On Citizenship

I became a US citizen today. It was something I originally thought would be easy to do (about 20 years ago). But, when I actually moved here permanently, it became, in my mind, an impossibility. It is hard to describe the reasons why you would want to hold onto a citizenship that you grew up with despite not living in that country any longer, hard to put into words what being English means to those who are. There are so many things to be proud of and numerous strong memories of quintessential British places, traditions, and culture. My children love England. They all hold British passports and they seem to be very proud of their mother and their joint heritage. With that said, every time I travelled with them, I was scared we would be separated by Immigration when we landed back on American soil. I am (was) a documented immigrant. I hold (held) a Green Card. But I have witnessed first hand that when the USCIS decide to step in, nothing you can say or do will change their mind or attitude towards you. I understand why they have to be like that. But it is terrifying being on the receiving end.

Another major downside of being a permanent resident is that you cannot vote.  I lived with this for 18 years. I actually only voted in a major election one time in my life; when “New” Labour were voted into Government in November of 1996. While watching the election with my father-in-law stateside I saw an old Government professor on the BBC being interviewed during the election. (Admittedly, afore mentioned Prof was a complete ass and I dropped his class for fear of being trampled by this completely snobby, Tory, sexist man who liked to name drop which Prime Minister he had socialized with at No. 10. Ahem, Edward Heath…) I had voted in that election via absentee ballot. It was the last time I voted and I cried when Labour won; because they actually had got elected after so many years and because I wasn’t there.

So, fast forward 18 years or so, and I decide to become a citizen. Even after that decision, it wasn’t easy to complete. I had to promise over and over again, on paper, in person, with my right hand raised in an oath, that I would bear arms to defend this country. Please understand that I hate weapons in any form. I despise guns and hope to God I never touch one in my entire life. I hope I never have to. There are men and women far more courageous than I who do so every day to defend us and to them I am eternally grateful. Additionally applying for citizenship is an incredibly expensive process (yes, I have a great deal of sympathy for undocumented citizens for this and other reasons).  Oh and did I mention the test? Which, after studying with the intensity of a former government and philosophy student, turned out to be so simple that I almost asked my interviewer to keep the questions coming!

A few days before my interview/test I became quite depressed about the idea that I would no longer be British. The thing that really cut me up is that once you renounce your British citizenship, you can’t live there. You know, you can’t just live there indefinitely. The sadness was ridiculous really because clearly I won’t be moving there anytime soon! It was just the idea of not having that freedom to move.

But without sounding like a complete nut job, I realized I would fight for this country. This is where my children, my husband and my American family live. And I still believe, like the government undergrad I once was, that the Constitution is a truly remarkable document. I believe that the system of government here is a far more logical and well thought out one than the one I came from. Don’t get me wrong, I love the history and pomp and circumstance of the British government and monarchy.  But the way the founding fathers devised a system of government impresses me every time I read about it. Sure, there are problems with how it all works sometimes. Nothing is perfect after all. But I believe in a system that is based on the rights of all men/women to their life, liberty and pursuit of happiness. I am a sucker for quotes such as, “all men are created equal” and that the government is answerable to the governed. That unspoken contract that John Locke wrote of is far more prominent here than I ever felt it was in the author’s homeland.

So, here I am, a newly minted citizen with a voter registration in the works and it feels good. I feel relief because I can work in a public school now (if I chose), I can vote (thank God), I won’t have to renew my Green Card every 10 years (another costly venture especially when they lose it in the mail. Twice.), and I won’t be taking deep breaths every time I travel with my children. (Well, at least not for the Immigration reasons…but travelling with children?!)

My children got to witness my oath taking ceremony with 92 other candidates for citizenship. They got to see how many people leave way worse situations than I left to pursue a better life. And my husband, his parents and aunt, and two of my absolute closest friends were there to support this conclusion in a long, 18 year journey. 

