Making a Difference

This is one of those mails that keeps popping into my inbox [pasted in blue at the end of this post]. This morning a friend sent it with an endearing message: A break from pondering over social constructionism :))))))) An ode to the wonderful teachers and all the wonderful students!!
No one seems to know where these emails come from, who writes them and whether, indeed, they are really true. Sometimes we are warmed by them; occasionally, we forward them to friends who will relate to them; once in a while, we are moved to print them out and put them up. This particular one is especially relevant to people like me... people who have actively and consciously taken on the responsibility of helping our young ones grow up to lead fulfilling lives.

One of the most amazing exercises we do in the TIE Training Workshop is the "Characterization of an Impactful Teacher". It takes you back to your childhood and asks you to create any teacher who left a deep impact - a positive or a negative one. You have to eventually enact a scene AS that teacher, perhaps putting the others into role as students. And finally, excitingly, you are hotseated as that teacher. The exploration of this person from the past may lead to several revelations: how much of this teacher you have unconsciously imbibed and whom you emulate without an awareness of it; how this teacher had the effect of helping you make choices in your life path that led you to where you are now; when and how this teacher set off the sequence of events that made you who you are today. Many TIE trainees initially respond with, "There have been so many, it's hard to think of one," to which you sternly reply [much like Shelja, the mamma of FTC 1 and 2], "Choose ONE!"

Effortlessly, I can recall each and every one of those moments when my later choices in life were pre-programmed and foretold by certain individuals. The one who, in Grade 7, gave me a high mark for a creative piece, thereby fuelling my passion for writing; the one who, in Grade 8, set my math brain on track, her high expectations of us making me have high expectations of my students; the one who, in Grade 11 published a poem I had written for her class, and then included me in the elite editorial board of the school magazine - encouraging me to play with language rather than following grammatical rules; and then the lady who, in Grade 12, debunked many literary assumptions to awaken, forever, the love I have for literature. Not to forget all those teachers, friends (co-actors or partners in various drama-related nefarious activities including late-night set painting) and mentors who tried to train the actor in me... they ensured a future that would forever be devastatingly dramatic!

Whoa, hold on a minute... this is a sobering thought... am I then a social construct of the teachers who touched my life? And they too, were they social constructs of the teachers who....? And does the history of this construction project go further and further back into the past as far as one can trace it?

And therefore, am I involved, knowingly or unknowingly, in constructing bits and pieces of those who trustingly hold out their hands for me to lead them to... wherever it is that I am capable of taking them? Will one of them look back at his/her childhood some day in the future and say, "Hey, this streak of craziness I have in me... I'm sure I got that from Cathy!"?

Years and years ago when I decided on this career path I was not looking to change the world - ah, no, the world was too vast for me to try to right every wrong... even though I was Quixotic enough to "dream the impossible dream". In training to be an educator, I only wanted to change the education system, much disturbed by those who gave up all hope and terminated this particular life. This too was pretty large, and of course I became breathless speaking about how obsolete, irrelevant, harmful, stupid and senseless the whole structure was.

But then, here's what I seem to have been doing - sometimes consciously, but mostly unconsciously - I've been trying to change the world. And it's what every educator seems to be trying to do. To reach out to any possible future through those who will one day inhabit it - with hope shining brightly that it will be a future worthy of their talents.


ONE OF THE BEST STORIES EVER HEARD!!!!!!


As she stood in front of her 5th grade class on the very first day of school, she told the children an untruth. Like most teachers, she looked at her students and said that she loved them all the same. However, that was impossible, because there in the front row, slumped in his seat, was a little boy named Teddy Stoddard.


Mrs. Thompson had watched Teddy the year before and noticed that he did not play well with the other children, that his clothes were messy and that he constantly needed a bath. In addition, Teddy could be unpleasant. It got to the point where Mrs. Thompson would actually take delight in marking his papers with a broad red pen, making bold X's and then putting a big "F" at the top of his papers.


At the school where Mrs. Thompson taught, she was required to review each child's past records and she put Teddy's off until last. However, when she reviewed his file, she was in for a surprise.


