Waiting in Line is Hard

Waiting in line is hard. I've never met anyone who loves to wait in line and certainly can't imagine there being a person who hopes to get as close as he can to the back of the line. Well, unless the line is leading to something horrible. But I'm talking about lines for desirable things, lines that we have a choice about being in. The line I'm talking about is the one leading to "The happiest place on earth", Disneyland.

I read an email today that sent me on a journey without a clear destination. The email was about Disneyland changing it's policy about who they give special passes to and why. The email spelled out ways that the special passes have been used and abused. People have faked being disabled and have taken advantage of a loophole that was designed to help people who literally cannot wait in lines.

Waiting in line for a ride at Disneyland is not as fun as riding the ride but most people can handle it. They wait 2 hours because they understand that there is a payoff at the end that they believe will be worth the wait. Most people are able to endure the long lines and still have the capacity to fully enjoy the experience of riding the ride. Most people.

Now try standing in that same 2 hour line with my brother Nathan or with someone else's sibling who has an 'invisible' diagnosis like say autism. Try waiting in line with them and I bet that after about 10 minutes you will wish one of things: either they should be let on the ride before you or you should be let on first. Either way someone needs to get some sort of pass to make the crying stop so that we can go back to believing we are all happy.

Should all the people capable of waiting in lines be punished for their ability by having to wait longer? Should people without that particular ability get to be rewarded for their disability by being allowed to walk right onto the rides? 

Are those the only two perspectives?

When I was 19 years old I asked my parents if we could go to Disneyland. I thought it would be fun now that Nathan and I were adults to experience the magic. Actually I thought it'd be fun to get on all the rides without having to...wait in line. Well, well, well...look at this pot calling the kettle black. I wanted to take advantage of my brother's disability. My motivation wasn't for Nathan to have a good time. It was all about me and how I wanted to have a good time. I had this feeling that I would finally benefit from Nathan's disability. Finally! 

My plan totally backfired on me though because the only ride Nathan wanted to go on was Autopia. The one where you pretend to drive cars around a track and the only thing you have any control over is the gas pedal. The only rule is not to bump into the car in front of you. There were workers spaced out throughout the track to remind and enforce this rule. If you bumped the car in front of you, then  you could be kicked off the ride. Guess what Nathan called the ride? Yep, The Bumper Cars. And guess what he did every time we rode it (which was often because we didn't have to wait in line)? He bumped the car in front of him! "YOU CAN'T DO THAT! IT'S AGAINST THE RULES NATHAN!" I would yell and he would laugh. "YOU'RE GONNA GET KICKED OFF THE RIDE NATHAN! YOU CAN'T BUMP THE CAR IN FRONT OF YOU!" I would scream and he would act like he couldn't hear me.

The workers heard me though and they could tell something was different about him and me. And they would give him a free pass to bump people. It was an accident. He didn't do it on purpose. WHATEVER! I wanted him to get kicked off the ride so that he would be forced to ride Splash Mountain with me. 

That plan backfired too. big surprise.

I was mad at him about that trip for years after it was over. I hated the fact that he refused to go on rides that I wanted to go on. He refused to let me use his disability for my own selfish gain.

Okay, maybe he wasn't thinking that deeply but he also didn't care that I was mad at him. Every time I brought it up he would just turn his head and wave his hand at me like I should get over it. He didn't care to hear about it any more. His attitude only fueled my selfish fire.

So today, when I read the email about people finding a way to take advantage of the special pass and using people with disabilities for their own gain, I must admit, I was impressed. Not outraged. Typical sibling response. 

But I was also faced with the fact that the special pass does actually enable people to enjoy Disneyland and that without it they would not be able to go on any rides with lines (which pretty much covers all of them!). As an advocate for people with disabilities, I'd say check out the petition that can be signed here.  

Standing in line is hard but there's no need to make it harder. Maybe getting to the front of the line first isn't the only goal in life.

Each Other's Voices

Once upon a time there lived a boy and his sister. They loved each other very much. As children, they were almost always seen together. The boy’s name was Nathan. He was very friendly and loved to talk to everyone he met. If he saw someone he knew he would walk (sometimes run) across any size room to greet and connect with that person. 

