Strong foundation

Well, well...it's been quite a week. When I posted a simple statement on the Oak Cliff Bicycle Company site, expressing my opinion that the poster and theme for the Kennedy Assassination Bike Race was in poor taste, and followed it with a blog entry on my own personal blog, I never expected such a furor. Many folks have expressed agreement that the poster was offensive, and a poll conducted on the CBS 11 News site found that 76% of those participating thought that the poster was "A bad idea-It's offensive."

But there has been a vocal minority, mostly young cyclists, who have defended the poster and theme, many leveling personal attacks at me. Most have accused me of wanting censorship, though I never asked that the poster be removed. I have been called a "nosy old busybody." (I guess that means I'm interested in history, current events, and what goes on in my society and community.) Another person characterized me as "a humorless bore." (My friends actually consider me fairly witty, but I don't see anything humorous in assassination, violence, or intentionally causing people pain.) I have been compared to Sarah Palin (scratching head)!?!? My spinal condition and my weight have been fodder for snide remarks, and one person stated, "Her son is a schizophreniac (sic)," as if that were the punchline of a joke.

The most amusing comments were those that suggested that I find something more constructive to do with my time. One such comment read:

Surely, in this day and age, you can find plenty of other things to spend your energy on changing or speaking out against. There’s all sorts of injustices in the world and in our home state. Might I suggest volunteering at the local animal shelter, feeding the homeless on Thanksgiving, visiting the elderly at a local nursing home or something else equally noble to get you away from your computer?

Once I stopped chuckling, I informed this helpful young lady that I had adopted 10 kids with disabilities, raised them as a single parent, provided therapy to disabled kids for 30 years, help take care of my 91 year old blind disabled mother, and have rescued 5 animals from shelters. To both of the people who suggested that I do something to better the world, I asked what exactly THEY had done to contribute to the common good. Strangely, neither responded. It is SO typical of that generation to think they are superior and qualified to lecture someone more than twice their age about how to live their life!

I hope that these folks aren't representative of an entire generation. I see people who are self-absorbed, hedonistic, and amoral. They don't build anything up; they only tear things down. Everything is a joke, and the more insulting or degrading, the better. They don't have respect for anyone or anything. They have the attitude that "anything goes," at least anything THEY want to do. Their mantra is "whatever." To me, they are pathetic: empty, lost souls with no moral compass.

But, I didn't intend for this to be a rant. I must admit, I'm not feeling very charitable towards these folks after all their comments this week. I was sending some mental arrows their way: I hope you have freezing rain for your race, I hope a construction truck drops a case of nails on your route, I hope you get a bad case of hemorrhoids. (Actually I have read one report that the race may have to be cancelled because the organizers did not get a permit for use of the park.)

But, rather than cursing their moral retardation, I'll send them a blessing. This is what I wish for them (in the words of Bob Dylan):

May God bless and keep you always,

May your wishes all come true,

May you always do for others

And let others do for you.

May you build a ladder to the stars

And climb on every rung,

And may you stay forever young,

Forever young, forever young,

May you stay forever young.

May you grow up to be righteous,

May you grow up to be true,

May you always know the truth

And see the light surrounding you.

May you always be courageous,

Stand upright and be strong,

And may you stay forever young,

Forever young, forever young,

May you stay forever young.

May your hands always be busy,

May your feet always be swift,

May you have a strong foundation

When the winds of changes shift.

May your heart always be joyful,

May your song always be sung,

And may you stay forever young,

Forever young, forever young,

May you stay forever young.

Disgusted

Recently I've been pining for the vintage vehicle of my college youth...a 3-speed bike. I see no need for 24 speeds, and every bike I ever bought my kids constantly had problems with the derailleur. So I've been browsing online to check out 3-speed commuter bikes (not easy to find!). My search took me to the site of the Oak Cliff Bicycle Company where I was horrified to find the following flyer for a local bicycle race next weekend.

This flyer is so repulsive to me on so many levels, I don't know where to start. First, I left a comment on the bike shop's site, telling them how offensive I found the poster...and the very concept of the race. I added that I assume that the folks behind the race and poster did not live through that terrible time. The site owner responded: "No they did not. We’re sorry, we honestly do not want to offend anyone but I’m also not going to censor their Flyer."

In my mind, this poster is a symbol of so much that is wrong with our society. It is a reflection of how so many people, especially those of Gens X and Y, have become numb to images of graphic violence. From video games to movies, these young people have seen hundreds, if not thousands, of scenes of exploding brains, steaming entrails, and other gratuitous gore. It also expresses that desire to shock people's sensibilities, just for the sake of being shocking.

In this age of the 24 hour news cycle, when cable news devotes a whole afternoon to live coverage of the Balloon Boy hoax, these folks can't imagine the depth of a nation's despair during the week of November 22, 1963. I remember that, after the assassination and into my high school years, when that ominous voice broke into a TV program and intoned, "We interrupt this program to bring you a special announcement," my heart leapt into my throat, and I braced myself for some bit of devastating news. I was in sixth grade in 1963, and to me the assassination marked the end of innocence, the end of childhood as I knew it. I watched as the caisson moved down Pennsylvania Avenue, and the drumbeat and the clopping of the horses' hooves was the soundtrack of grief. After seeing the widow in the blood-stained pink dress, or watching a little boy on his third birthday saluting his father's coffin, it is impossible to understand how anyone could make that poster for the JFK Assassination Bike Race.

