For Shame

I do not have a sense of smell.

I know, I know, your next question is inevitably: "How do you taste?" Or maybe you are wanting to ask: "So are your other senses heightened?" Or maybe you are the kind who can't help but inquire: "So, you wouldn't know if I farted?"

In answer to the litany of questions I get about my condition, I can tell you this: Yes, I can taste. I still have a fairly refined palate; for instance, I can distinguish between white and red wine by sight and taste alone. No, my other senses aren't heightened--why else would my nightstand be littered with dried up contact lenses? And, just to humor you, you sick bastard, I would still know if you farted as it normally makes a fairly distinctive sound.

I discovered I had no sense of smell when I was 10 years old watching a television commercial for nasal spray. A man with a microphone was blindfolding people on the street and holding various fruits under their noses to show them that their nasal passages were too clogged to enjoy the most basic smells in life. I watched as one woman blindly smelled an orange, to which she noted she couldn't detect a scent. I laughed and thought: Well, yeah, because oranges don't have a scent.

There are moments when I feel a sensation that I liken to smell, like when I chew that kind of gum that looks like a Chick-let and comes in blister packs of nine. Or when it's muggy outside and I mistake the dampness hitting my nostrils for a foul odor. And a few times, and only while I was pregnant, I could smell the gasoline at the pump.

There aren't any true concerns or limitations. No doctor has found the condition to be alarming, or even all that interesting. One down side is that it's not uncommon for a child of mine to be sitting in her own feces for a tad longer than is perhaps recommended by pediatricians. But it's only because if I don't hear a wet fart, or see it creeping out the diaper and up the back of the onesie, I don't have much to go on.

The most annoying aspect of my condition, however, is that I walk around in life always a little worried that I might unknowingly stink. I practice a fairly rigorous personal hygiene routine. I keep the house clean. I don't eat onions. I compulsively purchase mints, gum, perfumes, Febreze, scented lotions and fragrance candles. I'm not sure I've ever purchased an item that was "unscented." And I haven't farted in 20 years.

The fear is just too deep.

But I think it's normal to be a little insecure about a personal deficiency.

In every course I've ever taught--in the field of political science--I've devoted a block of time each class period to discuss current events. In the beginning, I did this simply because I wholly believe in the benefit of civil discourse and the power of an informed citizenry.

For the most part, functioning adults can peacefully disagree on an issue and respectfully discuss it far more than is perhaps assumed. Colleagues often ask me if the debates ever escalate to a troubling degree. Or if the conservatives yell and throw things while the liberals huddle together and cry. Honestly, there have only been a few times a student became emotional--one even walked out of class--but on the whole, people are respectful and mature. In fact, in the past six years of teaching, the issue that most often arises is not across party lines. The biggest issue, in fact,  is something I refer to as Awareness Shaming.

This happens when a person shames another for not knowing something, typically--though not limited to--a news story.

One person brings up a topic: "Did you hear about the bombings in Whatitsnameistan?"

And another person says: "No, I haven't."

And the first person responds by saying something like: "Do you live under a rock or something!?" Then continues the shaming further by expressing extreme shock and disgust with dramatic body language and theatrical phrases like "I just can't believe you hadn't heard about that! What do you do all day!?"

I once thought Awareness Shaming just occurred in the classroom setting. That was certainly where I saw it happen on a daily basis. But Awareness Shaming is just as common in everyday life. And I've estimated it affects nearly one in two Americans per day. This means that either you, or the person sitting next to you, has been a victim.

Given what I do for a living--profess political science--there is a significant expectation for me to know any and all things related to politics, both in America and around the world. But if you quiz me on, say, the latest poll data on the gubernatorial race in Maryland, I'm more than likely going to let you down. Though my research is a specialized portion of Political Science--public administration, which studies bureaucracy and nonprofits--as a member of the field I try my level best to stay current on the political climate.

Which changes hourly.

I often wonder if I would have faired better in a discipline like History or Philosophy. All the important events have already happened and the great minds are already dead.

I'll be the first to admit that I fall short of staying up-to-date on every single shooting, bombing, bill, hearing, debate, election, famine and indictment. I often feel overwhelmed and burdened by how much there is to know. And how many outlets there are to know it from. But trust me, I'm trying. I devote significant time every day to reading The New York Times. My phone buzzes as much with news updates as it does with text messages. And given how much my mother texts, this is saying something. I tune into NPR every time I'm in the car. Which means I'm getting half of a really great story about either a rice farmer in the middle of a war zone, or a piece about a parrot who befriended a goat. I'm an avid fan of the well researched Rachel Maddow Show, and I watch an obscene amount of entertaining news shows like Real Time with Bill Maher and The Daily Show. I'm on daily email lists for publications put out from Capitol Hill, policy institutes, and the foreign press. And--don't act like this doesn't count--I check my Facebook news feed.