Nathan’s sister, Beth, was quite the opposite of him in social settings. She would spot someone she knew, take note of her presence, and only greet her if it was unavoidable. Beth was very friendly in her own way but was often too uncomfortable to show it. She would tell herself that the person was too busy to talk to her. She didn’t want to bother anyone.

Nathan, on the other hand, had no hesitation or inhibition when it came to greeting people he knew or had been introduced to even once. He wanted to talk to them, wanted to have a connection, wanted to tell them (embarrassing) stories about how his favorite gospel quartet was coming to town and how he could hardly wait to see them. He wanted to say and share all these things. He didn’t feel like they wouldn’t want to hear about singing bass or about his latest medical procedure or about his newest CD. He didn’t second guess himself. He would just greet and share and enjoy the inevitable positive feedback that he would get from doing so. 

The only problem was that Nathan didn’t have a voice. At least not one that most people could hear and understand. He made sounds but his words were not clear. He said fragments of words, made some other incoherent sounds, used gestures and facial expressions, and avoided eye contact yet expected to be understood. 

Most people would acknowledge his friendliness with awkward yet genuine joy but have very little idea what he was actually saying, besides the obvious greeting. They’d smile, high five, laugh, nod, smile some more, and maybe even try, to the best of their ability, to guess what he was saying,. But how can people be expected to hear “my group” and “excited” and see lots of hand gestures, jumping in place, a lightening quick point to his shirt and understand that his favorite gospel quartet Acappella was coming to Visalia on the 20th for a concert and he wanted to get their autographs? 

But if Beth was there, she would translate. She would fill in the words that he left out. She would hear those fragmented sentences and tell the stories for him. She would plug those words into a massive database and do a keyword search. She knew his history. She was one of the only people that could see all his cues, interpret them, and really hear all that he was saying. He relied on her to be his interpreter and she relied on him to help her reach out beyond herself to connect with the community around them.

They were each other’s voices. 

Fascinating

I grew up watching Star Trek with my dad and two brothers. My mom would leave the room (probably to get some respite or sew me a new dress) while the four of us were glued to the TV for an hour of sci-fi entertainment. Nathan loved all things Star Trek (shh--so did I) but the theme song at the beginning and end were always the highlights for him. He would get as close to the screen as possible, blocking all of our views and evoking loud requests for him to "SCOOT BACK!!!" He'd move about a centimeter and there would be more yelling. We'd finally settle for him moving to the side of the TV in front of the speakers where he'd only be blocking half the screen. He was fine with that because it was all the better to have the music vibrate through him as he waved his arms wildly yet perfectly in tempo with the ballad.

When the actors and their names would start appearing on the screen he'd say, "name! name!" We'd take this opportunity to say, "We can't read it because you're blocking the screen. Move to the side...no way over to the side, and we'll tell you the names." Every one of us had long since memorized all the actors names but that was not the point. He'd move, we'd recite the names, and he'd repeat them as they flashed by.

Nathan can't read but he loves words anyway. He recognizes the ones that are most important in his world. His name, immediate family member names, dodgers, giants, volleyball, the group names of every gospel quartet, the scores in the sports section of the newspaper, and Star Trek.

One day he wanted to buy a Star Trek book. The one he wanted had a great picture on the front but was a 2" thick, small print novel with absolutely no graphics or pictures inside. Just pages and pages of tiny words. It didn't matter to him that he couldn't read it, he wanted it anyway. He must have had enough money, or made some kind of deal with mom, because he ended up buying it and happily taking it home.

A few nights later he came out from his room, sat on the couch, and opened his book to like chapter 3 or something giving the impression that he'd already covered some ground in the book. He sat there scanning each page and then turning them at a pace that made it look like he was taking in every word. We weren't paying much attention to him until he turned another page and, in a soft voice, said, "Fascinating!"

