Wonders Never Cease

Ever since I read that the late Eighties television series The Wonder Years was scheduled for a reboot, I have been eagerly awaiting the premiere, which took place this week on ABC. The original series followed the lives of a middle class family living in California during the late Sixties. Its reincarnation takes a similar premise. This time, however, the middle class family is black, and the show chronicles their experiences living in Montgomery, Alabama, during the same turbulent era.

What impressed me most about this new iteration of The Wonder Years is how closely it matches the tone of the original series. With its mix of nostalgia, humor, and seriousness; its voice-over narration by an adult version of the main character; and the same number and genders of family members, the new show harks back to the coming-of-age experiences and social issues that made the original version so endearing.

This time around, though, young Dean (the “new Kevin”) is trying to navigate life in a newly desegregated school and a community where hostility between blacks and whites is very real. His quest in the pilot episode to bring his black baseball team together to play a local white team is not entirely successful, to say the least. Throughout the episode, Dean’s one white friend keeps insisting of various white characters, “he/she’s not prejudiced,” as said characters clearly display their casual racism.

While aspects of black and white conflict are sometimes played for laughs in the new 30-minute show, racial conflict is taken quite seriously, and the show ends on a somewhat somber note. Like the original Wonder Years, which dealt frankly with the heartbreak of the Vietnam War, the new Wonder Years takes aim at racism, white flight, and police attitudes toward blacks. This is no sugar-coated version of the Sixties South.

Back in 1989, a student in my ninth grade English class told me she was an actress in a TV show called The Wonder Years. Never having seen the series, I began to watch the exploits of her character, Winnie, and her best friends, Kevin and Paul. I loved the gentle humor and clear affection the creators of the show had for their characters and the inevitable vicissitudes of life they experienced. Luckily, the new Wonder Years seems to promise a new family and group of friends to become attached to, to root for, and to learn from.

Despite the competition from streaming services, it’s clear the Big Three networks still have a lot to offer, especially to families looking for quality entertainment they can enjoy together. The Wonder Years looks to be a delightful addition to this fall season.

Maine Attraction

My husband and I recently spent the weekend with good friends who live all summer on an island in the middle of a lake in Maine. Being on this island in the waning days of summer felt like existing in our own little world.

Getting to the island itself took us through dark, winding roads dense with forest. I could easily see how Stephen King conjured the sinister fate of Paul Sheldon, the character in his novel Misery who crashes his car in the forest and is rescued by a deranged fan. Finally we reached the car ferry, and after having our car secured behind a wooden block and a couple of bungee cords, the flat boat cruised out onto the moonlit lake and headed to the island.

There was a fire lit in the fireplace when we arrived at our friend’s house along the lake. Its cozy glow and the warmth of reconnecting with our friends soon banished the wooded darkness. In the morning, I arose to a spectacular view out the floor-to-ceiling windows in the main room. We were just steps from the lake, whose placid surface rolled gently across to the mainland. The clouds obscured mountains in the distance. Although there were houses nearby, I could almost imagine being alone in the world out here. It was breathtakingly beautiful.

The weekend was filled with good food and good company. We took hikes around the island with our friends and their two dogs, meeting neighbors and other canine company along the way. I took photos of the ferry and general store for a friend who remembered summering on the island when she was a child. There was a now-defunct boys’ camp with some structures still standing, and I could just picture young kids out in the woods getting dirty and learning survival skills like lighting fires. The husband of the couple we were visiting gave us a lesson in eating Maine’s specialty, lobster. The taste was truly worlds apart from anything I had ever had in a fancy restaurant.

The wife told me that she was never bored on the island, despite its remoteness. She had the numerous hiking trails and the vast lake itself for paddle-boarding and kayaking. She had her books, her husband, and her dogs for companionship. And with many of the island residents, she had taken up pickleball, a newfangled racquet sport that provides physical and social activity.

