concluded his storytelling.

My story was less scandalous. I had met "Wade" at a party following Penn Relays during my senior year. He seemed enamored and a little bit drunk, and wanted to kiss me, but respected that I wasn't willing. We wound up exchanging numbers and agreed to meet. Our date was on a Saturday afternoon, and I met him in Grand Central Station after taking the Metro North into the city from Garrison, the train station that was directly across the Hudson River from West Point. The date was fairly tame -- a quick visit to his apartment, which was walking distance from Grand Central Station. His roommate was out of town but his father was visiting. I was my usual awkward self and we went off to do the worst first date activity one could possibly choose: we went to the movies. The movie? Chasing Amy. Like the time I saw Pulp Fiction, I had no idea what I was walking into; we didn't have extensive access to movie reviews. This felt like a movie worthy of discussion, but not with someone I had just met. There was no second date. Wade was nice enough -- he was a Duke graduate and a Kappa Alpha Psi fraternity member with a job at Bausch and Lomb. Wade was attractive and looked good on paper but there was no there there.

My ex never got to hear the whole (much tamer than his) story. Why? Because I didn't get past sharing that I had taken the train into Manhattan alone. He stopped me so abruptly you could have inserted a record scratch after I described my way of getting into the city.

"Trish didn't go with you?"

At the time, I was 21 years old. Why would my closest friend accompany me for a (checks notes) date?

"Why would Trish go with me?"

"Because it's New York."

It was a Saturday afternoon in the spring. You couldn't get more out in broad daylight than that. We were meeting in a very open public space. None of his "concern" was computing. On top of that, he had openly shared that he had gone to some woman's house alone, and without a chaperone friend. Why was it fine for him but not for me?

I said, "I'm sure if you had a date in New York you would have figured out how to get yourself there." I wasn't about to buy into this fable that the big city was oh so scary.

He settled into the fear mongering. You didn't know this guy. Going alone wasn't safe. Something could have happened to you. He couldn't admit he was being completely absurd and clinging to an obvious double standard.

I flipped it by saying his club going sexy times friend could have accused him of rape. After all, he had visited her house without a buddy. Why was that okay, but for me (checks notes), meeting someone in the middle of a huge and very public train station, going to the movies, and returning to the gray granite walls of Bradley Barracks well before sunset was unsafe.

My conclusion: he didn't see me the way he saw himself. His decisions were sound and valid while mine were half baked and ill conceived. He had complete agency and I needed hand holding to keep me out of trouble. At the time I went on this date, I was less than two months from graduating from West Point and being commissioned as an Army officer who would be trusted with millions of dollars of equipment and responsible for the lives of 30 human beings.

This opinion of me cropped up repeatedly. My love of the Cure? My best friend Heather must have swayed me into liking their music; it was unlikely to him that I discovered this English post punk band and decided I liked them all by myself. Wanting to divorce? The couples therapist must have pushed me in that direction; I couldn't possibly have arrived there without someone whispering in my ear. There's nothing more insulting than being seen as not having a mind of your own by the person you once wanted to share your life with.

If he believed me to be so feeble minded, then what did he see in me? Did he marry me because he thought I didn't possess the brain processing power to be taken seriously? Was I seen as "wife material" (sidenote: ew) because he believed he could influence me? For a long time he did influence me, but at the time of this conversation (circa 2019) I was looking for the exit. The root issue in our marriage was laid bare by what each of us shared about our dating excursions -- I listened to his story in its entirety while I never got to share mine because we he got stuck on me taking the train as a 21 year old college senior (checks notes) all by myself. We didn't connect because he didn't have it in him to get to any of the interesting bits of my experience in the very conversation that he initiated!

Was I naive? I was naive in buying the story that he told about himself, that he was a good guy who tried to do the right things. I was naive for putting too much trust into someone who didn't seem to believe that my agency as a human being was every bit as valid as his.

When the 'Ship Sinks

I'm not one for New Year resolutions; they often feel like a set up for failure paired with aspirational thinking based on a script of what we are supposed to want for ourselves: Lose weight, scroll less, eat healthy. I recently completed a ritual that required me to identify what I wanted to leave behind in 2025. I noted that I wanted to leave behind unintentional people, people who are careless with me, people who do not repair, and situations where I am undervalued. Being able to define these things comes from experiences with people who fell short but somehow still felt entitled to call me their friend. It can seem very obvious that no one wants unintentional, careless, non-repairing people who don't value them around, but enforcing these standards requires exercising muscles that are uncomfortable to flex.