Maybe I should give them the benefit of the doubt. Maybe the people behind this race and poster aren't cruel or sadistic. Maybe they are just ignorant. Maybe all they know about the JFK assassination is what they learned in high school history class, which probably amounted to answering a couple of multiple choice questions about the presidency of Pres. Kennedy. Perhaps this video will give them an inkling, just an inkling, of the scope of the nation's grief.

UPDATE:

The race went on as scheduled, even though the organizers did not have a permit. When interviewed by Channel 11 news, Race organizer, Alain Warchilde, stated: "It's not my art work. It's a cover from the 1978 single for the Misfits; something I felt tied in with to the theme of the race. That's the reason it was used, not to offend anybody… not to upset anyone."

What an absolutely specious argument! The Misfit single Warchilde is referring to is an obscene, even more offensive, song about the assassination. If it tied in with the theme of the race, then the whole thing was obviously intended to offend and upset people!

The end of the line: expectations collide with reality

And so I’ve come to the end of the line…the end of my 30 year career as an occupational therapist. I’ve been put on long term disability and terminated from my job. After 30 years of lifting kids at work and at home, the pain from my degenerative disc disease and spinal stenosis is unbearable, and the doctors say I shouldn’t be putting any more stress on my spine. Barring some medical miracle, I doubt that I’ll ever be able to return to this kind of work.

I have to say that, at the end of the line, my expectations had a head-on collision with reality. This certainly wasn’t the way I saw my career ending. It’s not that I ever imagined myself as a supervisor or department head. That’s just not my cup of tea. I hate telling other people what to do…I’d rather do it myself. I am the first to admit that I lack the organizational skills to manage or supervise, and that I have an aversion to paperwork that borders on a phobia. What I always loved about my job was working directly with the kids and seeing the progress they made.

But what I did expect was that all those years of experience would count for something in the eyes of my bosses and colleagues. I was wrong. I didn’t see Gen X and Gen Y coming. I guess I had always assumed that I would be supervised by people who were my seniors or at least my contemporaries, people who had respect for the knowledge and experience I had gained over 30 years. But, no, Gen Y disdains experience, you see. In their eyes, it only makes you out of touch and outdated: a dinosaur. In their opinion, it is irrelevant that I was practicing OT before they were born. So what if I had treated kids with disorders that they had never even heard of? So what if I had personally raised 10 kids with disabilities? (They felt quite qualified to give patients’ parents directions on managing behavior, even though they didn’t have even one normal child of their own.) I must have appeared to have no ambition and did not constantly promote myself, and to them those are signs of inferiority.

And, so, in the final 5 years of my career, when I felt that I had earned a measure of respect, I came up empty handed. When I signed on with the company, I was offered a respectable hourly compensation, based on my extensive experience. It was downhill from there. I first realized which way the wind was blowing when I attended my first Christmas party, when they announced the winners of Therapist of the Year. I’m embarrassed to admit it now, but I actually thought I had a chance that first year. But as I saw all of the 20- and 30-somethings step up to receive their awards, I realized that my time had passed. In meeting after meeting, I heard therapists praised for the astronomical numbers of visits they made each week, and realized that, given my declining endurance and energy, I could never compete. While the parents of my patients were often complimentary of my work, as their children made impressive progress, those positive words were never repeated by the bosses.

And then the downward spiral began in earnest. Those of us who had been offered a higher rate due to our years of experience saw our pay cut by 11%. This was a tremendous blow to me, as it signified a lack of respect for my accomplishments. With the onset of my son’s schizophrenia and then my dad’s death, I struggled with profound depression, but tried to keep plugging away. I was floundering financially because I was never given an adequate number of patients, and then I found out another therapist (one of the self-promoters) who worked in the same area was making 50 visits a week, compared to my 12 or 14. Last June I was given a mediocre job performance evaluation, and I was devastated, as I felt it was an evaluation that would have been given to someone right out of school. I have no doubt that the stress of that evaluation contributed to my heart attack the next month. I got an inkling that my decision to discharge a patient was being second-guessed between another therapist and the manager behind my back. I was quite disappointed that the milestone of my 30 year anniversary of practicing OT passed without mention. And then, the coup de grace: I recommended discharging a patient and his mother called the office to question that decision. Did the case manager and district manager express confidence in my professional opinion? Did they stand up for me and tell the mother that I had more experience than any therapist on staff? Nope…they arranged for another therapist to provide a second opinion, as if I were a rookie therapist.

And so my life’s work comes to an unceremonious end. No retirement party, no testimonials, no gold watch, no nothing. Just an envelope of COBRA forms in the mail and a last trip to the office to turn in my electronic equipment. The words of T.S. Eliot keep going through my head:

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.

But wait, I do have a testimonial. A few years ago I ran into a former student of mine, a young man with cerebral palsy. He was in first grade when I started working with him my second year of practicing OT, so he was in his mid-30s when I ran into him. When I told him who I was and that I was his OT in elementary school, he grinned and said, "I remember you. You taught me how to write and how to dress myself. You wanted me to be independent. My mother wanted me to be dependent, but you wanted me to be independent!" And that was better than any Therapist of the Year award.