I don't watch the news. I never have. When I do have five minutes to sit down at the end of a long, exhausting day, I tend to gravitate toward ESPN or the Palladia music channel. Why? Because I watch television to decompress, to forget my troubles, to have a carefree smile. The news simply reminds me that there are terrible people in the world, and it serves me no purpose to be reminded of that on a daily basis. Then the events of Friday happened, and I've avoided the news even more. Not as much for me, but for my 3 1/2 year old son, who I feel the need to shield from this horror.
The day of the shootings at Sandy Hook Elementary School, I was sitting at my desk at work, feeling a bit of regret for having passed on my company's holiday party taking place that night. Instead, I would be taking my kids to a nearby garden center for "Story Time with Santa." While I was certainly looking forward to seeing the wonder in my sons' eyes when Santa bound into the room, our holiday party was always something I enjoyed. "Is sacrificing this party worth it?" I asked myself. Then, my wife called me in tears, informing me of the tragedy that was unfolding. And the only plan that made any sense was being with my children. Immediately.
I've always been overly cautious. Even before I was a
father, I would peer at others on an airplane, or even a coffee shop,
and wonder if they harbored bad intentions. Unfortunately, the events of
9/11, Columbine, Virginia Tech, Newtown, etc. have only confirmed my
concerns. Put simply, there's evil out there. We just have to be
fortunate enough not to be around it when it rises to the surface. And the sad fact is that there will always be members of our society who will slip through the cracks, who will be mistreated as kids, have serious mental illnesses that will go undiagnosed, and could ultimately pose risks to the ones we love most.
I'm not foolish enough to believe that I have the answer to end these senseless acts of violence. However, I do intend to be especially diligent about what I do have control over. Here's a list of those things.
* Hugging and kissing my children even more
As parents, we're the first line of defense against our kids' actions, and more often than not, I believe what these soulless monsters who kill the innocent are missing is the love and attention of those closest to them. I tell my sons I love them no less than 20 times a day. It's what I feel and it's what I believe they need to hear. I'm not saying my hugs and affection will yield angelic, error-free members of society, but I think their chance of being good people starts with me and my wife.
* Not ignoring warning signs
Surely,we don't always have the luxury of getting these. But even as young as my older son is (3), one of his classmates playfully mentioned that he planned to bring his toy gun in. Thirty years ago, we might have laughed this off. And I'm sure it was harmless, that he was talking about a water gun or an imaginary gun for all I know. But I still alerted their teacher. As a father, I felt that it was my responsibility. In 2012 (or any year), you can never be too safe.
Naturally, there are other, more subtle warning signs, that are often overlooked. Like your brother or nephew distancing themselves from their friends, slipping into a deep depression, etc. We aren't always aware of these things, of course. But the other day, I texted a friend who was down on his luck just to remind him that someone loved him. Call me naive, but I do believe that small gesture can make the difference in someone's life. Again, I'm not pretending that a text message is the solution to school violence, but I do believe we all have a societal responsibility to simply look around our family and social circle and pick someone up when they've fallen. Spreading love can only help.
* Ensuring my children are as safe as they can be
The night of the Newtown shootings, I stepped into each of my sons' rooms at about midnight, and simply watched them sleep peacefully. Clearly, they were safe, resting comfortably in their beds. But the sense of helplessness that the Newton tragedy caused made it feel like two rooms away was too far. I imagine I'm not the only parent whose level of caution with their children has skyrocketed. I trust my sons with my family. I trust them with their teachers at school who are loving women with a security system in place. As they grow up, I'll need to learn to trust them with others. But I'll also need to ensure that whoever they are with, any friend's car they climb into, any house they sleep over is safe for them. It won't be easy, but being a parent rarely is.
I could talk about my own fears and concerns all day. And I certainly have my opinions on gun control. But assuming gun laws remain the same, and instead we are forced as citizens to be more diligent, we all need to do our part. Especially those of us trying to shield our precious children from the evils in the world they are far too young to face or even comprehend.
Spread love. Not hate.
-Joe DeProspero
jdeprospero@gmail.com
Follow me on Twitter here.
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
Monday, December 10, 2012
What I Learned About Life and Loss in 2012
It's been said that the pen is mightier than the sword. I was just a boy when I heard it for the first time, but I remember being quite taken with it. The pen is mightier than the sword. Meaning, I assumed that anything you can put down on paper about your enemies is ultimately more "cutting" and enduring than harming them physically. But as I've gotten older, I translate the expression a bit differently. I've expanded it to reflect positivity as well. Because after the year I've had personally, writing is my refuge. Writing is my release. It is how I best communicate the crowds of thoughts, observations and grievances that get lodged in the out door of my brain. So, for those interested, I thought I'd share some of the things I've learned in calendar year 2012, a year that will likely be looked back on as the darkest and most challenging in my family's history.
In 2012, I learned that your life can change instantly, with no warning and whether you're ready or not. You've heard people say it, but until you've experienced it, there's no understanding. Losing my mother in April changed me for the rest of my life. She was only 59 and we'd already begun planning her 60th birthday party. I lost my grandmother the same weekend. The news of my mother's death killed her. I already had a small family. This made it exponentially smaller. The sadness was and is like nothing I could've ever imagined. There are glaring holes at every family gathering and as corny as it sounds, the even bigger hole is in my heart. For a while, when people asked how I was doing with it, I answered, "Taking it one day at a time." Then I moved onto, "I'm okay, I guess." I've run out of cliche answers. But I wouldn't say I'm okay. I still regularly cry about it and Mom is my first thought in the morning and last thought at night. And I not only dread my first Christmas and New Years without her, but the fact that it's likely neither of my children will remember her and how much she loved them breaks my heart every time I think of it.