As I get older, I find that I don't have the energy to react on the spot the way I did in my twenties. Sometimes I need a moment to process my feelings and determine how I want to move forward. Early in 2025 someone I considered a close friend posted a reel in a group chat shared with two other friends. The video was of a white woman flopping onto her bed and bouncing off to fall onto the floor. The caption? "When you can't drop your kids off for the weekend at their dads [sic] because you picked the good guy and you're in a loving happy marriage." I guess that's good for a couple of yuks and I have no doubt that was her mindset when she sent it, but as someone newly divorced who had to contend with a kid who disliked leaving my house to stay with her dad, it hurt. The message that divorced mothers have it easy by getting a "break" and leaving the kids with their dad, paired with the smugness of "I picked the good guy and I'm in a loving happy marriage," compounded with this message being passed off as a joke by a person who I'd considered a friend for decades? It fucking hurt.

I spoke up in the group chat -- gently at first -- with, "I admit, I don't get what's funny. As a now single parent it rubs me the wrong way." The response? "I'm sorry it rubbed u [sic] the wrong way."

Anyone familiar with an apology knows this falls under the "I'm sorry you were offended" category of non-apologies. The appalling part: this was the only other friend in our group that had experienced divorce, and she had also talked at length about the importance of impact vs. intent and identifying said non-apologies. I tried relating and empathizing with her, but found myself losing sleep over her response. I replied again, just after 3 a.m. "I have to say this. That's a non-apology. That's a "I'm sorry you got offended." I went on to say that I was hurt because she knew what I was going through and that it wasn't funny.

She did apologize sincerely, but only time, and observing if there is changed behavior, empathy, care and consideration, can help when deciding to keep letting someone in. Often we accuse people of holding a grudge; we tell them to "get over it." We use the sunk cost fallacy -- the years invested in a relationship -- as reason for them to "just let it go." We tell people to "be the bigger person." We gently shame the people on the wrong side of the equation under the guise of keeping the peace. We don't give much weight to whether someone is no longer in alignment with what we expect of our friends, and we also tell people to expect less from their relationships to spare themselves from the resentment of unmet needs. Why is there so much burden placed on those who are harmed? Why do we push for forgiveness while sparing offenders from actively repairing the damage they caused? Who does this benefit?

Over time I remained friendly, but felt guarded, and not eager to share much of what was going on in my life. I retreated from the group chat. Is this how it goes in adulthood? It's often summed up in a quote that some friends are with you for a season. The tricky part is understanding that even friendships you assumed would be life long will end in ways you didn't see coming. It doesn't mean the friendship was imagined or fake, but that its course has run. I'm sad, but sadness is not reason enough to compromise on how I want to be treated. This friend is the person who succintly pointed out that someone may not have a bad intention, but not having bad intentions is not the same as having good intentions; this was a groundbreaking realization that I had not considered. I didn't expect her to be the same person who would demonstrate this to me.

The defining moment was watching that reel, speaking up about it, receiving a non-apology, pointing out the non-apology, and then getting what seemed like a genuine apology. It felt like too much work for basic empathy and consideration from someone who knew me and knew what I was going through. Time has shown me that my trust in this friend is damaged, and there may never be a repair. This person was my roommate in my last two years at West Point. We didn't stay in touch during her first marriage but we reconnected early into her second marriage. I visited when she was pregnant, and she and her husband treated me to a walking tour of Boston. The morning I was due to fly out, she went into labor, and they still managed to drop me off at the airport on their rush to the hospital. The baby born the day I flew out is a college freshman. This was no short term connection, yet I no longer feel compelled to stay connected. I don't wish anything ill on her; I don't want a fight to clear the air. I want to shift my energy towards becoming what I seek in others: being intentional, showing care, being able to repair damage I've caused and valuing others. I'm grateful for the jokes we shared and the discussions we had, and I also recognize that "letting it go" can mean letting go of friendships that no longer feel safe.