Teddy's first grade teacher wrote, "Teddy is a bright child with a ready laugh. He does his work neatly and has good manners... he is a joy to be around."


His second grade teacher wrote,
"Teddy is an excellent student, well liked by his classmates, but he is troubled because his mother has a terminal illness and life at home must be a struggle."


His third grade teacher wrote, "His mother's death has been hard on him. He tries to do his best, but his father doesn't show much interest, and his home life will soon affect him if some steps aren't taken."


Teddy's fourth grade teacher wrote, "Teddy is withdrawn and doesn't show much interest in school. He doesn't have many friends and he sometimes sleeps in class."


By now, Mrs. Thompson realized the problem and she was ashamed of herself. She felt even worse when her students brought her Christmas presents, wrapped in beautiful ribbons and bright paper, except for Teddy's. His present was clumsily wrapped in the heavy, brown paper that he got from a grocery bag. Mrs. Thompson took pains to open it in the middle of the other presents. Some of the children started to laugh when she found a rhinestone bracelet with some of the stones missing, and a bottle that was one-quarter full of perfume. But she stifled the children's laughter when she exclaimed how pretty the bracelet was, putting it on, and dabbing some of the perfume on her wrist. Teddy Stoddard stayed after school that day just long enough to say, "Mrs. Thompson, today you smelled just like my Mom used to."


After the children left, she cried for at least an hour. On that very day, she quit teaching reading, writing and arithmetic. Instead, she began to teach children. Mrs. Thompson paid particular attention to Teddy. As she worked with him, his mind seemed to come alive. The more she encouraged him, the faster he responded. By the end of the year, Teddy had become one of the smartest children in the class and, despite her lie that she would love all the children the same, Teddy became one of her ‘teacher's pets’.


A year later, she found a note under her door, from Teddy, telling her that she was the best teacher he ever had in his whole life.


Six years went by before she got another note from Teddy. He then wrote that he had finished high school, third in his class, and she was still the best teacher he ever had in life.


Four years after that, she got another letter, saying that while things had been tough at times, he'd stayed in school, had stuck with it, and would soon graduate from college with the highest of honors. He assured Mrs. Thompson that she was still the best and favorite teacher he had ever had in his whole life.


Then four more years passed and yet another letter came. This time he explained that after he got his bachelor's degree, he decided to go a little further. The letter explained that she was still the best and favorite teacher he ever had. But now his name was a little longer.... The letter was signed, Theodore F. Stoddard, MD.


The story does not end there. You see, there was yet another letter that spring. Teddy said he had met this girl and was going to be married. He explained that his father had died a couple of years ago and he was wondering if Mrs. Thompson might agree to sit at the wedding in the place that was usually reserved for the mother of the groom. Of course, Mrs. Thompson did. And guess what? She wore that bracelet, the one with several rhinestones missing. Moreover, she made sure she was wearing the perfume that Teddy remembered his mother wearing on their last Christmas together.


They hugged each other, and Dr. Stoddard whispered in Mrs. Thompson's ear, "Thank you Mrs. Thompson for believing in me. Thank you so much for making me feel important and showing me that I could make a difference."


Mrs. Thompson, with tears in her eyes, whispered back. She said, "Teddy, you have it all wrong. You were the one who taught me that I could make a difference. I didn't know how to teach until I met you."


( Teddy Stoddard is the Dr. at Iowa Methodist in Des Moines that has the Stoddard Cancer Wing.)


Warm someone's heart today. . . pass this along.  Just try to make a difference in someone's life today? Tomorrow? Just "do it".


Random acts of kindness, I think they call it!
Believe in Angels, then return the favor.

Incredible Sunday!

In Spectacular Solitude on the Festival of Lupercalia

Valentine's Day is a big event here. While students are warned about financial excesses and that "really, it's just another day on the calendar", no one is quite immune to the spirit with which the children ring it in. And so it began, early enough, the ubiquitous question, "Hey, Cathy (ma'am) [ah, yes, there are still those who continue to use that archaic embellishment for me], who is your Valentine?" By the end of the second lesson, I was bored with the "No one" and the sympathetic, "AWWWW" I got from them. Time to think of something more witty and exciting - and suddenly, passing a group of girls on the stairs who offered me chocolate as well as the ubi-question, I spontaneously sang out, "I am my Valentine."