There was a collective gasp. I almost spit my water out. Heads whipped around and eyes focused on Nathan. What in the world?! Can he somehow tell what it says? Are there pictures in there that we hadn't seen before? Did we just witness some sort of strange miracle? What is happening?

All these thoughts are swirling around our heads and are about to come spewing out of our mouths when suddenly a sly grin forms and he starts giggling. He couldn't keep a straight face!! He had totally tricked us! We'd been punked! He had no idea what the book said. No literacy miracle had occurred but a comical one had!  It was as though he was showing us what we look like to him when we read and he was making fun of us. It was absolutely HILARIOUS!

We laughed and laughed and proceeded to re-enact that scene for years to come. He eventually stopped saying it on command but every once in a while he finds himself with a book and he can't resist. He looks to his right and his left to see if anyone is watching and that sly grin starts to form as he utters that famous word...fascinating!

Deal or Never

For several years there was a game show on tv called Deal or No Deal. It went something like this, a number chosen, a human interest story told, and an amount of money offered to the contestant. Then, at the height of the build up, the host would look the contestant in the eye and say, in the most compelling, deliberate, and measured way, Deal (dramatic pause) or No Deal?!? Thus throwing the decision at the feet of the contestant willing her to make the only wise choice. It was now up to the contestant to decipher just what the wise choice actually was. 

The music, the staging, and the lights made this choice feel like everything in the contestant's life had lead up to this moment and that it would define her for all time. This decision could only end in jubilee or in absolute ruin. So it is basically life and death. Oh the drama of it all! People are crying, screaming, and holding each other all while trying to project their choice onto the contestant. Each one wishing he had been offered a huge amount of money but grateful he was not the ones faced with this life altering fork-in-the-road dilemma. 


My brother Nathan can invoke those same emotions and create that same sense of urgency when he makes a sales pitch about eating out. He stands up as though taking the stage, finds a coin, balances it on his thumb in flipping position, and says emphatically, "Deal (dramatic pause) or NEVER?!?" The tension and seriousness is palatable and suddenly I'm standing on that stage with the lights, cameras, and eyes all on me burning through my resolve to be anything close to rational. I laugh still my stomach hurts and exclaim, "Deal!!!"

Bedtime Stories

One of my fondest childhood memories is of the time, each night before bed, when my dad would read us stories. Bible stories, fiction books, math textbooks (hehe), whatever the book, he would make it come alive. He did the best voices and sound effects and tickled us at all the opportune times. We looked forward to this bonding time, craved it. On the couch, Nathan and I would snuggle up on either elbow pining his arms to his sides. This sardine like configuration was necessary for optimal picture viewing and page turning opportunities. We were literally on the same page, enjoying the same thing, at the same time. There were no disabilities or tempers. No patience required. It was magical.

I looked forward to passing this experience on to my own kids. I think this desire was the only one I had of it's kind because I almost never thought in terms of passing things down to kids. I've never been convinced I would even have children. But, I thought, if I ever do have kids, there will be bedtime stories.

Cut to 25 years later...

"You can't leave without telling us a story!" Isaac Foster yells as he closes, locks, and physically blocks the front door. (We then have a brief talk about how rude that sounded and he asks again, polietly this time. It sounds just about the same, except with a please somewhere in there.)

"Okay," I say, as if I'm Mary Poppins and I'm humoring the children, "let's go. The story can't start until you're in your beds." And we all race down the hall with huge smiles on our faces.

I sit on the floor in front of them and ask each one, "What character would you like in the story?"

Noah says, "The ghost of Christmas hotdogs!"

"What in the world?...Okay." I say and I look at Caleb.

"The Phantom of the Opera!" he says.

We all look at Isaac and he gets a sly grin. "Burt the Troll! Hahahaha!" he exclaims. Everyone laughs and rolls their eyes because we knew that was coming. He always picks Burt the Troll. Isaac interrupts his own laughter by saying, "Actually Christina. I want to change mine to Christina."

"Okay", I smile and review, "The Ghost of Christmas hotdogs, Phantom of the Opera, and Christina. Are those you're final answers?"

All three boys nod yes.