Santa's Secret

Every year I ask my kids to give me a list of things they would like for Christmas. In the beginning it was a list to give to Santa, but both of them have long since aged out. My younger kid believed in Santa until she was about eight years old. I tend to think she wanted to believe at that point, because when her older sister pressed, her belief morphed into believing in the "spirit of Santa." We aren't religious, so the holiday wasn't centered on Christianity or going to church, but instead spending time together and exchanging gifts.

My younger kid had only one item on her list: an upgraded version of her portable gaming system, which had a fairly hefty pricetag. I struggled with this as unemployment means more money is flowing out than coming in. I told her I could get it for her, however she may have to wait until after Christmas.

Meanwhile, my older kid provided a lengthy list of not-too-expensive things. What I didn't expect was that the older kid would try to convince my younger kid to ask for an older handheld gaming system that isn't manufactured anymore. Later, in moments when my older kid wasn't around, the younger one would come into my room and share that she knew what her sister actually wanted: the no-longer-manufactured handheld gaming device. The device wasn't on the older kid's list, but her persistence in trying to convince her younger sister to get one served as a glaring hint.

When her dad asked if she wanted an updated version of her gaming system, she quickly devised a plan: she would ask him for the no-longer-manufactured handheld gaming device instead. My younger kid made quick work of looking up used devices and when she found one that fit her specifications, she sent the link to her dad. She intended to regift this handheld system to her sister while knowing that she would not receive her gift on Christmas. She could have easily asked him for her gaming system and moved on; she was more motivated to surprise her sister.

Given events that I won't get into just yet (stay tuned for that), my younger kid has not been eager to spend time with her dad. When he reached out to plan their gift exchange, she agreed to it, knowing it was a necessary step to acquiring her sister's gift. They went out to lunch, exchanged gifts, spent time together, and she came home, victorious. "She has no idea" my younger kid would say, as a sly smile spread across her face. She was so pleased with her cleverness and the use of deception for good.

I don't necessarily condone deception, however Santa Claus is an elaborate hoax that adults perpetuate year after year. My sister described a feeling of outrage and betrayal upon discovering the big lie, to the point that she spoiled the secret for me when I was only five years old. I could expand this to say the adoption of pagan traditions, and placing Jesus's birthday suspiciously close to the winter solstice on the calendar is another example of that deception, but that ground has been covered. So, the disclaimer is, deception is okay if it's done for good and ultimately does not cause harm.

In early December I opened a letter from my home loan company which contained a check compensating me for the excess in my escrow account. This amount was close enough to the amount of money I needed to buy the updated version of my younger kid's gaming system. A quick online search showed me which retailer had the best price and in minutes I purchased the new system.

We exchanged gifts on Christmas Eve, and even then, in front of her sister, my younger kid proclaimed, "She has no idea!" "And neither do you," I thought.

We opened our gifts. Weeks earlier, my younger kid handed her phone to her sister so her sister could read a text exchange between her and her dad. The younger kid nearly had a meltdown when she realized the link and discussion to purchase the haldheld gaming system were in the text conversation, and for a moment she worried that her sister had seen it. She hadn't. She was completely surprised by the gift and immediately turned it on and began toying with it.

My younger kid opened her gift and was also completely surprised to discover the replacement to her portable gaming system. I had never given her a time when she could expect to receive her gift, and she didn't know circumstances changed and I had some financial breathing room to buy it.

Sometimes these tests of character show up without any set up or orchestration. Learning that Santa Claus isn't real isn't the only shift in maturing at Christmas. Another shift is when kids are less excited about what gifts they'll open and more excited about giving a thoughtful gift to someone they love. My younger kid could have easily gone for the certainty of getting the gift she wanted by delegating the task to her dad. She was willing to postpone her own gift indefinitely and prioritized getting a gift for her sister instead. I would be dishonest if I took credit for her actions, and I don't know if the 14-year old me would have been selfless enough to forego a gift I wanted so my sister could get the gift she didn't expect and didn't outright request. As a parent, witnessing the evolution of a kid who was once excited to get gifts from Santa to one who was more excited to surprise her sister was the gift I never anticipated.