They looked at me with great approval! Of course young Chirag gallantly offered to be my Valentine  - I don't think he quite approves of solitude! - but I believe he already has a lot of Valentines, and I do so dislike crowds...

Three years ago on this day, I stood addressing a 200-strong group of middle school students - to talk about the origins of the "day" and what it has come to mean. Being me [for who else can I be? - but occasionally, I can wish...] I added at the end that the day had a special significance in my life. It was on this day in 1994 that I was married to the father of my two children, and that it was on this day 11 years later that I told him to "go jump". I spoke of all the 14th-of-February celebrations we had had in-between those two dates - of roses and diamond rings and candle-lit dinners and the whole picture perfect scenery on the backdrop. Then I offered them some free advice, "I think this made me realize that it is not what you do on this particular day that matters, but what you do for each other on the remaining  364 days of the year." There was an awed silence as I shared this, but it was only later that I realized the real impact of my words. From Grade 6 students, all the way through to adults who had been present, I had people thanking me for sharing what I had; one Grade 8 boy choked up as he said, "I'm really sorry for your loss, but it helped me learn something important."

However, the idea takes on a whole new meaning now. The Festival of Lupercalia, which one may call the proto-Valentine's day, was a ritualistic cleansing of evil spirits in order to release health and fertility. Named after the she-wolf Lupa, who nursed the infants Romulus and Remus [founders of Rome], the festival is meant to purify life. Later on in history, it became the feast of Saint Valentine; and according to one legend, this was a priest who brought young people together and performed their wedding ceremonies in private against the orders of the emperor. He was, needless to say, caught and martyred.

Transfer this to the 21st century, and immense possibilities open up.

Last week, the homework for the family therapy course group was to find one's Zihuatanejo [refer to Shawshank Redemption - brilliant film, by the way, from what we watched of it] - and write to the "current" self from the "future" self. It was a very interesting exercise, at all levels: visualising a future that one wants to get to; wondering about what paths one needs to take to get there; discovering the crucial turning points that pointed in the correct directions.

And yet, while to a certain extent it was about setting goals, the exercise meant much more than that. In the everyday junk we collect - of events, incidents, emotions, interactions - there is always the possibility of mistaking the bathwater for the baby; or sometimes, as often happens, we mistake the baby for the bathwater. Essentially, then, we end up throwing the right part out and retain the wrong part. There are those times too, when we don't throw any of it out, and end up with a lot of stink! Cleansing, therefore, becomes an important part of the process that leads to fertility - to be fecund at whatever you do with your life, to create your life, or live creatively, you need to be able to see the fallen leaves as so much mulch; not to regret that they have fallen, but that now they are able to fertilize the future.

So, for those of you who are celebrating Valentine's day in spectacular solitude, use the day to cleanse your mind and heart and soul - perhaps even your houses and gardens and balconies, if you feel inclined to; under no circumstances are you allowed to mope around! And, in case you are done with all the cleansing, and your neighbours are still not back from romancing - well, clean up their houses as well! If you cannot love your neighbour, then, by all means, clean his house!!!!! Sorry, actually that should read [to end on a hopeful note] "if you cannot love your neighbour, by all means, love yourself"….

Peace, not Pieces - Part II

While on the subject of Peace, not Pieces, we look at Lessons 3 and 4. We set out to watch this talk by Lesley Hazelton: On Reading The Koran:
http://www.ted.com/talks/lang/eng/lesley_hazelton_on_reading_the_koran.html

Well, not everything you set out to do always goes smoothly, does it? We were a few minutes into the talk, having discussed what the word "Koran" meant - "Like the Bible for Christians," someone supplied, and "Oh, ah, that." "Who is a virgin?" I was asked, and I replied, fairly euphemistically for me, I thought, "A woman who has not been 'touched'," I added the quote marks with my fingers. We must keep the cultural context in mind - and not say to the mini United Nations what one might say to Drama students, for instance. Anyway, from the slightly embarrassed grins I guessed they had understood.