I've also learned that people move on without you. The hardest moment in my life wasn't the funeral. At that point, I had boat loads of support. It was the Monday after the funeral, sitting at my desk at work while others laughed around me like nothing was wrong. It was months later when my three-year-old son Antonio curiously asked while on our way to school if Grandma was ever coming back. I've also learned that while some people have much larger hearts than I thought, sometimes the one you expect to support you is the first one to let you down. I've lost one of my best childhood friends this year. Sadly, I'm the only one of the two of us aware of it, though.
I've learned that my kids are worth it. I can't even tell you how many times I've come home from work, weary, worn out and downright miserable to have my two boys brighten my mood with simply a smile and hug, as I bury my face in their chests. At that point, the aggressive driver who cut me off and flipped me off or the rude office manager who treated me like a lesser life form don't matter at all.
I've learned that my wife is willing to tolerate me being an intolerant prick sometimes because she knows I'm going through a lot. She's been my rock. Everyone needs one. When they say "for better or worse," this is the "worse" part.
I've come to realize how losing someone so important makes you exponentially more grateful for those you still have. When I see my father playing with my kids and my sister's kids or I call my 86-year-old grandmother just to listen to how her hip is bothering her, I feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude and I hinge on every moment. It breaks my heart that Mom and Grandma won't be at the table on Christmas, but when Antonio gets giddy about seeing his cousins or his grandfather, I smile. Dad, Grandma, my sister, cousins, Aunts, etc. They're a window into my past.
I've learned that it's vitally important for me to have hobbies and interests. Without some combination of my podcast, parent blog, bowling, fantasy football or book project, I'd be a pretty miserable guy. It's hard for non-creative types to understand it, but if people like me aren't creating something, we don't feel useful.
When I look back at this year, I hope not just to remember the horrific scene of finding my mother's body or hearing my grandmother's screams when I broke the news, but I also hope to remember something Sonia told me. One night I was particularly down and she knew it. So she took my hand in hers and told me, "You're stronger than you think. And you're the man I think you are." I've learned that sometimes we need someone else to believe in us, even when we don't believe in ourselves.
It's been said that if I can get through that week in April, I can get through anything. And that's the kind of confidence I intend to carry into 2013 - as a husband, friend, and especially a father.
Here's to a happier 2013.
- Joe DeProspero
jdeprospero@gmail.com
In 2012, I learned that your life can change instantly, with no warning and whether you're ready or not. You've heard people say it, but until you've experienced it, there's no understanding. Losing my mother in April changed me for the rest of my life. She was only 59 and we'd already begun planning her 60th birthday party. I lost my grandmother the same weekend. The news of my mother's death killed her. I already had a small family. This made it exponentially smaller. The sadness was and is like nothing I could've ever imagined. There are glaring holes at every family gathering and as corny as it sounds, the even bigger hole is in my heart. For a while, when people asked how I was doing with it, I answered, "Taking it one day at a time." Then I moved onto, "I'm okay, I guess." I've run out of cliche answers. But I wouldn't say I'm okay. I still regularly cry about it and Mom is my first thought in the morning and last thought at night. And I not only dread my first Christmas and New Years without her, but the fact that it's likely neither of my children will remember her and how much she loved them breaks my heart every time I think of it.
I've also learned that people move on without you. The hardest moment in my life wasn't the funeral. At that point, I had boat loads of support. It was the Monday after the funeral, sitting at my desk at work while others laughed around me like nothing was wrong. It was months later when my three-year-old son Antonio curiously asked while on our way to school if Grandma was ever coming back. I've also learned that while some people have much larger hearts than I thought, sometimes the one you expect to support you is the first one to let you down. I've lost one of my best childhood friends this year. Sadly, I'm the only one of the two of us aware of it, though.
I've learned that my kids are worth it. I can't even tell you how many times I've come home from work, weary, worn out and downright miserable to have my two boys brighten my mood with simply a smile and hug, as I bury my face in their chests. At that point, the aggressive driver who cut me off and flipped me off or the rude office manager who treated me like a lesser life form don't matter at all.
I've learned that my wife is willing to tolerate me being an intolerant prick sometimes because she knows I'm going through a lot. She's been my rock. Everyone needs one. When they say "for better or worse," this is the "worse" part.
I've come to realize how losing someone so important makes you exponentially more grateful for those you still have. When I see my father playing with my kids and my sister's kids or I call my 86-year-old grandmother just to listen to how her hip is bothering her, I feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude and I hinge on every moment. It breaks my heart that Mom and Grandma won't be at the table on Christmas, but when Antonio gets giddy about seeing his cousins or his grandfather, I smile. Dad, Grandma, my sister, cousins, Aunts, etc. They're a window into my past.
I've learned that it's vitally important for me to have hobbies and interests. Without some combination of my podcast, parent blog, bowling, fantasy football or book project, I'd be a pretty miserable guy. It's hard for non-creative types to understand it, but if people like me aren't creating something, we don't feel useful.
When I look back at this year, I hope not just to remember the horrific scene of finding my mother's body or hearing my grandmother's screams when I broke the news, but I also hope to remember something Sonia told me. One night I was particularly down and she knew it. So she took my hand in hers and told me, "You're stronger than you think. And you're the man I think you are." I've learned that sometimes we need someone else to believe in us, even when we don't believe in ourselves.
It's been said that if I can get through that week in April, I can get through anything. And that's the kind of confidence I intend to carry into 2013 - as a husband, friend, and especially a father.
Here's to a happier 2013.
- Joe DeProspero
jdeprospero@gmail.com
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