The Age of Consent

Being in the position of letting my young teenaged kid decide when and how often she cares to spend time with the other parent has led me to thinking extensively about consent. I think about what I internalized in childhood and carried into adulthood, and ways I went against what I wanted in my core out of fear for my personal safety or of causing conflict in a relationship. I consider what I want to model for my own daughters, and how I don't want them feeling any confusion or a need to "keep the peace" by sacrificing their own comfort for the sake of someone else.

I spent too much of my life being unaware; I knew what coercion was, but did not have the vocabulary to name it. 20 year old me agreeing to give someone a blow job because I was in his hotel room without having booked a room of my own for the night? Coercion. 24 year old me changing my legal name because my (now ex) husband sulked when presented with the possibility of me not changing it? Coercion. 45 year old me not refusing sex because I didn't want to deal with the fight when I was separated but still living with my ex under the same roof? Coercion. I don't want my kids to learn that operating like this is necessary to survive in the world. I'm not sure the world will change enough to show them otherwise.

There is a Chinese proverb that states the best time to plant a tree was twenty years ago, and the next best time is now. I would have been much better off if I had changed my way of being earlier in life. I am in the process of rewiring myself to operate differently now. The more I operate in the new way vs. the old way, the easier it becomes. Some children will learn behavior that will not serve them when they become adults. When we are more concerned about not hurting the adults' feelings by way of forced hugs and labeling speaking up as "disrespect," we are perpetuating harm.

Last year, while dining out for my younger kid's 13th birthday, she ordered tater tots. The restaurant made them in house, and the server delivered a small plate of deep fried rectangular cubes of shredded potatoes. Her dad (my ex) tried one and admitted he didn't like it that much. When he asked her if he could have another one, she said no. "I'll remember that," he replied, his tone more stern and threatening than joking. I shared a look with her and her sister, and we stifled laughs in an attempt to prevent the dinner from becoming even more unpleasant. This was how we were used to operating, tiptoeing so their dad would not feel "disrespected." The name change sulking he had done over twenty years earlier had been a harbinger of things to come with the underlying message to shrink yourself and yield to what he wants to protect his feelings.

"I'll remember that" has become a running joke with both of my kids. We all know it represents the illusion of choice when saying "No" brings the hazard of negative consequences. When you're raised with having to decide between offerings that carry vastly different weights, you eventually learn that what you genuinely want doesn't matter; by default, the "safe" choice becomes what you want. We wring our hands over situations that are coerced and not consensual, but don't examine how prevalent unhealthy patterns can be and how often they are presented as normal, like the seemingly innocuous request for a taste of something from someone else's plate.

Also not examined: the power imbalance. Why would a kid feel comfortable saying no when the same parent reminds them they provide the roof over their head, or that they are footing the bill for the aforementioned birthday dinner and tater tots? When someone is raised in this way what happens when, as an adult, they go on a date with someone who pays for dinner and believes covering the check equals leverage? When one has been taught to disregard their personal agency, they will not be equipped to protect themselves from coercion.

I've since returned to my former name. I am nearly half a decade removed from living under the same roof as my ex. I am decades older than my college-aged self who did not book her own hotel room. These were a few of the many lessons that have taught me to unlearn old patterns. If I can teach my kids to identify, value, and honor what they want for themselves by offering choices that are equally weighted without underlying threats, I will consider that one of my successes as a parent. If I can show them how to live with full agency instead of operating in survival mode, we can be part of the change we want to see in the world.

When One Door Closes

As someone whose professional career has been spent as a contracted employee for the federal government, this is the first time a government shutdown has directly affected me; in the words of my fifth grade teacher Mrs. Luftig, boy did I get a doozy. Usually when shutdowns happened, the military and contracted employees would still be able to come into the office. For every other shutdown, the contract I was on was fully funded, which meant business as usual. This time that lovely contract roulette wheel did not land in my favor. The contract I was on ended, and the new one was not in place when the clock struck twelve on October first.