Prior to our visit, I would have thought a summer spent out on an island would be terribly isolating. Needing to drive my car onto a ferry just to go get groceries or other necessities seemed a burden. But after two days on the island, I began to see the attraction of being away from the hustle and bustle of living in a city. My friend, in fact, was dreading a return to their home in Chicago at the end of the season, which is rapidly approaching.

It’s nice to be back in familiar surroundings after a weekend away. But I have fond feelings about our visit to Maine, especially the time spent with good friends on a beautiful and rugged island with only each other’s company and the majesty of nature.

Age Segregation

As my husband and I have searched for a place to down-size to, I’ve noticed there are a lot of communities for the 55 and older set. These neighborhoods have rules setting a minimum age for residents, assuring that one’s next door neighbor will not be a music-blasting teenager, for instance. I’m not particularly thrilled with such communities.

One of the things I dislike most about Florida is that there are huge communities with few to zero children. I remember being on vacation and walking somewhere from our condo when an elderly gentleman on a bike took me to task for not moving over on the sidewalk after he had rung his little bell. At the time I remember hoping I would never get that cranky as I got older. But it’s easy to develop that mentality when everyone around you is also old.

Recently I read a story in The Washington Post about the increase in intentional communities that seek to connect rather than segregate people of different ages. (“How housing that mixes young and old can improve the lives of both,” WaPo, Sept. 14, 2021) Studies have shown benefits to the elderly when they are engaged in activities with younger people. They tend to be more physically active and mentally engaged. Even when I was a younger mom, I remember the psychological boost I got from spending a morning helping out at our local preschool. On the reverse side, older people have perspective and often the time to help younger adults and children not only with tasks but emotionally as well. They become surrogate grandparents who enrich the lives of their younger counterparts.

In the past, generations lived together not only in communities, but in the same residences. It was common, even expected, for grandparents to live with their children and grandchildren. But in America, the nuclear family living on its own in a house with a white picket fence became the ideal. I must admit I would have found it difficult to have either my parents or my husband’s living with us as our children grew up. Yet something has been lost in the distance, both physical and emotional, my kids have had from their grandparents.

The pandemic has brought to light the loneliness and isolation so many people feel nowadays. Our fiercely independent mindset makes it hard for people to reach out to each other when we need it most. It would be ideal for each of us to have a real community, a group of related and unrelated residents who could keep an eye on each other, help other, learn from each other.

So no 55-and-older complexes for me. I plan to stay vital and youthful as long as I am able – despite the head of gray hair I now sport. And that music-blasting teen next door? Well, that just may be me.

All Will Be Well

On our darkest days, it can be difficult, if not impossible, to see a glimmer of hope through the clouds of fear, sorrow, and anxiety. Twenty years ago today, Americans awoke to a horrific tragedy that shook our lives and forever transformed our sense of safety and security. When the Twin Towers fell, we experienced the unimaginable: the worst terrorist attack on U.S. soil in history. We are still feeling the aftershocks in many ways.

The recent exit from Afghanistan after 20 years of occupation and loss of lives, both American and Afghani, has been a demoralizing coda to the U.S. incursion into the country following the 9/11 attacks. No matter which side of the political divide you are on, the resurgence of the Taliban and most especially the loss of American troops facilitating the withdrawal have given Americans reason for grief and anguish.

Yet I’d prefer to hold onto something that doesn’t seem obvious to take away from this tragedy: hope. Twenty years ago terrorists filled with hate took it upon themselves to destroy lives and strike fear into the hearts of millions. Yet they could not exterminate the courage and selflessness of many who rushed to the scene to help: the first responders at Ground Zero in New York City and at the Pentagon, the passengers who grounded one of the planes before it could be used as a weapon against more Americans.

Many travelers were stranded outside the U.S. on September 11, 2001, after American air space was cleared to prevent further destruction. A 2016 musical titled Come From Away tells the heartwarming story of a small town in Newfoundland, Canada, that took in and embraced some of these stranded passengers. They provided shelter, food, and their own clothing to people whose possessions had to be secured and checked out for possible weapons. “This is just who we are,” said one resident of Gander, the small Canadian town, when asked why the townspeople had provided such an outpouring of support for the grounded passengers. (Amy Polacko, “I was stranded in Newfoundland on Sept. 11. Here’s my ‘Come From Away’ story,” The Washington Post, Sept. 7, 2021) Just as important as physical necessities, the people of Gander provided moral support to literally thousands of Americans whose diverted flights had landed them at their doorstep.

