Birthday, Blue Day

My older son, "G," turned 9 today.  I made a chocolate cake with ganache frosting, I had candles and my husband, younger son and I sang Happy Birthday.  Much to my dismay, G hung his head and wanted nothing to do with the cake.  I admit I was somewhat hurt.  I told him to just go back to his room.  My husband went to talk to him and a few minutes later, G came out to talk to me.  He was feeling sad.

You see, we just moved about two hundred miles from the only home G remembers.  G tends to keep much of what he's feeling to himself....just like me.  I grew up the daughter of an Army officer.  Before the age of 20, I had moved eight times (twice overseas).  I didn't make friends too easily and I didn't have a lot of friends, just a few really close ones.  And every one to two years, I had to leave them.  Eventually, the loneliness just became a thing that I lived with.  I sometimes forget not everyone deals with it the same way.

G asked if we could go back to our old home.  My eyes teared up as I told him no.  I told him it was OK to be sad and miss his friends but he didn't have to deal with it alone.

My son and I are so much alike; we get stuck so far inside our own heads that we sometimes forget what our family and friends might be feeling or that they are only too happy to help if we just ask.

My heart is breaking for my son right now but I hope when he wakes up tomorrow, he'll remember he doesn't have to be alone.

To wave or not

Ninety years ago, in Vienna, Austria, a woman named Elizabeth was born.  She had three siblings, a brother and sister, who were several years older, and another brother who was two years younger.  Her father was a leather craftsman and silversmith. 

When Elizabeth was three years old, her mother attempted suicide.  She was so ill mentally, that Elizabeth's father had to commit her to an institution.  Ten years later, the Nazis took over Austria.  Shortly after, Elizabeth's mother disappeared. 

No one is absolutely certain of her fate but speculation leads one to believe she was a victim of the Nazis' eugenics program.  Quite simply, the Nazis believed that anyone like Elizabeth's mother was mentally deficient and should be euthanized.  Today, we call that murder. 

Elizabeth now lives in the US near her family.  I know this because she is my grandmother.   I sometimes wonder what she is feeling when she sees a Nazi swastika but my grandmother doesn't speak much about things that bother her deeply. 

More to the point, what kind of person waves a swastika, knowing fully well the kind of fear and horror it invokes among those who suffered at the Nazis' hands?

Symbols are powerful.  They can inspire confidence, patriotism, faith, courage, etc.  They can also inspire the opposite:  terror, hatred, avarice and anguish.

I say this because I would no more wave a Confederate flag in front of my African American neighbors than I would a swastika in front of a Jewish community. 

But it's my right, you say?  I'm a big believer that just because you can, doesn't mean you should.  Germany still suffers the stain of her Nazi past the same as the American South still suffers the stain of slavery.  I don't believe we should forget the lessons of our history but we should not rub anyone's face in it.

It's time to put the flag away.