To their credit, our organization's chief, an Air Force Lieutenant Colonel, and his government counterpart (AKA Blue Falcon), tried to exercise a six month extension to ensure we maintained the same pay and more importantly, to prevent future contract issues occuring when the fiscal year ended. This attempt was a rollercoaster in itself, with a discussion of their intent shared after a staff meeting in May, and continued reassurance that we would hear something in the months ahead. First, we were supposed to hear an update on the extension by June, then July. In July I traveled to Guam with the government counterpart and one of our test directors. One morning, the government guy came down to the hotel lobby looking dismayed. "I wish I hadn't checked my email," he said. I sensed this was about an change in the new contract, but I also knew as a contracted employee I couldn't outright ask for more information. By the time August came around and we were less than two months from the contract's end, skepticism rose, hope plummeted, and lunchtime chatter on the front porch of the extended trailer where we worked became more and more disgruntled. We speculated on the changes being negotiated, which positions would be cut, and which of us would be kicked off the island.

I also got updates from my manager who trusted me as the next in line whenever he was out of the office, or needed to sit down with me and pass on information that couldn't be widely shared. The contract extension discussions had gone south because the company and the government could not come to an agreement. The company wanted to eliminate certain employees, and the government wanted the company to receive less overhead from the contract. My manager had offered multiple solutions. We could take paycuts if certain employees worked 35 hours a week, the minimum allowed for employees to continue to receive full time benefits. His goal was to keep as many people there as we could as the work we had done that year was more than we had ever done in the span of a year, or when considering the pandemic, multiple years. As much as he tried, nothing stuck. One day he entered my office, shut the door, sat down and said, "The contract is fucked."

From what we knew, my manager's position would be eliminated. Our technical editor, the person who laid eyes on every written report our organization was supposed to deliver, was also eliminated. The facilities manager position was amended to include a 60 pound lifting requirement, knowing that the guy who had held the job for over 20 years had a 10 pound limit due to health issues. The individuals in these positions were the oldest members of our team, but age discrimination doesn't come into play when everyone loses their job at the end of a contract. There is no penalty for not asking these people to return, and no penalty for eliminating their jobs or adding requirements. This is a tangent in the story, but my inner justice warrior felt compelled to mention it anyway.

We learned there would be a 30% cut in funding and the addition of an "engineer type," because when you're cutting that much, it only makes sense to add a highly specialized and high salaried position to the team.

In our final month at work, morale was in the toilet. The government guy, bless his heart, announced that we would have a lunchtime cookout. Cookouts were popular because we had acquired a few grills on our site, our location was very much a "by invitation only" setting. There would be no surprise drop ins by high ranking individuals because one had to get through two controlled gates to reach our site. That said, some of the freedoms we enjoyed got nixed in the recent months. Our permission to telework one day a week was no more, our work hours became constrained, and no contractors were allowed to unlock the trailer in the morning or lock up for the night. We also weren't allowed to work the grill for cookouts, since these were work hours and grilling meat was not considered one of our "other duties as specified." Our subsequent non-cookouts meant cold fried chicken from Royal Farms and whatever else anyone could bring in after preparing it from home. For this short notice affair, I asked if we'd be allowed to use the grill. The answer was yes, and I took that as an indication of our impending doom.

The company contacted me for a couple of reasons unrelated to my job ending. For my three year company anniversary, I received a congratulatory email message including a code for $175 in company funny money to buy company-branded merch from their company store site. How timely, I thought, I have money to spend on something advertising a company I won't be working for much longer. Couldn't I just get the money? All they could say was no. I replied:

Is there any way to convert this to money as I am about to be laid off this Tuesday -- the contract I am on is ending and money would be more useful than {company} merch.

The answer, dressed up in sympathy and understanding, was (of course), no. The Monday before my last day I picked a set of over-the-ear company-branded headphones that would use up most of the $175 without going over the designated amount, and I ordered them. Yes, the value was inflated (I price checked the cost of the non-company-branded version of the headphones), and yes, I already owned a pretty good set of over-the-ear headphones that worked just fine, but this is capitalism, isn't it? Even if you don't want or need the thing, we will compel you to get the thing. I selected two day shipping. Do you think my unneeded but ordered anyway three year anniversary reward over-the-ear company-branded headphones ever arrived? If you guessed no, you would be correct. (UPDATE: over two months after ordering, I received an email message from FedEx that my shipment was arriving. If you guessed this aforementioned shipment contained the company-I-no-longer-work-for-branded headphones, you guessed correct)

The next insult to injury was another company message received exactly one week before our contract was due to end, informing me that I had been nominated for the company's “People Powering Possible,” which was described as a series where we highlight and celebrate interesting, diverse and impactful employees through short profiles published on LinkedIn. I'd seen these profiles before, they would feature a nice headshot of the individual with their first name, last initial (Severance innie style) and a quote. Oh, so I was expected to use my personal social media profile to advertise for the company. Cool, cool. I replied:

Thanks for reaching out but my contract is ending on 30 September so I won't be a {company} employee for much longer.