Hope is not foolish positivity in the face of danger and sorrow. Rather, it is a recognition that most people are inherently good, as I commented recently on a Facebook post about some strangers helping their daughter when she fainted near campus. I went on to point out that it is just that conflict and harm make for more compelling news. When you have a steady diet of stories about murders, robberies, and terrorist plots, it can be easy to forget that most people mean well, not harm.

Just recently I finished the latest mystery by Louise Penny, The Madness of Crowds. The theme of the novel is the tendency of people to latch onto popular but dangerous delusions in their quest for safety and certainty in an unpredictable world. The novel is set post-pandemic (If only!) and involves a statistician who uses the devastating impact of the pandemic to argue for a heartless culling of the world’s population. Like most of Penny’s novels, however, the book shows that despite the evil that can take hold in people’s hearts, sometimes leading to murder, there is a fundamental goodness in human nature as well, and it can and does triumph over evil.

Throughout Penny’s novel the famous quote by St. Julian of Norwich is mentioned: “All shall be well.” The quote is misused by the statistician to promote her heinous theories. But ultimately, through the actions of Penny’s beloved characters in the fictional village of Three Pines, we see that courage and kindness can triumph.

Today we mourn the loss of lives on 9/11. We mourn the 13 service men and women who lost their lives in the evacuation from Afghanistan, as well as the thousands of lives lost during 20 years of occupation. We feel devastated by a pandemic that continues to claim lives after the loss of more than 600,000 Americans.

Yet I continue to hold onto hope for our country and for the human race, believing that ultimately “all shall be well.”

Don’t Trip Down Memory Lane

Cleaning out closets has a way of stirring up dust – and memories. Among the possessions I have been going through lately has been the repository of old family photos extending back to my own parents’ childhoods and beyond. For years these photos had been haphazardly dumped into boxes and moved from place to place as members of my large family took turns with the responsibility of storing them.

Knowing that some day these photos would be completely lost to the ravages of time and imperfect storage, I purchased numerous acid-free boxes and set about moving the photos into safer containers. In doing so, I found some gems that I had not seen for many years, such as pictures of my maternal grandmother and grandfather when they were young. Photos of my dad and his brothers from their youth, their army portraits, wives and children, even ones of myself when I was very little and cranky-looking (as opposed to my current old and cranky look!). I found a poster of my cousin who had passed away some years ago. The poster had been made for his wake and funeral, and I marveled at the images: his prom, for instance, or the numerous shots of him and his army buddies enjoying a beer. I thought to myself that there must be some stories there that I had never thought to learn.

When we’re young, we imagine our future as almost limitless, endless. We doubt we can learn much of anything from the past, especially from our own ancestors. I remember the endless parade of aunts at family gatherings when I was a kid. Sure, they had some unique qualities, but it never occurred to me to sit at their feet and listen to their stories. My grandparents were similarly fossilized in my mind. Now I wish I had some knowledge of what their lives had been like. Youth is truly wasted on the young.

My siblings and I discussed some of my finds at dinner last weekend out on my screened-in porch. It had been a while since we had gotten together, what with COVID and busy lives intervening. But over pizza, we shared memories and stories. My brother explained how he had spent quite a bit of time with that cousin from the posters. Our cousin was much older, more like an uncle to us. In his later years, he had a pizza joint he would hang out at with his friends, his adopted family, if you will. My brother would join them and get to know my cousin. In doing so, he confirmed that cousin Jack was quirky and curmudgeonly, things I’d certainly guessed from his life-long bachelorhood – but also that he was unfailingly kind and generous, buying books for his neighbors’ children, giving away cash to people who needed it, even feeding the neighborhood squirrels!