And just as it was all becoming very exciting - the "highlighter version" and talking about fundamentalists and Islamophobes being adequately explained, life got even more exciting as the fire alarm rang out. No, no, there wasn't a fire - it was a practice evacuation drill, part of the CIS accreditation team's requirements. I thought we had made good time, and we made even better time on the way back.

However, just as we restarted the talk, briefly discussed the Shia-Sunni split, talked about Protestants and Catholics and the two main sects of Buddhism - the Mahayana and Hinayana - with Hazuki volunteering that her parents are Buddhists but was not willing to commit to being the same herself... the fire alarm rang again. A prank? we wondered. I stepped out into the corridor, saw Sanjeev step to the railing, look down - on his way back to his room he waved his arms indicating that it was for real. Phew, another one!

By the time we got back, the lesson was over. Then there was a challenge of procuring the LCD projector for Lesson 6. No luck. Finally, we shifted venue to the Flexi and hooked up with the projector there. Almost immediately we came up against the words "agnostic" and "hubris". We discussed Yahweh and Kyeong asked about the Gospels.

Sehun wondered what she meant by "the Koran in English is a kind of shadow of itself". The next part of the talk, to my mind, needed to be highlighted. I did, of course, wonder whether I was doing much the same thing that Hazelton appears to be warning us about - but it was not out of context to repeat that the Koran includes women, and then the "infamous verse about killing the unbelievers". We played this part a second time, connected it to her earlier statement about the "highlighter version".

In the final part, Akhil wanted me to explain the word "fecundity" - the rest appeared to have gone down clearly.

With this we got down to planning our individual presentations.

PLANNING YOUR PRESENTATION
1. Pick your area/ decide on what you will create
2. Ppt, film, enactment, lecture, debate, write a script, recorded conversation
3. Create the KFW table - what you already Know; what you want/need to Find out; and Where you feel you will find it or Who you will ask.
4. Draft: Show it to friends and Cathy
5. Finalize: visual/audio material on CDs; other material - print-outs

We emphasized that what was really important to keep in mind was the object of the exercise: convince others that your plan is a "good" one - may not be the best and definitely not the only one, but a workable plan.

In the next 20 minutes, I got the opportunity to interact with several students who managed to rapidly put down where they wanted to take it. Others have promised to get back with plans very soon.

The assessment rubric is the same as always: Language, Cultural Interaction, Message.

These are baby steps we take towards our goal, and Inshallah, we shall sail towards a new sunrise because being at Peace makes so much more sense than being in Pieces.

Peace, not Pieces - Part I

Or, My Personal Path to World Peace

Grade 11 Language B lessons are often more dramatic than Drama lessons. We have a mini United Nations scenario going, although all voting situations are won hands down by my generally peaceful Korean students. Last week we approached the mysterious and esoteric topic of "poverty", something that is but a distant concept for my richer-than-thou charges. But they seldom disappoint; in their individual oral presentations, they made connections between poverty and the idea of who controls a country's resources and hence, what it is that leads to poverty. Bravo, I thought, as I set out to draft this week's plan - one that should spill over to the next two.

In brief, the idea is to explore: As a global citizen, what contribution can I make to World Peace? The "guiding question": What are the many paths that can lead to World Peace? And not to leave out the much-maligned TOK: How does language and perception affect our view of "self" and "other"?

My English HOD wrote back on the planning sheet: "Lovely plan! Wish I could sit in." All I could think of, at that moment, was, "I hope it works."

