It’s About Them

As a kid growing up in Abilene, Texas, I recall those times with Mom or Dad would come back from the store with a little plastic, red poppy they had received for making a donation to the Veterans of Foreign Wars. That was, of course, the Memorial Day weekend. My father would wear that little poppy on his suit Sunday morning, although it was years before I really understood what the little flower represented, and that the artificial poppies were made by disabled vets.

As I understand it, the significance of the poppy and the rememberance of faithful veterans killed in action goes back to the Great War–World War I, although Memorial Day (which was called Decoration Day at one time) as an event goes back to the Civil War era. When American troups were lost to enemy action and disease in Europe during the Great War, they were buried in Flanders Fields, where they take their rest to this day.

I’ve been told that poppies only grow on soil that’s been broken and turned, as in the preparation and use of a grave. This was the inspiration of one of the greatest poems ever written to the memory and dedication of our uniformed heros past. It was written by John Mcrae in 1915, but it fits today, more than ever:

In Flanders Fields

In Flanders Fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row

That mark our place; and in the sky

The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow

Loved and were loved, and now we lie

In Flanders Fields

Take up our quarrel with the foe;

To you from failing hands we throw

The torch; be yours to hold it high.

If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies blow

In Flanders Fields

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James D. Sutton, Psychologist    www.docspeak.com

I live in a small community in South Texas. When we became large enough in population to have our own Super Wal-Mart, it became more than just a store.

It became the cultural center of Atascosa County.

I was in the store one weekend and decided to have a bit of lunch at the McDonald’s there in the store. I ordered chicken tenders.

“Okay,” the young lady behind the counter said, “but it will take six minutes.”

“That’s fine,” I replied. Only in our rushed along world and lifestyle would it be necessary to warn a customer they would have to wait a whole six minutes.

I figured to check the stock market and my email on my Moto-Q while I waited. To my horror, I had left my phone at the house. I actually had to WAIT six minutes.

It was … it was … it was … WONDERFUL! A few minutes peace without constant bombardment of whatever stimuli that keep us way too occupied just about all the time.

I remember an experiment I read about. If a person could be completely still and quiet for at least 15-25 minutes (that’s a LONG time by today’s standards), the corpus collosum (that band of thick fibers that connect the two hemispheres of the brain) will begin to “sing.” Creativity and higher level concentration and thought begin at that point … 15-25 minutes in.

A heavy price to pay for quality thought, huh?

James Sutton, Pychologist     www.docspeak.com

Today I flew into Pensacola, Florida for only the second time in my life. The first time was over 40 years ago when, as a young sailor, I attended communications training there at Correy Field.

 I’m pretty sure I was the only person above 30 on the flight from Houston to Pensacola. I had a pretty good idea that just about everyone on the plane (mostly guys, but a few young ladies also), were Navy personnel. After a little discussion, I discovered I was right. They were a fine group of men and women; polite, engaging, and even a little interested in hearing about what it was like in the “old” Navy.

I’d put myself in their hands. I mean it. Some folks think it’s stylish to put down our young people today, but they’re wrong to throw everyone in one big category.

On this trip to Florida I saw a number of military folks in the desert uniform. The next time you see a young man or young woman in that uniform, check out their right shoulder. They carry the American flag there. Some of their ranks have died with that flag on their shoulder.

That’s worth remembering from time to time. Indeed, It’s About Them.

James Sutton, Psychologist    www.docspeak.com

On my last trip out of state, I experienced something that caused me to reflect on the value of family. (This seems to be a recurrent theme in many of my blog posts, but I can’t think of anything that has more inpact on the development of our young people today than an emphasis of family and spiritual values.)

I was in the Cincinnati airport trying to catch a ride home. My American Airlines flight had mechanical trouble, but, fortunately for me, there was a straight flight on Delta that got me home even earlier. I was waiting for the flight when I noticed a family of three next to me. There was Dad, Mom and a very young girl. Their airplane was delayed.

Dad sat with the daughter while Mom took off to do a bit of shopping. (Terminal “C” at that airport is a world in its own.) She had been gone only a short time when the gate announced that their plane was ready to board.

The little girl sensed this was a problem. How could she get onto the airplane without Mommy? She began to cry.

“Honey, it’s okay,” her father soothed. “We’ll wait as long as we can,” he said calmly. “But if Mommy doesn’t get back in time for us to catch this plane home, we’ll get the next one. We’re together; that’s the main thing.”

The mother did show up in time for them to catch the plane home.