I had this whole piece ready to write. It was all about my Aunt, who died recently. I started it. I started it with how my Mum has (had?) three sisters. But, I couldn't write anymore. I had this whole plan, that on the day of her funeral (in England), I would post this great blog piece as a memorial to her. Well, it didn't get written and consequently, nothing was posted in a grand nod to AJ. Funny how life turns out. Monday was such a shit day, that I honestly couldn't have written anything if my life depended on it.
And so I am left, feeling a bit sad that I never did write about AJ and that I couldn't put into words what she meant to me, to my family.
What strikes me when older people die is how annoyed I am that I didn't ask them everything I wanted to know. Problem is, that before they die, you don't know what it is you exactly want to know. For example, AJ was 5 years older than my Mum. She remembered all about their family - my grandmother and grandfather, their life during and after World War II, my great aunt's, their children and while I had a hard time keeping straight all those cousins that belonged to my Mum and her sisters, I still loved to hear about it all. And if I had a question that my Mum wasn't sure exactly how to answer, she'd tell me to ask AJ. But it's too late now. I can't ask anymore. (I think everyone should keep a little voice memo on their smart phone and just feed memories and facts about their childhood into it. Yeah...not realistic, I know.) But I have this sense that the people in my grandparents generation are starting to fade.  My children know about my grandparents, in fact they love to hear about them; we named them all a little differently than I did as a child, just to make it easier for them to know who was who. But there are funny stories about my great Aunt's and Uncles that just seem to be getting left behind. And it's not just the memories that I am concerned are fading, I worry that there's a whole era in history that my children can't quite get their head around. My grandparents were raising a family during and post World War II. I am raising a family now in an age that probably would have blown their minds! I can barely imagine how it must have been then, so how on earth can my children? Maybe because theWorld War's were such a big thing back at home (obviously...!), and the way they taught them always made us feel like it actually wasn't that long ago. I mean, when you can study the Norman Conquest of Britain in 1066 in the same year as World War II, then the late 1930's and early 1940's really were just yesterday. Maybe because I am interested in it, so I place too much emphasis on it. But it feels like it defined a nation and became part of who we are, how we react to disaster, and how we came out of it. My children are half British, which begs the question - will they feel that too?
But I digress...the fact is, if my children are the kind of people who are interested in that kind of stuff, then I guess the questions will come. And if they're not, that's ok too. In the meantime, I'm going to figure out a way to get my parents to record all their memories....because they don't have smart phones.

In the words of Kristen Wiig, in the character of Paula Deen, "This has been a doozy of a year". (Please read with a very heavy, exaggerated southern accent, then after reading this blog post, look up the SNL skit online.) Fortunately, my family has been safe and healthy, but a great deal just went on, you know? But as Christmas draws near, as does the end of the year, I have some musings that have occurred to me this year, 2012.

• The saying about truth lying somewhere between two people's version? I accept this as gospel now. I have spent a big chunk of my life trying, in any given situation, to get the bottom of what really happened. I finally realized that it's absolutely impossible. everyone comes to a situation with their own version of the truth, their own biases, their own baggage. The minute I let go of this need to really figure out who or what was or is right, the more peaceful I felt, the more I could love, the less weighed down I felt. In grad school when we covered different models of early childhood education, I just wanted to know which one was the right one. My ever wise professor at the time, just said, "Rachel, none of them are the right or the wrong one." A simple response that elicited the beginning of an "aha" moment. 
• Go to the source. I have a tendency to ponder, nay, actually to obsess, about certain things that I then won't actually deal with head on. (There is a bit of avoidance going on....) However, this year, I learned a huge lesson that as uncomfortable as a situation or a conversation may be, dear God, please go to the source and ask. Strangely, I am ok when it comes to apologizing to the source - whatever or whom ever that maybe. But, I am not great at questioning the source. I'd rather go over the query or problem again and again. Much like Gollum in the Hobbit...with an inner monologue (well outer for him), that repeats and questions, accuses and wails.  
• I will endeavor to not shame. I am a big advocate for, although still learning about, Brene Brown's Connections, which is a Shame Resilient curriculum that was launched this year. Please check out her website and if you have a mind to, listen to her CD, Men, women and worthiness. http://www.brenebrown.com/welcome                                                                                               Listening to Brene Brown's CD was another one of those "aha" moments. (The boys and I like to do the Despicable Me, "lightbulb" in Steve Carrey's fabulous voice.) I would have to write 10 more blog pieces on what I have learned, but Shame truly beats us and our loved ones down, slowly and torturously. For our children, it stays with them for life. Remember that teacher? The teacher that shamed you? Didn't just embarrass you, but literally shamed you and who you are? Usually it occurs in front of the whole class, but even if it doesn't, it stays with you for life and slaps more fuel on the "I'm not worthy" pyre. Everyone has one of those teachers...and as an educator, this fact is embarrassing. 
• I realized this year, that as hard as it is to be born, it is hard work to die. (I credit Uncle Rick for that phrase.)  Maybe not for everyone. Just like some births are a easier than others, I suppose, so too are some deaths. Kyle and I had the privilege of seeing his Grandma the night before she passed away. I guess Privilege is a strange choice of words. But I use it because I got to sit and stroke the arm of a 90 year woman who gave me the love of life, my three wonderful boys, and my american family. How could I not feel anything but privilege and immense gratitude? There's always that feeling, when an elderly member of the family dies that an era has ended. In G.G.'s case, she was the last one of her family to die. And I wish we could have written down all the memories and experiences, because now, we can't ask. The only thing I feel we can do, is carry G.G. in our hearts and keep her with us always. 
• Last, but not least, I have been pondering on what kind of advice I would give my boys when they decide they want to marry someone. (Because I am sure that they will all come to me to ask..of all people.) I have come up this so far - marry the person that you not only love above all else and would move mountains for (or country!), but this should also be the person that you would choose to be in the trenches with. It should be the person that would have your back whatever is thrown at you. Because if you chose that person and you stay connected to that person, you can face anything. 