We started off with a discussion yesterday, briefly wondering about "What are the main causes of conflict that stand in the way of World Peace?" Hyungbai immediately corrected me, "It's not conflict, it is confliction. Conflict is a verb." We dived into our respective gadgets - he, the digital dictionary, I, the laptop - and came up for air at the same time. "OK," he said, "conflict is noun too." Hyunbin confirmed it on his digital gadget. They had a minor argument, in Korean, involving nouns and verbs. Phew! "Please speak-a the Eeeeengleeesh," I chanted. They complied for a few seconds. The question I put to them next was: Can you give me examples of instances of international conflict? Choruses of "North and South Korea, India and Pakistan, Tibet and China" floated around. Like I said, they seldom disappoint.

Then we began to watch Jody Williams' talk on "A Realistic Vision for World Peace".
http://www.ted.com/talks/lang/eng/jody_williams_a_realistic_vision_for_world_peace.html

They were delighted, of course, with her using, without actually saying it, the F-word. We stopped to briefly speculate about which country the speaker was from - most of them worked out "USA" - either due to her accent or her reference to "Congress", "the President" and "dollars". We paused at the reference to Hiroshima - they were not familiar with the bombing, except Hazuki, of course. When I narrated this part of world history, there was a wide-eyed question, "Why did they do it?" Then they turned to Hazuki to ask, "Where do you live?" She responded with, "Tokyo." Then, endearingly, "Is that far from Hiroshima?" "Yes, very far." "Oh, thank God."

We made another brief pause to figure out the reference to "His Holiness" and giggled at the reference to "action" hero. Then, just as we reached Aung Sun Suu Kyi, my sweet SoYoung piped up. "Ma'am," she sang, "I'm not following any of this. It has too many big words."

I offered her the transcript. She looked at it with some interest. "This also has very big words." The others wanted the transcript too. "SoYoung, wherever you don't understand, we will stop and discuss it. OK?" She didn't look convinced.

The rest of the ride was fairly smooth. Conchita looked delighted at the mention of the Northern Ireland conflict [she had worked that into her "poverty" oral last week - talking about discrimination and unemployment] and Akhil was pleased with the Tree Lady's strategy to get people together. Deepak pretended to be staring out of the window, but whenever questioned on what had just been said, he supplied a suitable answer.

Then they made the first part of the following list: the need for peace.

Need for Peace
Kind mind
The world would be a better place for everyone to live in
Understanding with or between their different cultures
People live happier and safer life
Spread happiness
Not to be selfish with each other
Relax and be happy

So today's lesson began on the same note. Each one of them wrote his/her "need" on the board on one side, and possible reasons for conflict on the other. Kyeong signed his name with a flourish under "Not to be selfish with each other" - this, he explained, was because some day he wanted to join the government in his country and he wanted them to know this.

Here's the second list:
Reasons for Conflict
money
resources
greed
discrimination
pride
ignorance
differences of thinking
different perspectives of people
different thinking and individual identity
different wishes
different opinions
can't understand each other


The discussion that followed, linked ideas from the first list to thoughts on the second. For example, "understanding with or between their different cultures" was linked to "different perspectives of people" and " different thinking and individual identity"; "kind mind", on the other hand, linked with "money", "resources", "greed" and "pride". Soon, the green lines connecting the two lists created a tenuous spider's web. We identified four main areas that could be worked on:

1. Money
2. Resources
3. Discrimination
4. Differences

What they began to plan next was the project called: My Personal Path to World Peace.
The Objective of the project is: Convince other people that your "path" is a good solution.

We also discussed the TOK angle: Language and Sense Perception - the effect of these on our view of "self" and "other".

What is the minimum word count, Kyeong wanted to know. When is the submission date, Hyungbai asked. I shook my head at both of them. "Don't worry about minimum/maximum/optimum… or about deadlines. Do it from your heart. Otherwise it's no use for you won't learn anything from the experience."

Tomorrow we will watch another inspiring talk: Lesley Hazleton - On Reading the Koran.

As they began planning the project, which can be in the form of a ppt, film, photographs, talk, recorded conversation, enactment, etc., I sat back and watched furious scribbling on paper or rapid clicking on laptops, with a certain sense of satisfaction.


For, this is my personal path to world peace… and I have set off down the road with determination. To help my students think like global citizens, to invent creative solutions to reduce conflict, to walk for a while outside the narrow confines of curricula and learning outcomes… to sow the seeds of peace, not pieces.