What the father said to his daughter was sage wisdom–and right on target. There are things much worse than missing a plane.

I shared this little story with my wife when I got home, and she agreed. When you have your loved one(s) with you, home is with you also, wherever you are. We thought back through the years where the same kind of thing happened to us, like the time when the four of us had a bit of trouble getting home from Jaimaca. We were together, and that’s what mattered the most. When 9-1-1 caught us in Las Vegas trying to get home when no planes were flying, our son’s company bought a new Lincoln for him so he could get home with his wife and his parents. But we had to do it quickly, because they had to close on a house. Now THAT was an adventure–a rocket-quick trip from Nevada to San Antonio with only potty and fuel breaks.

We were together, and that’s what mattered the most.

“We’re together, and that’s what matters the most.” What a powerful and comforting message to share with our children.

 James Sutton, Psychologist   www.docspeak.com
 

I don’t recall eating turkey for Thanksgiving as a kid. Our family was pretty small: just Mom, Dad, Sis and me. Mom would always buy a large chicken hen, then she would prepare it like a turkey.

It was always like that for as long as I could remember because we had that meal to ourselves. Dad would be off for the day, of course, and it was family time–very precious family time.

(Christmas was much different. We’d pile in the old Chevy and go to Grandma’s in Oklahoma, where there was always PLENTY of family. Grandma lived in a small duplex, so there were kids sleeping on the floor all over the place. One bathroom, too; I don’t know how we survived the holidays. But we did.) 

One Thanksgiving stands out in my mind. It was the time Dad brought home two ducks for Thanskgiving dinner. Someone at work had gone duck hunting and shared the bounty.

These weren’t dressed ducks; they arrived feathers and all, wrapped up in newspaper. I was spellbound watching my father remove the feathers and prepare the ducks for the stuffing and roasting.

My sister and I EACH had a wishbone that year. Pretty cool.

The most important thing about those small Thanksgiving gatherings was the coming together of our family with love and gratitude in our thoughts and hearts. Obviously, that kind of family tradition and closeness is still around, but there also seems to be so much so much more around to distract us from both family and thankfulness.

Our children need generous helpings of both. Have a blessed Thanksgiving.

PS: My blog, “Five Kernels of Corn-The Thanksgiving Story,” has received a ton of hits, and I’m at a loss as to why. But it was neat to see it. It would make a great story to read before you dive into the turkey on Thursday. Blessings.

 James Sutton, Psychologist   www.docspeak

My friend in California, Dr. Marvin Marshall, shared this letter from a parent in his most recent newsletter. I’m printing it here with his permission, and direct you to his website, www.MarvinMarshall.com. My comments are after the letter.

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Dr. Marshall,

The teacher who loves to give “Oops” notes is back this year as my son’s talented and gifted teacher. “Oops” notes are
given out when a child misbehaves or does not have his homework. The notes show a slumped stick figure whose head
hangs in shame and must be signed by the parents.

Yesterday, the 8th day of school, my son, who is mostly a straight “A” student, asked me to sign his Oops note for
not having a quote written down on paper.

My son said the assignment, as he remembers it, was simply: “Bring a quote about achievement to class and be prepared to share it with the class.”

So on the appointed day, student after student went to the front of the room and read their quote from a piece of
paper. When it was my son’s turn, he walked up without a paper because he knew the quote by heart and recited:

     “If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.”

The teacher said, “Where’s your paper?”

My son said, “I don’t need a paper. I already know the quote.”

The teacher said, “Go over to my desk and get an Oops note.” The teacher said this while he was still in the front of the
class. The teacher knows he is shy and easily embarrassed because she had him last year.

He felt embarrassed and humiliated and went to get the note, which he brought over to the teacher, then waited while the
teacher filled it out and handed it to him.

He sat back down at his desk while his friend next to him hurriedly wrote out his memorized quote, less he face the
same punishment.

The note is sitting here on my desk, waiting for my signature.

What was the point of the activity? I assume to expose them to ideas about achievement and help encourage them in their
advanced math.

What was he punished for? Being able to recite a quote from memory? Being familiar enough with sayings and quotations
that he would already have known a quote about achievement?

It seems he was punished for being too smart. Was he encouraged? Just the opposite; he felt discouraged and
shamed.

And, by the way, these quotation papers were not turned into the teacher.

I can’t get over the mentality of a teacher who would do this to a child and the absolute end-means inversion of the
objective.

What was the teacher thinking?

An extremely frustrated mother.