So, those are my bigs thoughts this year. I'm working on another that is connected to small acts of kindness. Can they cancel out violent, cruel acts? Stay tuned....Merry Christmas and a very Happy New Year!

My last post was in December of 2011. 4 months ago. Much has happened, yet at the same time, nothing has changed at all...except I have less work. No, that's not true. I have no academic work. But I have gone of work to do around the house!

Spring came early. Strangers and acquaintances alike asked if I had a job after I graduated. In true Rachel fashion, I examined this question. I felt bad that I didn't have a plan post-graduation. I felt like I had to apologize for staying at home. No wonder Kyle says that I am the perfect Catholic - always feeling guilty about something.

Anyway, in 4 months, we loved how Winter kind of skipped us and Spring came early. I found out how exhausting it is teaching 2nd graders and I have mulled over the idea of becoming a preschool teacher sub. Two out of three of the boys had birthdays and we went to England for Spring Break. And again, in true Rachel fashion, I over thought the England trip also....I suppose there is some comfort in how predictable I am! I have a new niece - she's really, stinking pretty and I think we should get a puppy. If only to stop this baby fever that overcame me when we got back from England.

So here we are in mid-April, on the precipice of T-ball and baseball session, and I am at a watershed.

Finishing

Today I finished my last piece of my Master's degree. Finished editing it. (I had APA by the way.) Finished printing 4 copies of each 60 pages. (Hate printers too.) Stacked them all. Clipped them. Slipped them in folders. Delivered them to 2 out of 4 of the professors on my committee. No matter that the other two don't have it until monday; it's gone. Can't be changed or edited. They review it and then, after an oral defense next Wednesday, they decide whether to pass me. Despite not really being done until the oral is over, I thought giving in the project would give me a sense of relief. I kept waiting, as I drove away from the university, for the little black cloud that has been hovering over my head the last couple of days, would lift. But it didn't. If anything, it sunk in lower behind my eyes and gave me a migraine. What the hell. Five years of work. (OK, I took a year and half of, but I was not eating bonbons. I was taking care of a new baby!)
All I am left with is tiredness (and that headache). I think when I was finishing my undergrad, I had so much more energy. To go celebrate. To drink, to dance and to just feel light and free. Dammit. I don't have those inclinations or feelings as I creep closer to my forties. I just want to have a drink (that's all the celebrating I can manage) and crawl into bed!
As I walked into the building to deliver one of the copies to my advisor, I bumped into my old advisor. This particular professor got me started, gave me warnings about juggling a family and graduate work. Shirley Morgenthaler became my inspiration. She is one of those people that when conversing with, the discussion touches upon everything - where you came from, where you are, and where you might go. The conversations are fantastic. I found it significant that it was Shirley, that I saw, on the day I finished. And in true Dr. Morgenthaler fashion, when I told her I was indeed finished with the project that she had helped plant the seed for, she exclaimed, "Lord be praised"!

My second home

I was sitting in my in-laws kitchen working on my Master's thesis proposal. In a rare few hours of silence (Kyler was napping upstairs, JP was 'babysitting his Aunt's children while she got some things done in her house, and Charlie was at the Harry Potter movie for the second time with my mother-in-law), I had been typing away. Just quietly typing. Well, I say typing away, but what I really mean is, typing…making coffee…typing… trying to pursued the dog to go out and pee…typing… making a snack… typing, picking the aforementioned dog up and carting him outside in the infernal heat to pee… typing….well, you get the picture.

I took a little break. Walked to the fridge and filled my water up. Then, I was struck how this house feels to me. Obviously it is not my parents house, but nevertheless I have a very strong tie to it. I lived here for nine months when I first moved here. And I visited and stayed here for a few trips, back when Kyle and I were shouldering our very long-distance relationship.