In Search of a Fairy Tale

… and what the dewdrop calls the end
the Master calls a new day…
But regardless of the larger picture - the dewdrop which evanesces into the heat of the sun
abandons the clinging leaf
which now, when love breaks through the fog,
is left without the possibility of love -
and lonelier, if possible, than before.
[With apologies to Mr Bach, for distorting the original "what the caterpillar calls the end/ the Master calls a butterfly".]
What happens when a year, a decade, a millennium, a moment, or a relationship, [or to be honest, the possibility of a relationship], comes to an end?

That's what most relationships are, aren't they? They contain the possibility of relating, the seeds of relationship, just as life brings with it the possibility of living. Who can say with complete confidence and assurance that they have a relationship, a rock-solid one which is unshakable in the storm? Who can say without hesitation that they are really LIVING, not merely existing, from sunrise to sunrise? Who has found love that came with a "guarantee" sticker? Who has found immortality, the possibility of endless living? Mostly, love and life come with a "use by date". And even if, as sometimes happens, the relationship goes on till the physical end of life of one or the other, who knows how deeply they related at all? That they didn't spend many years losing themselves in the habit of co-habiting, where questioning the foundation they think is rock-solid would have exposed fissures that run deep into the earth that seemingly grounds them? That they didn't go from one chore to the next without wondering "why am I doing this" till the final moment of truth when they had to face the question "Did I really live"?

What may happen then, is that you are left with a panorama of memories, visions if you like, of scents, textures, sounds and togetherness. You may find yourself reaching for the vision only to have it dissolve in your arms. You can choose to erase, efface or even deface those memories - for hidden underneath that warm, remembered glow, is pain born of the longing for it to repeat itself. You can choose to step back, step out, step away, but are inexorably drawn into the longing again and again and again. But the moment is gone, the chance is lost, and neither love nor life really offer you second chances. You can, of course, frame the memories and look at them from time to time to help with a desolate present.

There are those who look carefully at the "use by date" and consciously create memories to sustain them in the future. They are able to live entirely in the present, ignore any intruding thoughts of consequences, and in the final analysis are able to enjoy the snapshots because they came with the fore-knowledge of the fore-told ending. They do not approach opportunities with the hopeless hope that anything on this earth is but ephemeral. They are secure in the knowledge of the epitaphs on their tombstones: "He lived, whenever he could; he loved, whenever he could; at all other times, he was useful and productive." They have the wisdom to live entire lifetimes in just a few moments, the ability to find meaning in life as it comes to them and not reach out to life and imbue it with meaning. They have my sincere, humble and heartfelt admiration.

But what if you are not equipped with that wisdom or ability? Perhaps you choose to climb into the tower, lock the door and throw away the key. For, you're not going to let your hair down for just anyone who comes riding by; you will only let it down for the Wicked Witch called "loneliness".

And, of course, you forget in such painful moments, that after sunset the soothing night will rise again, bringing with it perhaps another dewdrop or two, another hope that in spite of the loneliness of most parts of the journey there is always the possibility of a relationship; that in spite of the lifelessness of existence, there is always the possibility of living it.

You can, finally, choose to approach the situation armed with your omnipresent sense of humour: laugh at human follies and the fallacy of assumption; grin at the way in which this fairy tale ended. Oh yes, I've written some really weird endings to many fairy tales - ones in which the princess kissed the prince and he turned into the Toad, or the Beast; ones in which he flew off and crashed his plane leaving the princess with a life filled with a million "what ifs"; and, of course, the ones in which the prince rode off into the sunset to rule his kingdom of chores!

And you smile indulgently at the heart's need to keep on writing fairy tales! May the future, then, be prolific....