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Her concern sounds reasonable to me, and, from her knowledge of her son, my guess is that he told the truth pretty much like it happened. What really rips me about this whole thing is that the young man apparently did EXACTLY what was on the assignment. The teacher was intending to inspire these students about achievement, yet engaged in a behavior that essentially thwarted not only achievement, but initiative. And all of this is supposed to be a “bonus” because this is a talented and gifted class.

I agree with Mom. What was she thinking?

What would be her best response as a parent? I only know what I would do if it were my son or daughter. I’d sent the note back to the teacher unsigned but stapled to a noted that would say I would prefer to come to school and sign it in the teacher’s presence after I have had a chance to visit with her about the incident. I would be hopeful that the situation could be resolved, and perhaps even some reasonable, relationship-rebuilding action could take place.

I would hope that could be accomplished, but I WOULD’T write down what I intended to say.  

 James D. Sutton, Psychologist   www.docspeak.com 

When one turns pens on a wood lathe, he accumulates quite a pile of short pieces of exotic and domestic hardwoods. They’re beautiful, too beautiful to toss. But what do you do with them?

I had a bucketful of ‘em. They didn’t seem to be worth much.

I started to toss the pieces into the trash anyway, when an idea struck. I dumped them out on my workbench and sorted out a few. I glued several of the pieces together, clamped them overnight, and turned them on the lathe the next morning.

I made an inkwell and an old-fashioned dip-pen using a wing feather from a barred wild turkey. Click here to see it.

The finished product looked NOTHING like the random bits and pieces I had started with. Those pieces were now part of a greater whole. Their individual insignificance became significant, indeed.

There’s strength in bringing pieces together. For instance, it’s no chore to break a plain old #2 wooden pencil. But when you tape 15 or so of them together in a bundle, breaking them barehanded is next to impossible. 

One idea doesn’t seem like much, but when you compile them into a cohesive whole, you end up with a house that will give you shelter, an automobile that will take you where you want to go, a book that can encourage and inform, and a computer that can keep track of it all.

And it’s the same with people. Whether we’re talking about adults or young people, there’s strength and power in numbers and the capacity to move the efforts of those numbers toward a worthy accomplishment.

But what am I going to do now with 47 inkwells?

 James Sutton, psychologist     www.docspeak.com  

My last post drew an interesting comment:

“Humanitarians” do not start wars which kill 700,000

My knowledge of American History is good enough for me to know that Abraham Lincoln DID NOT start the Civil War. The forces of South Carolina, which ultimately grew into the Southern Confederacy, started it by demanding the surrender of the garrison at Fort Sumter in April of 1861.

If anything, Lincoln was determined to STOP a war that pitted brother against brother and created an internal cancer of a country feeding upon itself. Read the history; it’s there. Who in their right mind would CHOOSE to lead a mess like that?

It had to be worse than a 100 Iraqs. 

I’m not Abraham Lincoln’s apologist; I don’t have to be. We’ve made holidays of the birth of only two presidents, and he was one of them.

We don’t honor killers in that fashion.

We carved in granite on the Mall in Washington, D.C., what is arguably one of the finest short speeches ever written, The Gettysburgh Address. It contains a number of words like “we,” “our,” and “us.” There’s not a single reference to “I.”  It’s a collective call to honor. We think enough of this man’s words that we encourage our children to learn them and recite them. 

Not exactly the philosophy of a killer, huh?

In all fairness to Mr. Lincoln, our Founding Fathers saved the Civil War for him by electing to pass on the issue of slavery. In addition to the moral components of the issue, they were afraid that abolishing slavery would cause collapse to the economies that depended on slave labor. Some of these men themselves owned slaves.

That issue simmered and festered until it errupted 85 years later. The war was on.

Lincoln didn’t whip it up for a little something to do while he was in the White House.

James Sutton, Psychologist     www.docspeak.com 

What is Success?

There is a lot of discussion regarding the elements of success. In the end, Emerson probably said it best.

 James Sutton, Psychologist www.docSpeak.com

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To laugh often and much; to win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children; to earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends; to appreciate beauty; to find the best in others; to leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch or a redeemed social condition; to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded. Ralph Waldo Emerson

I have three precious things which I hold fast and prize. The first is gentleness; the second is frugality; the third is humility. They keep me from putting myself before others. Be gentle and you can be bold; be frugal and you can be liberal; avoid putting yourself before others and you can become a leader among men. Lao-Tzu

There are five questions that pertain to the evaluation of a child or adolescent’s self-esteem. It is probable that a child with low self-esteem will have difficult in more than one area addressed by these five questions.