But despite all my best efforts, I often find myself in the middle of a party, or at lunch with my sister, or in front of a class full of eager students, admitting that I have not heard of the event about which they are speaking.

And while I'm certainly not ashamed, I am often shamed.

Sometimes it isn't even about high brow political jargon. Sometimes it's a simple "How have you never heard of the band Spoon?! Are you living under a rock?" And heaven forbid I admit that I have no f*cking clue how to sync my phone calendar to the one on my computer.

Knowledge is power. But it shouldn't be a weapon.

I value staying current with events from here and around the world. And I appreciate the opportunity to be educated on an issue from someone who has more knowledge on the subject than I. But the way in which people tend to react when you admit you don't know a story, an event, a person, a band, or a keyboard shortcut on your Mac, is not doing much to propel people forward. When I get Awareness Shamed, I feel talked down to. I feel beaten up. I feel as vulnerable as when an acquaintance tells me she saw me "out and about the other day" and all I can think was that it was probably the exact moment I was dislodging a wedgie.

So I tell my students that in our debates they are not allowed to Awareness Shame. If a classmate hasn't heard about a certain event, don't shame or poke fun. Instead, I ask them to use their reaction to educate, not desecrate. And when they successfully do this, I give them stickers. 

Gaps in knowledge are about the same as walking around with a sensory limitation; you'd be surprised how well you can still function.

Smells don't interest me because they aren't part of my daily life. But there are a lot of sights, sounds, taste and touches I love and explore fully.

In the meantime, I rely on my husband to alert me to poopy diapers and let me know if he smells smoke or if the milk has gone sour. And in turn, I occasionally offer to change the dirty diapers, promise to grab our photos if there's a fire and agree to pick up milk on the way home from work.

There is no shame in not knowing something. Not being good at something. Not having a sense of smell. The only shame is not pursuing knowledge. Not trying to be good at something. Not having a sense of self.

Most people are trying to stay informed. Trying to stay healthy. Trying to be good parents, good spouses, good friends, good colleagues, good stewards, good citizens and, in general, good people.
So I find it paramount that the benefit of the doubt be given first, and let the shaming be reserved for when a dog shits in your shoe.

And when it comes to shit, I've been told something the dog doesn't know:

It stinks.

A Vivid Imagination

Our three year old daughter has an imaginary friend.

Six months ago, while playing in the park with her father, she looked up and out into the open space beyond the swings, pointed with vigor and yelled, "Daddy! There's Chasey Boom!"

Perplexed, my husband asked all the important questions about Chasey Boom to discover that he was a pink dog that liked suckers, drove a red car and had, apparently, come to the park that day to swing.

That night, when our child was tucked in her bed with her stuffed bear, her doll, and what is apparently a large, pink canine, we did an extensive Google search for the term "Chasey Boom." We were surprised to find this is not a character in a book, it is not an irritating television show on Nick Jr., and it is not a proprietary name of a trendy new toy.

Nope.

Chasey Boom is all Lowery.

For the past six months we've observed our child's interaction with Chasey Boom and learned a great deal about him. For starters, Chasey Boom's hair turns brown at night, but is pink again by sun up. He is scared of spiders, loves to swing really high and enjoys bath time. He's shy, but funny. Thin, but a big eater. And, he has, apparently, sired all the stuffed animals in my child's toy chest, with the exception of the fuzzy giraffe, which Lowery claims "is a stray we took in." We aren't entirely sure he's even a male because Lowery doesn't quite have her pronouns down. All we know is that "She is a boy."

Chasey Boom is not a family pet, however. Only Lowery has control. Jim and I lack the ability to add to his character's behavior. If we are trying to get her in the car and say something like, "Hurry up, Lowery! Chasey Boom is waiting!" She will stop and say, "That can't be. He's at the gym."

Lowery herself is an extremely layered character.

While she is willful and independent, she still responds to reason and discipline. While she's outgoing and fearless, she has her moments of timidity. She likes to be the center of attention, but she's extremely empathetic. She's active, but not hyper. She's verbal, but not bratty. Brilliant, but still funny. Happy, but not easy going.

To me, she is magical.

Lowery's influence over me is substantial. From the moment I gave birth to her, Lowery has evoked in me an extremely strong reaction: she elicits energy. Often, this is positive. Any time I am near her, or sometimes just thinking of her, my heart races. I feel a flutter in my chest. This child excites, energizes and emboldens me more than any other person in my life. I feed off her energy and charisma.