The Parenting Double Bind

Between stimulus and response, there is a space.
In that space is our power to choose our response.
In our response lies our growth and our freedom.
--Viktor Frankl
As quoted in: Promoting Responsibility & Learning #114, January, 2011, http://www.MarvinMarshall.com

Early this morning I received an email from my friend, Nats, with a link to an article on Chinese parenting [the word "Chinese" here refers to the traditional philosophy of parenting followed by the Chinese, as clarified by the author in the article]:
http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052748704111504576059713528698754.html?mod=WSJ_Books_LS_Books_2

Not having a "life" [it's confirmed now - officially, Cathy has no "life"], I read the article, wrote back to Nats, who was still up on the other side of the world, shared the link with a group of friends that I explore family therapy with, received a response from the group leader, Shelja, read her blogpost on the same topic, responded to that, and then began to rapidly put down random-stream-of-consciousness thoughts that occurred in that irritatingly random way. Why is it, I wondered, that thoughts cannot be linear, logical or even literate? Not that I'm a control freak, of course, as I tell all my friends [and some day I hope that this will be true!], but wouldn't it be so much less incoherent if thoughts followed logic? Why do they go back and forth, ad nauseum, sometimes pendulum-swinging, at others roller-coastering, but never, ever, following a pattern that one can grasp, interpret, understand, and draw conclusions from?

Well, anyway, as it emerged, the thoughts centred around the problem of sibling friction as posed as an endless challenge to my mothering skills by my two offspring, Sara and Tyger. On this chillingly windy morning, the walk posed a challenge which, however, paled in intensity to the problem of: how do I help them to get along with each other? No, cancel that, how do I help them to co-exist? For, Sara, the in-the-throes-of-adolescence fifteen-year-old finds everyone and everything "irritating", especially her little brother. And Tyger, just out of the sensorimotor stage, wants to simultaneously emulate and reject his elder sister.

When they are deadlocked in some sort of combat, one has two impulses: the first, to tell them to have it out with "...and I'm not going to play the referee, either", possibly to flounce off to my room or a work-out at the gym; option two is to enter, full-force, into the situation, get them to talk it through, find a solution, help them be at peace with each other, at least till the next conflict erupts.

They say that children learn from their siblings to resolve conflict, a life skill they carry into adulthood. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know, but you really want me to leave them at it so they can bash each others' heads in? On the other hand, the more I referee, the less effective I am as a parent - for, both end up feeling that I took the other's side [even if I remained completely and mindfully neutral!], retire with feelings of anger - but at least no one's head needed stitches. Which instantly reminds me of battles with my elder brother, in which my parents intervened only if we got too loud or noisy, and which [being of superior strength and older] my brother always won. Therefore, it's that much more difficult to remain in a position of neutrality, since Sara is approximately twice the size of Tyger, and naturally, I empathize with the one that will not come out on top. However, I do know for a fact that my greater affinity to the status of the younger, smaller sibling, is a myth in the mind of the elder - since, and I have this on record, Tyger also always feels that I'm on Sara's side!

So, here's the double bind: if I do nothing, one of them will definitely get hurt - and can I therefore, as a conscientious parent, allow a situation to develop to its logical conclusion; on the other hand, the more I intervene, the less chances they have of finding solutions that work for them. To compound the problem, I am practically allergic to high-frequency screeches delivered at 120 decibels or more, almost continuously through the conflict by Tyger - who, being a little lion, mewls like a cross between a cat-on-a-hot-tin-roof and an owl-going-for-the-mouse-in-the-field. If he didn't screech like that, I often feel, I may be able to approach the situation in a more stable-headed way. What does happen is that the yelling pierces my brain cells, each one pierced separately, or that's what it feels like, and I lose the ability to think at all till everyone is somewhat calmer. And here's the news, it doesn't get calmer since the issue is not resolved!