You could practically hear the sad trombone at the end of that sentence. The person who emailed me quickly replied with her apologies that they won't get to feature me on social media, along with well wishes for my job search.

The final company gesture came in the form of a farewell lunch. The upper management mostly left us alone. The person assigned as program manager would come to our site for short discussions with the organizational leaders but no real engaging with the worker bees. I've worked for many contract companies and this is my long lasting resentment towards them. The reason the corporate types receive a salary is because of the contracts, the people actually doing the work, but we get treated like we're dispensable.

We joked that the lunch would be a pizza party, however I knew from experience it would be catered Panera in the conference room. I wish I'd taken bets because that's exactly what it was. Our company president and our higher level manager descended to our site for a final outbrief with our organizational leadership and their box of sandwiches and chips. I noticed the president had a salad from Panera, which spurred me to fetch my own salad from the breakroom, thinking, Too good to eat sandwiches like the rest of us, eh buddy? I'll show you! I later learned he was gluten intolerant but even so, as a leader, optics matter.

This lunch was filled with talk from our program manager, who regaled us with stories of ski vacations and piping in with "that's amazing," any time one of us peons chimed in to add something. One of my coworkers said later how out of touch it was to describe a ski vacation when some of us would never be able to afford that. Right before they departed, the president stood up and let us know the company would cover our healthcare premiums for October, which I appreciated. He should have led with that, and read the room. Leaving the box of sandwiches on the conference room table, thanking us for our work and exiting stage left would have been preferable to an hour of unsolicited small talk.

The final farewell lunch for our team was on the last day of the contract. We went to our usual group lunch spot, a Mexican/Salvadoran spot with dim lighting and dusty velveteen sombreros on the wall, and sat together as a team one last time. A couple of us ordered margaritas, and we presented our manager with a gift, flowers and a birthday card (his birthday was the following day, and coincided with the end of our contract).

In all of my professional experience, I had stuck around in this job the longest because I liked the work, I enjoyed the location and because my manager always emphasized that personal life always took priority over work, and he meant it. I'd gone through my separation and divorce at that job, sometimes feeling severely impeded by my personal life, and he never held it against me. He was not going to be the guy watching the clock to take note of when I arrived, or scolding me for a mistake. In over two decades of professional experience working with managers, not every manager was a leader, and while my manager wasn't perfect, he was considerate. In my interview with him seven years ago, I stated that I wanted to come to work and not feel dread when I pulled into the parking lot, and while that may seem like a low bar, I was actually asking for a peaceful workplace. Most of the time he succeeded as the buffer to ensure that we all had that. He'd been working there over 20 years and this last gathering of our team did not feel like an adequate thank you. He thanked us, and told us not to sell ourselves short, and to reach out to each other if we were struggling. Our group had our pockets of dysfunction, but it was far better environment than anywhere I had worked in the past.

After lunch, some of us returned to the site and the rest of us took off to go home. I had already turned in my keys and access card so I had no reason to go back. I had also cleaned out my office and taken things home over several weeks, a tactic I've named the "Andy Dufresne shuffle." I scolded myself for allowing myself to get so comfortable that I needed to make multiple trips to get everything home. I told myself if I returned, I'd keep a more spartan set up, something that allowed everything personal to be removed in one trip. This is a lesson I have had to constantly re-learn, to not allow myself to get too comfortable or settled in a job, especially given the temporary and sometimes volatile nature of contract work.

My resume is in the pile for the new contract, whenever that starts. I've applied for other positions. A friend who started her own company has assured me that she is developing a proposal which will include me. I may return to my old job, but I know with my manager gone and others on our team with job prospects, it will not be the same as it was before. I don't want to look at a closed door for so long that I miss the opening of a new one.