These questions come from a downloadable guide for parents, grandparents and teachers entitled, “Improving a Youngster’s Self-Esteem.” For more information about this informative guide, go to: http://www.docspeak.com/Ebooks/esteem.htm

James Sutton, Child and Adolescent Psychologist

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Question 4 of 5: Evaluating a Youngster’s Self-Esteem

IS HE WILLING TO TAKE APPROPRIATE RISKS?

LIfe involves risk. The very hope of progress, just about any kind of progress, demands that we take risks. Not fool-hearty risks, of course, but age and situation-appropriate risks.

Examples of risks include sports and other areas of competition, the sort of classes a high school student signs up for, seeking an after-school job, and the big one for a guy … asking a girl out for a date. Life requires risk all the time.

The bottom line of risk-taking is always the same: fear of failure. If that fear is strong enough, one will not risk. But there’s a paradoxical quality to it. Since one cannot experience success UNLESS he takes a risk, a paralyzing fear of ultimately creates … failure.

We might consider here a pattern of an opposite effect, a fear of success. The whole notion of success doesn not fit well with a poor self-image or a low self-esteem. Many youngsters will strive for a consistency of a poor self-image rather than a successful life-style. That seems to run contrary to the laws of personhood, but in three decades of working with young people, I have seen it happen over and over again.

NEXT: Question 5 of 5: Evaluating a Youngster’s Self-Esteem

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There are five questions that pertain to the evaluation of a child or adolescent’s self-esteem. It is probable that a child with low self-esteem will have difficult in more than one area addressed by these five questions.

These questions come from a downloadable guide for parents, grandparents and teachers entitled, “Improving a Youngster’s Self-Esteem.” For more information about this informative guide, go to: http://www.docspeak.com/Ebooks/esteem.htm

James Sutton, Child and Adolescent Psychologist

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Question 3 of 5: Evaluating a Youngster’s Self-Esteem

HOW DOES SHE HANDLE CRITICISM, EVEN CONSTRUCTIVE, WELL-INTENDED CRITICISM?

Does she accept criticism graciously and use it as a springboard for improvement, or does just about ANY criticism bring about a response like, “How come you’re always picking on ME?”

Some youngsters feel they have long since met their quota of mistakes … for the rest of their lives! So, when one more is help up in front of them, they’re not exactly happy about it.

Sometimes there is an opposite effect. This is the youngster who had difficulty accepting comliments. This situation is actually part of the same concern.

We all have an image of ourselves as a total person. If that image is a poor one, compliments will be in conflict with it. In other words, the compliment can’t find a place to “fit.” Consequently, the youngster might reject a compliment in order to maintain consistency of a poor self-image and of low self-esteem. One might say that this is self-defeating and that it doesn’t make much sense at all. But it is consistent.

NEXT: Question 4 of 5: Evaluating a Youngster’s Self-Esteem

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Collision Course: One Size DOESN’T Fit All 

When two related circumstances come crashing together on the same day, it’s hard to cast it off as circumstance. The real question becomes one of, “What is the lesson here, and how do I best learn from it?”

(My apologies for the HTML “scramble” on the fonts here. It’s what happens sometimes when you cut-and-paste. I worked on it, and it only got worse!)

 James Sutton, Psychologist http://www.docspeak.com/

Event #1: On a flight home from Washington, D.C., a fellow passenger passed me a copy of the May 5th, 2001, US News and World Report. The magazine contained a gripping article about youth suicide (”Where Do Hopes Go?”).

According to the article it had been a year since two friends, a couple of teenage boys, deliberately ended their lives by crashing a parent’s vehicle into a huge tree in front of a church in East Haddam, Connecticut. The whole community was shaken by the event.At first, nothing seemed “typical.” The boys came from caring, middle-class homes. The act had been planned for weeks, and the boys had freely discussed their plans with friends (who were sworn to remain silent about it).

In hindsight, however, there were clues. Between the two boys there was unresolved grief, persistent drug use, serious deterioration of grades, abandonment of commitments and talk of no-way-out hopelessness. In the end, neither of these boys felt that things could ever improve or that anyone, even friends, could help them. (If you think about it, this is a type of arrogance, but I don’t fault youngsters for it; their perception is flawed. Strongly insisting that they are wrong usually just adds fuel to their fire. If anyone, adults included, knew exactly what to do to make their life work out, wouldn’t most of them do it?) No wonder the Surgeon General has proclaimed youth suicide to be a national crisis in this country.