The story begins...usually starting off slow as my brain tries to stay at least one word ahead of my mouth. I'm never quite sure what will come out next. These particular characters took us on a path from a struggling playwright to a story of musical superhero proportions with a sprinkle of A Christmas Carol along the way, ending with Christina selling her play and it being made into a movie for which Ethan (the oldest Foster brother) is hired to compose the sound track. He becomes a multimillionaire and supports us all the rest of our lives. (Ethan doesn't sit in the room with us or choose a character. He is a teenager and far too old for such childish things. But I know he's listening, because by the end of this particular story, he is playing the theme song to the musical Phantom of the Opera. *smile*)
Everyone cheers and happily says goodnight.

Suddenly, I realize a cherished childhood experience has indeed been passed on, not to my own children but, to the Foster boys. And what makes it so good is not the amount of silly voices, the crazy characters, or even the moral of the stories. What makes it magical is the undivided and delighted attention given and received between adults and children who love each other. And it's that kind of love that allows us to follow each other down any path the stories take us. All the troubles of this world, all the stress of the day, all the fights we just had about bedtime, and all the tasks of tomorrow go away. And these three remain laughter, imagination, and love.

Just like that the act of telling stories to each other has become as important to them as it always was to me. Without fail, I walk out of their bedroom and feel like I've been given the rarest of gifts from the most unexpected of sources and I treasure all these things and ponder them in my heart.

my mom is the best

Glish, it’s what’s left over in the pan from dinner or what’s in the corner of your eye. 

Glishy is how a substance can feel when it comes in contact with your skin. 

Oh Glish! is what you say when someone says ‘and then the toilet overflowed’. 

Also, glish is underlined in red every time I type it. Why? Not because it’s spelled wrong but because (gasp) it’s not a real word! This blog explains how I learned the truth. 

It was my senior year of college. I was standing in my dorm apartment talking to my roommates when, suddenly, I felt like the main character at the end of an M. Night Shyamalan movie. How had I not seen it?!? There were so many clues along the way and looking back they were glaringly obvious. 

She was the one that taught me the word. She was the only one I’d ever heard say it. I’d never seen it written or in print anywhere. She adjusted it’s meaning to fit any situation.
In that moment all the clues came together and I knew. She had made it up. It wasn’t a real word. 

I like to think that part of me knew it all along (just like I knew Bruce Willis’ character was dead in The Sixth Sense). The truth was, I was shocked and completely surprised. How could I not have known? How could this not have come up with anyone before? The looks on my roommates’ faces combined with their silence made my mind reel. That moment is frozen in my memory. It makes me laugh and shake my head every time it flashed through my mind. 

Here I was 22 years old using a word with such confidence only to discover that my mom made it up.

My mom is extraordinary and one-of-a-kind, that I know for SURE. I love that she makes up words and uses them in every day sentences. She’s never denied this habit of hers. She even acted surprised when I “confronted” her about leading me to believe glish was a real word. She never claimed it was real. She just said it one day and liked it so she kept saying it. 

This moment of truth was not unlike the moment I discovered store bought cookies, the moment i learned that other people buy jam, or the time I stared quizzically at a long line of people waiting to buy bread called zwiebach. Doesn’t everyone have homemade cookies, jam, and bread stocked in their freezers?!? Nope! The sad reality is that not everyone got to grow up with my mom. I am among a very select few and I am so deeply grateful. 

So here’s to moms that provide for us and support our every step in life...and even manage to spice things up with creative vocabulary!

Glish may not be in the dictionary but, as far as I’m concerned, it’s definitely a real word!

my reaction

I checked my email, read this forwarded blog post and my reaction was immediate and strong. (big surprise)

http://messymiddle.wordpress.com/2012/05/10/an-open-letter-to-pastors-a-non-mom-speaks-about-mothers-day/

I understand her point of view all too well but if I shared it, I wouldn't be able to celebrate anything with anyone. I'd miss out on the joy that comes from looking beyond myself and loving other people. And I'd be blinded to the glory of God in all things, even my single, childless life.

Right?