We moved on to our own lives and memories. My brothers regaled us with stories about a local cemetery where they had both worked for a number of years. Their tales could provide fodder for numerous seasons of a dark comedy on HBO or Showtime. One brother had even had his life threatened while working there. My sisters recalled the aftermath of our mother’s death and how insecure they were to leave my dad’s side. I learned that my father had had tuberculosis for many more years than I had initially believed growing up. As we sat there on a waning summer night, I realized that we too are repositories of many memories that our children may some day want to hear. I hope that, unlike me, they discover the urge to learn their history earlier in life – before many of the people they could ask are gone.

It took some doing getting the photos off of that poster of my cousin. The pictures had been glued on, so my husband helped me peel off a thin strip of the paper without damaging the images. Then I literally took scissors and cut around the photos so that these snapshots of an earlier time could be preserved for the future. Wherever my cousin Jack is, I hope he is having a beer with his brother and his brothers-in-arms.

Taking a trip down memory lane can be a bit like falling into a rabbit hole. Many twists and turns can lead you to some dark paths. But I’m grateful for the memories and stories I have – and for family, who can keep those stories alive for the generations to come.

Differently Abled

People with disabilities face many obstacles in their day-to-day lives. Despite the passage of the Americans With Disabilities Act in 1990, the disabled still encounter problems with transportation, housing, and employment as they navigate a world made for those of us without such physical limitations as as paralysis, blindness, deafness and the like, or intellectual disabilities such as autism or developmental delays.

Perhaps worst of all is public perception of people with disabilities. We often underestimate them and hold emotions of pity rather than respect for them. Particularly in the area of mental health, individuals are often misunderstood because they exhibit behavior different than the norm. We are quick to label them rather than to try to get to know them as the unique people they are.

I’m currently reading a novel in which the main character struggles with others’ perception of him as autistic. It’s true that he has problems with social situations and with “reading” people’s emotions. He dislikes being touched and has prodigious recall. All of these characteristics are part of the autistic spectrum, but the character does not consider himself disabled. He is also concerned that his son’s difficulties at school have led to the administration’s insistence upon the boy’s being evaluated as possibly autistic. His parents worry about what such a diagnosis might mean in terms of treatment and others’ perceptions of their son.

It almost seems a pastime for people to diagnose others based on their behavior these days. You hear people casually comment that an acquaintance’s OCD or ADHD are really coming out today. Or they will meet a quirky individual and say, “He’s definitely on the spectrum,” meaning they think he must be autistic. Not only do such comments make light of serious mental disorders, but they reveal an unwillingness to look at a person as a person, not just an example of a disability.

Another character in the novel I’m reading has the condition of albinism. This condition is associated with eyesight problems and potential blindness. There is conflict between the albino child and her parents, who refuse to seek medical treatment to prevent further loss of sight. They do not consider blindness a disability. Indeed, there are many people in the sight and hearing impaired communities that consider these conditions simply a part of who they are, not a problem to be solved.

As I write, Tokyo is hosting the Paralympic Games, where individuals in wheelchairs, amputees and others with varying disabilities compete in racing, swimming, track and field, and many other Olympic sports. One of my first blog posts was about the Olympic superstar Tatyana McFadden, who was born with spina bifida and has won more than 17 medals in Paralympic contests. She has been named Best Female Athlete with a Disability at the ESPYs and has written a book about her life. I’m sure amazing athletes like McFadden would not want anyone looking at them as disabled, but rather as having certain physical or mental limitations that alter the way in which they can compete.

I like the term “differently abled.” Blind people can still read and write, get around with assistance and hold meaningful jobs. A paraplegic still has an intellect and personality they can use in their day-to-day lives. People on the autism spectrum often have skill sets that make them uniquely qualified for certain types of jobs. Obviously, people with disabilities need accommodations in order to live and work successfully. But this doesn’t mean they are somehow lesser. If we see people as differently abled, we can truly value and treasure the uniqueness of each and every person we meet.