What makes this East Haddam story even more gripping is the fact that a survey taken some time before the dual suicide had indicated that 30% of the community’s 8th-graders reported being depressed “All or most of the time.” To the question, “Does your community care about you?” 80% of the teens reported, “No.”

To their credit, the folks of East Haddam are working on the problem in a community-wide effort to not only care about their young people, but to make certain the kids know it.

Event #2: It’s the evening of the same day as I check my email. There’s one from a worried mom. Her 13-year-old daughter had shut down in school. There were other related concerns, but the primary problem was noncompliance.

This girl was not dangerous; her behavior threatened no one. The remedy consisted of removing her from her regular school and placing her into a behavioral class in a very tough alternative school. At this facility, youngsters and their things are searched upon entering the school, and they are forbidden to bring a lunch from home (a security issue). Apparently there’s a physically demanding, boot-camp-like component to the program.According to the mother, the girl was traumatized by the whole experience. She lost focus, lost sleep, lost weight and lost hope. There was some temporary improvement in some grades, but at what cost? If the situation actually was as this mother described (an important if), her concerns seem justified.I was an educator long before I was a psychologist. I know full well the challenges schools face today in providing education that is accountable and fair to all concerned. But in this girl’s case it is possible that the school’s “cure” for her noncompliance could do serious harm to her one way or another.

THE PICKLE JAR, Part 2

(Here’s a great little piece from that famous author, Anonymous. As a first-generation college student, I can also identify with having parents who sacrificed much to give their children as many opportunities in life as possible. It’s interesting to consider how my folks (perhaps yours, too) likely would not have considered it a sacrifice at all, but rather a wise and solid investment.—James Sutton)

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We would always celebrate each deposit with an ice cream cone. I always got chocolate; Dad vanilla. When he received his change, Dad would show me the coins in his hand. “When we get home, we’ll start filling the jar again.”

He always let me drop the first coins into the empty jar. As they rattled around with a happy jingle, Dad grinned at me. “You’ll get there on pennies, nickels, dimes and quarters, but you’ll get there. I’ll see to that.”

The years passed. I finished college and took a job in another town. Once, while visiting my parents, I used the phone in their bedroom. I noticed that the pickle jar was gone. It had served its purpose and had been removed.

A lump rose in my throat as I stared at the spot beside the dresser where the jar had always stood. My father was a man of few words; he never lectured me on the values of determination, perseverance and faith. He taught these virtues with that pickle jar.

THE PICKLE JAR, Part 1

(Here’s a great little piece from that famous author, Anonymous. As a first-generation college student, I can also identify with having parents who sacrificed much to give their children as many opportunities in life as possible. It’s interesting to consider how my folks (perhaps yours, too) likely would not have considered it a sacrifice at all, but rather a wise and solid investment.—James Sutton)

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The pickle jar, as far back as I can remember, sat on the floor beside the dresser in my parents’ bedroom. When he got ready for bed, Dad would empty his pockets and toss his coins into the jar.

As a small boy, I was always fascinated at the sounds the coins made as they were dropped into the jar. They landed with a merry jingle when the jar was almost empty. Then the tone gradually muted to a “thud” as the jar filled. I used to squat on the floor in front of the jar and admire the copper and silver discs that glinted like a pirate’s treasure when the sun poured through the bedroom window.

When the jar had filled, Dad would sit at the kitchen table and roll the coins. Taking the coins to the bank was always a big production. The rolls were stacked snugly in a small, cardboard box that was placed between Dad and me on the seat of his old truck.

As we drove to the bank, Dad would look at me hopefully. “These coins are going to keep you out of the textile mill, son. You’re going to do better than me. This old mill town’s not going to hold you back.”

Every time he slid the box of rolled coins across the counter at the bank, he would grin proudly at the cashier. “These are for my son’s college fund,” he would always say. “He’ll never work at the mill all his life like me.”

If you notice that the last two posts (parts two and three) have some strange paragraph structure, this is to let you know I’m aware of it. Every time I try to fix it, it “glitches” in some other place. This is due in part because I “cut and pasted” the article. Sorry for any inconvenience, but you hopefully can get the idea.

 James Sutton, Educator/Psychologist

For some crazy reason, my other blog, "Through Their Eyes," glitched on me. I can't edit it at all. So that's why I've started this one. To see the earlier items, go to http://throughtheireyes.wordpress.com.

We'll have this blogsite up and going in no time.

 James Sutton, Psychologist