My first trip was the August of 1994, when Kyle's oldest brother got married. I walked into the usual pandemonium of the run-up to a big family wedding. (And Kyle's family is big….) I fell asleep on the trundle bed in my now sister-in-law's bedroom, exhausted from travelling overseas for the first time in my life. (Yes, I had not flown off the British isles until I was 20 years old. Let me tell you, take-off was a complete traumatic shock for me.) I drifted off to the sounds of giggles and laughter from the Rettberg cousins in the next room and I woke up to the family dog's (Lucky), wet nose in my face. Over the following two and a half years, I gradually got to know this family and this house. And they go to know me. I realized that I could, upon occasion, make them laugh. I realized that Eric and Megan was like the little brother and sister I had never had. In November of 1996, I moved here permanently. My in-laws were great, especially considering they were in the throes of a local, political campaign and it was an ugly campaign. But they welcomed me in and gave me a bedroom, with a bigger bed than I had ever slept in. There was space for my beloved trinkets and photo frames from the country and family I had just left behind. I immersed myself into the life of a suburban family. I cooked and I tried to clean (but baffled Kyle's mom when I asked her where the "hoover" was instead of the vacuum cleaner. My sister-in-law and I grocery shopped together and I experienced for the first time, a country where a kid can sign on their parent's credit card. Needless to say, we bought a lot of Brownie Bites and Alfredo Pasta-Roni. We loved that stuff. I got a reputation for leaving lights on in closets (which drove my father-in- law nuts) and breaking glasses (which my father-in-law was very patient about). I still break glasses and I still have not lived those times down.

If I tell people that I lived with my in-laws for before I got married, I usually get a very shocked reaction. Shock turns to disbelief. Disbelief is signified by the shaking of heads while telling me I must be some kind of saint. No, I say, I am no saint. I was just a girl who needed a family when she moved country to marry the man she loved. I found a family four thousand miles away from my English family. Without them, I probably would have wanted to go home.

So now, when I walk around, I may not see my baby or toddler pictures (actually they're not hung in my parents' home either!), but I have memories here. I have memories here despite not having have elementary school memories or prom pictures on the wall. But my babies' pictures are all over the walls. And our goofy looking engagement photo was up for a really long time (I say funny because it was when we thought it was a good idea to have me cut Kyle's hair…). Our wedding photo adorns the hallway wall with the rest of the family's. (That one we do look better in.) And regardless of childhood time, I spent a good part of my young adult time in this house.

I went back to my computer and finished my work. Kyler woke up, Charlie came home, JP rolled in with Meg and life carried on.

In the early nineties, Ronald Kotulak’s editor of the Chicago Tribune’s asked him to investigate whether new brain research would shed light on why some children who grow up in violent, high-risk communities lead violent lives and experience untimely deaths and why some do not. Ronald Kotulak wrote Inside the brain. revolutionary discovery's of how the brain works in response. There are two key issues that emerge after reading this book. First, that Early Childhood Education is extremely important due to the critical nature of development in the first three to five years of a child’s life. Second, that education appears to be the key to possibly solving some of society’s biggest issues: crime and health. I keep hearing on the radio the fragmentation of CPS. How the board of Ed intends to close small schools and keep open a big high school, despite all the research that showed that smaller high schools are much better for the students from high-risk areas. This morning, I listened to another piece about a certain area of the city that is renowned for gang-violence in high-school students. This particular young man who was interviewed has decided to get out of gang activity and try to make a go of his life. When he spoke, he said he partook in gang activity to make money. His mother struggled to provide for his family, so he took the path that he thought was the only way to help provide. Additionally, this week, I found out that Congress is proposing cuts to Head Start. The cuts could close 16,000 Head Start classrooms across the country, affecting 218,000 low-income children. I can’t put into words my indignation. Oh and that the state of Illinois is so in debt that young teachers may never receive their pensions. So, back to the book….
When you read Kotulak's book, he very simply summarizes by saying that education is truly the key to some of these problems. Why? First, because Early Childhood Education has an enormous impact on children in high-risk environments. Why? Because the way the brain is wired during early childhood can either prime a child for success or failure. It's almost that simple. Have a child with a terrible home and no role models? Provide a caregiver who makes a secure attachment and acts as a role model for that child. Reduce the stress in that child’s life and you literally lower the levels of the stress hormone, cortisol in the brain. Cortisol that has the ability, when being continuously produced in high-stressful environments, to change the pathways created in the brain. The effects are worse if the child already has inherited low-levels of serotonin (the happy hormone) from a parent. Kotulak discusses the scientific findings which suggest that certain environmental factors have the ability to change the molecular structure of the brain, affect genes and, wire the brain toward certain tendencies or dispositions. Kotulak summaries the most dangerous environmental factors as including: the breakdown of marriage/family life, teenage pregnancies/mothers, high stress during a pregnancy, and stressful or bad childhood experiences (violent and abusive situations). So, programs like Head Start are extremely important in providing safe environments with loving caregivers and educational programs for the parents. In the future, maybe these children who weren’t provided for and who had no other means of support, routine, love, and education will turn to crime and violence to solve their problems. It seems so clear in my mind what needs to be done. Take care of educators (ensure they receive their pensions for one thing), provide quality early childhood care for all children but especially children and babies from low-income, high-risk areas, and make education a priority. Otherwise the ills of society will continue to grow worse. Invest in children now. “With education you learn how to navigate your world. You learn empowerment. You learn how to articulate your needs and to overcome potential barriers.” (Kotulak, 1997,)