Anyhow, stepping back, an exercise that is often touted as the panacea but very difficult to practice with pierced brain cells, does afford a bird's eye view of what is really going on. So this is my meta mirror exercise. And instead of stepping in with a response, the Frankl Space [if one may be allowed the coinage] comes in handy. In that space, here's what I see:
Sara: You idiot! If you don't know how to play the game why do you want to play it? Mamai and I will play it without you. (what she really means, probably, is "I wish you were older and we could enjoy each others' company more." or "I miss the days when I had my mother all to myself and didn't have to share her with you.")
Tyger: (screaming and throwing his arms around) I'm not an idiot! I know how to play! I don't want to lose! I want to win! (that's probably exactly what he does mean)
Sara: You can't win unless you know how to play the game! You're an idiot! (Why couldn't you be older and more sensible?)
Tyger: I can win! I can! I can! (exactly that!)
Sara: I wish you hadn't been born. (exactly that!)
Tyger: I wish YOU hadn't been born. (ditto)
Sara: Ha ha, you can't wish that! I came before you! (You've divided our mother into two. She has to care for you as well, now.)
Tyger: I can! I can! I can! (exactly that)
Me: TIME OUT! (Stop yelling, both of you!)
There is silence for a second or two before it starts up again.
Sara: I'm not going to play with you if you can't be a sport when you lose. (It's bad enough that I have to share my mother with you; you can't even be a good loser!)
Tyger: Then I'm not your brother anymore.
Me: Hey, this is not happening. (Really, that's what I mean - I can't have you both dissociate like this from each other. My breathing has quickened, I'm very nervous because I really want the two of you to get along with each other, be friends, because I'm not going to live for ever; and I would really like to die feeling secure that the two of you are there for each other.)
The Stepped Out Me: There are no guarantees in life. They may end up on different sides of the world. They need to be able to form relationships with other people as well.
Me (to The Stepped Out Me): Well, how are they going to form meaningful relationships with other people if they can't co-habit this house? If they can't get through a game of Uno without sticking knives into each other?
The Stepped Out Me: It's not always like this.
Me (to The Stepped Out Me): No, because she's locked up in her room and he's playing in his. Whenever we play or have a meal or are in any way near each other, this erupts.
The Stepped Out Me: Well, it hasn't always been like this.
Me (to The Stepped Out Me): True enough. But it just seems to be getting worse. And I feel so ineffective, so helpless. In this situation I'm the adult around; it's up to me to help them get along.
The Stepped Out Me: Who decided that?
Me (to The Stepped Out Me): Sorry? I mean, isn't that a given? I'm their parent. The most important lessons they learn are at home.
The Stepped Out Me: That's an assumption. It may not reflect reality. They could be learning a great number of important lessons when they are playing with friends, or even by themselves.
Me (to The Stepped Out Me): So what should I do? Let this carry on?
The Stepped Out Me: Why not? Unless they start hurting each other physically.
Me (to The Stepped Out Me): But what about emotionally? What Tyger said just now was really hurtful.
The Stepped Out Me: Do you think Sara believes that for a moment? Even if she did, at the moment she probably doesn't give a jot. And when she does, she will have forgotten that he ever said it.
Me (to The Stepped Out Me): How do you know that?
The Stepped Out Me: You remember anything you said to your brother when you were kids and fighting or stuff he said to you?
Pondering.
Me (to The Stepped Out Me): Not really. But I grew up feeling that he was the most awful bully.
The Stepped Out Me: Presumably you don't still feel the same way.
Me (to The Stepped Out Me): No, but it took an awfully long time.
The Stepped Out Me: I rest my case.
Me (to the kids): Would you guys like another game? Tyger, I know that you'll get better the more you play. Sara, perhaps you could shuffle the cards, or do you want me to?
Sara : I'm not playing with him!
Tyger: I'm also not playing with her!
Me: OK, no problem. Maybe we could try this again tomorrow. (And I'm OK with this. We can try this tomorrow. Maybe it'll work - perhaps we will have more fun than conflict. This is not the end of the world and tomorrow is another day.)
Sara: I never want to play with him again.
Tyger: I also never want to play with her again.
Me: Fine. That's not a problem at all. (I really mean it. If the two of you want to lead separate lives now or in the future, I have no issues with it. I've taught you to swim, so even if you find that you can't cross the bridges you come to, you can certainly try swimming across the river, or tarzan-swing or whatever. You're both beautiful and strong kids, and right now you are physically dependent on me for many things, but you will grow up and be independent because that's the way I'm bringing you up.)