While my two daughters are alike in countless ways, they have one glaring difference: their attitudes.
Lowery is constantly unsatisfied. With many, many things. She is not an inherently negative person, but she can easily see how things (all things) can be improved. Our lives, our meals, our laundry folding.
She’s got fire in her belly for a better world.
London, on the other hand, is just happy to be here. London lives in the present, enjoys making us all laugh, and is an expert at finding the joy in the smallest of things.
She sees the good in herself and the world.
London’s most common question is: “Mom, are you happy?” Lowery’s is: “Mom, when’s dinner? And it better not be chili.”
I am fully aware that I embody both of the traits—a good attitude and a continual quest for improvement—and I passed this on to them in utero. Unfortunately, it seems as if neither offspring got a healthy dose of both traits; instead, each got an unhealthy dose of one.
Both are remarkable traits, no doubt. Simply two sides of the same coin.
Recently London potty trained. Well, this isn’t an entirely accurate description. But what do you call it when someone wakes up one day, and—without so much as stretching—runs a marathon? Whatever that is, that’s what London did.
I didn’t have to bribe her, coax her, or plead with her. If anything, I think she started using the toilet because she sensed we were growing tired of changing diapers.
That’s London.
The problem is, Lowery didn’t like London’s easy take to potty training. She pulled London aside and explained to her that she should get an award, like M&Ms or a sticker, something. If she didn’t get an incentive, what was the point? Ask for more, Lowery will insist. Always ask for more.
Eventually, despite peeing happily in the potty for days, London gave in and started asking—politely—for candy when she peed. And, giving in to the guilt of parenting a second-born, we agreed.
But London had a stipulation: Lowery also had to get candy anytime either of them used the potty. Yes, Lowery is that good. Together they stood firm on the idea that shit wasn’t going down unless two Hershey kisses were involved.
One evening the girls became so worked up over who deserved candy and when, and could they have more water to drink (for obvious reasons), that the excitement got out of control. The noise became so loud that I raised my voice demanding they calm down.
London stopped, lowered her head and said, “Sorry, Mama. I’ll be quieter.” Lowery stopped, lifted her head, folded her arms across her chest and said: “Mom, this is what kids do. They yell and ask for candy. What did you expect would happen when you had children?” After that, all candy was immediately thrown out.
London is still successfully using the potty; Lowery is off somewhere strategizing her next move.
There is something to both of their attitudes. On the one hand, Lowery is continually fighting for more while London is making the most of every situation. And I see this play out in my students. Many are happy just to be in graduate school. Eager to learn, excited to debate and discuss, and are among those most willing to see the good in all. Others are there with an intense desire to improve something, everything. Our city, our state, the classroom temperature. They are completely caught up in continual improvement. When both kinds of people populate a classroom, it’s overpowering. And it is the most hopeful sign that progress is possible.
This presidential election has hit everyone in different ways. And, as a faculty member teaching a program about government and nonprofit management, ethics, and accountability, it’s hard to get through much of our course material without the students erupting in a way that is similar to my girls when candy is involved. Like my children, some students are eager to point out the many injustices and the multitude of efforts we need to make. Others are eager to shift the focus to the positive, affirming we are—and will continue to be—okay.
And I stand at the front of the classroom, tiptoeing on the edge of the coin.
I am truly horrified by what is happening. What I assess as unconscionable behavior. What I believe to be a breach of American values. And I’m fearful for the future. I want to stand up and scream until it is fixed. But as a parent to a child who is constantly standing up and yelling until it is fixed, I can see the drawbacks to such a tact. Part of me wants to have faith in the system and the people of this country, and believe that all is going to be okay. To readjust my perspective. But I’ve seen how London is so positive and passive that she often misses chances—like those four entire days she peed without candy.
But regardless of feeling uncertain as to which child I should emulate during such a stressful time in our country, I know I need to make some decisions.
Our hallways on campus are speckled with faculty and students talking through the meaning of a tweet. Our classrooms are filled with students (of very diverse political affiliations) questioning their fellow citizens, the system, and the law. My newsfeed is a continual stream of two sides of the same, enormous argument. And at home, my kids are trying, in vastly different ways, to talk me out of a cookie.
Never before have I been so overwhelmed with a desire to speak out and do something for every injustice, while also feeling like I should calmly maintain my happiness and a positive outlook. The coin has been flipped, but it refuses to land on a side.
I wish I had the right thing to say to my students. To empower them when they feel the need to run headlong into the wind. And to coax them into seeing the goodness—in people and in our country—where they can. Both seem to fall just short of what really needs to be done. But I have to get up in front of my class and encourage something. What exactly, I don’t know. Dialogue? Action? Attitude? Laughter?
At home, I have to stand up to my girls and encourage something. What exactly, I don’t know. Harmony? Action? Attitude? Peeing simply for the joy of an empty bladder?
There is an intense need for both the Lowerys and the Londons of the world. We can’t sit down for a moment. We can’t not fight for improvement. At the same time, we have to shift our attitudes. See the good where it is. Or we are never gonna make it through. After all, both attitudes are survival mechanisms. And yet—in response to a class full of students, a newsfeed full of doubt and hate, and a home filled with such different world views—which side of the coin makes the most sense for where we are right now?
I simply can’t make heads or tails of it.