However, energy can manifest itself in negative ways as well. While my eldest does bring spirit and sparkle into my life, she also brings agitation and tension.

Lowery is insatiable at times. She's particular. And demanding. While she's always upbeat and happy, she's rarely completely satisfied. So, an afternoon with my child can be exciting and electrifying. But it can also be challenging and unsettling.

She began talking at 8 months of age. And she still hasn't stopped. While her verbal skills are certainly remarkable, they are also extremely grating. From the moment she wakes up our child is talking. We have to force her to stop just to take a bite to eat. She asks question after question and demands thoughtful responses. As the day wears on, the constant murmur of my child's sweet voice becomes akin to a small gnat buzzing in the ear. So by Sunday, after three full days of hearing every single emotion, thought, sight, sound and taste my child has experienced, I can barely find the will to throw her in bed and say the words I've been longing to say all day: "It's quiet time now." But even then, she talks in her sleep.

I appreciate that I always know what is going on with my child. Like me, she can only cope with emotions by vocalizing them. But with Lowery, there is no down time. There's no deep breath. There's no quiet moment. Even though she can concentrate heavily on certain activities, like painting or Legos, she still narrates everything she's doing and demands you take part in the imagery.

So while my eldest child can pump me full of energy and excitement, she gives me no time to absorb it. Instead, she turns to me, extends her arm and claps her fingertips to her palm and says "Come on!" without realizing I need a moment to digest my feelings. Rest my feet. Shut my mouth. Empty my bladder.

London, on the other hand, is unflappable. London is expressive, but relaxed. She babbles and coos, but she does so in a whisper. She's animated, but calm. She is a heavy sleeper, a great eater, a gentle crier, and she's easy to satisfy.

To me, she is mystical.

London's influence over me is significant. She evokes in me a powerful reaction: she conjures calmness. While Lowery energizes me in various ways, London instantly soothes me. To look at London, to hold her, to be near her, I find myself relaxed, comforted and at ease. This child assures me more than any person in my life. I appreciate her quietude and am enchanted by her serenity.

Within the first few weeks of London's life, I felt the energy in myself shift. Though the post partum depression I experienced with Lowery only lasted six months, it wasn't until I held London for the first time that I truly felt it disappear. The relief of that heaviness--that energy, that anxiety that I had unknowingly still been carrying--was momumental.

The shift in myself and the ease with which I could satisfy my newborn had me convinced there was an enormous medical problem. I made an appointment with our children's pediatrician and had her give our newborn a thorough examination, to which she concluded that London was a happy, healthy and beautiful child. I refused her diagnosis. What explains why she sleeps so well and is so damn calm? The doctor laughed at my question, but then assured me that the only thing I was experiencing with London was luck.

Since the birth of my first child, and the unending anxiety that followed, I was suddenly aware of the substantial amount of tension I've carried around. It didn't occur to me, until I left the office with my youngest baby's clean bill of health, that I had been holding my breath for three years.

And, for the first time, I felt myself finally relax into motherhood.

Lowery made me a mother. Not just because of a technicality, but because the last three years have been an ongoing battle between the two of us. She's demanded my attention, challenged my self-esteem, battled my ambitions and held a mirror up to me by embodying so many of my personality traits.

She's made me earn the title.

And London taught me to enjoy the moments I once found so unnerving. To calm myself by watching her example. To recognize the serenity I possess in myself by reminding me what it looks like.

She made me love the title.

And then there's Chasey Boom. A character created deep in the recesses of my firstborn's vivid imagination. A character for whom we have to save a seat at the dinner table. A character whose hair I've had to do alongside Lowery's in the morning. A character I've kissed goodnight for the last six months. A character who, coincidentally enough, always gets in trouble at the exact time Lowery does so they must take their time outs together.

It is not lost on me that Chasey Boom came to life during my pregnancy with London. Which is why I give Chasey Boom most of the credit for Lowery's mature acceptance of, and graceful transition into, sisterhood.

It's as if Lowery, a person who lives her life excitedly outward, had to search inward for something that would give her exactly what she needed to fulfill an emotional ache that couldn't be soothed by me or her father. She needed someone very specific, someone magical and mystical, to round out her needs. To challenge her way of being. To accept her and all her energetic ways. And to help her cope when energy fails her.

I understand and appreciate her motives. I too, created a couple of creatures I assumed might influence me in beautiful and wonderful ways.

But this is so much more than I ever imagined.