God and Caesar at Middle School

Posted: January 10, 2025 | Author: | Filed under: Child Centered Activities, Chronicles of a First Time Parent | Tags: , , , , , , | 1 Comment

John Stuart Mill has been much on my mind, of late.  This 19th century English philosopher – called the most influential thinker in the history of liberalism – advocated proportional representation, the emancipation of women, and the development of labor organizations and farm cooperatives.  More importantly, he was home schooled by his Father.  

During the midwinter holidays, I pondered home schooling my son.  We talked, I read the Maine statute on home schooling and wrote a “Letter of Intent to Home School” for submission to the local Superintendent.  In the end, we deferred to our Son, who decided NOT to homeschool now, but to remain in the Middle School.  I stood down but my thoughts once written stand as a manifesto of my son’s education, at his time coming of age.  

William F. Buckley then came to mind.  The Yale educated public intellectual, considered the founder of the modern conservative movement, he – of my Father’s generation – criticized Yale for “forcing collectivist, Keynesian, and secularist ideology on students…denying any sense of individualism by teaching them to embrace the ideas of liberalism.”  Buckley’s “God and Man at Yale: The Superstitions of ‘Academic Freedom’” has endured and became a central pillar of the American conservative movement.  

I am no Yale man.  At Northwestern, I read the Classics and advocate not individualism but that all life is one; neither Caesar nor religious dogma are my Master; consciousness in the whole of the divine feminine grounded in the compassionate masculine, be that my polestar.

Here then is my manifesto on the education of the young man who must need find his own path, while following my footsteps.  Lacking any formal title, I call this “God and Caesar at Middle School.”

Dear Sir,

Respectfully, I write to inform you that [my son], age 12, shall be withdrawn from SoPo Middle School effective 4 January 2025.  Pursuant to M.R.S. 20-A §5001-A(3)(A)(4) this is my written notice of intent to provide home instruction. 

My approach to pedagogy combines the intellectual rigor of John Stuart Mill’s education grounded in the emotional intelligence of a 21st century global citizen. The classical tradition shall be paramount as we look to the future. 

Geometry and physics shall be taught in the applied sense.  Our Greek Revival Farmhouse requires extensive renovations, and working with me, [he] shall learn both the practical skills of building and the mathematical truth that Pythagorus resides in every corner.  “Measure twice, cut once” goes the maxim; the 3-4-5 triangle every carpenter’s adage.  Thus he will learn.  

There is a tradition of a carpenter’s son becoming a leader.  As I teach the practical, so too the mystical; Pythagorus also taught of celestial harmony – the Music of the Spheres – and so [he] shall learn the broad plain of Athenian philosophy.  

We shall ponder both God and Caesar, the twin domains of the Western Intellectual tradition.  “Ad Maiorem Dei Gloriam” may be our motto, and we would begin with John “Ἐν ἀρχῇ ἦν ὁ Λόγος” but translate “Λόγος” in all languages, all cultures: Allah, YHWH, Elohim, Bhagavan, Iraivan, Gitche Manitou, Xu, Unkulunkulu, to name but a few. There is no monopoly on the truth and in the comparison he shall learn critical thinking, and respect for other points of view.  

If we read “Percy Jackson” then also Ovid’s “Metamorphosis.”  To my mind mythology is not mere childish fiction but the symbolic language of archetypal truth. Carl Jung, a man of science who studied the mind – the “logos” of the psyche – wrote that religions perfectly coopted the archetypes onto their narrative. “Percy Jackson” may be an engaging fiction but also something deeper.  So shall I teach literature. 

When Persephone returns, come spring, [he] shall labor in the gardens of our Art Farm in Sopo, and at Frinklepod Farm in Arundel, and also the Cold Brook Farm in Sherman, Maine.  [He] shall drive and maintain heavy equipment and work with his hands, in the dirt.  I shall teach connections, that all life is one. 

We have taken classes in welding, and shall now learn wood turning, and [he] will learn the practical art – literally “art” in Latin means “skill” – both of Hephaestus, of Prometheus and of Daedalus.  Art making predates agriculture, which is to say it predates civilization. It is a priori. It is hard-wired in our DNA. So then shall we build skills, both practical and conceptual. 

Life itself will be [his] classroom.  He will both be schooled at least 175 days per annum but educated full time;  I vouchsafe that your metrics will be met, which I shall report annually, in arrears on 1 September, in writing as required by law. 

My full time job is parenting and my bread labor is maintaining – part time – the physical plant and property of the Friends School of Portland.  Through that school I intend to hire a certified State of Maine teacher to oversee my pedagogy. 

Finally, for his socialization I expect [he] will continue to participate in extracurricular activities at the Sopo schools. I understand this is permitted under Title 20-A, Section 5021. 

We have crossed the Rubicon. Let the new year begin!

Please confirm acceptance of this missive.  I shall be happy to discuss this at your convenience, but our decision has been made. 

A copy of this written notice has been hand delivered to the Middle School Principal. 

Best regards,

David 

Truths Held Self Evident

Posted: January 3, 2025 | Author: | Filed under: Child Centered Activities, Chronicles of a First Time Parent, consciousness, What is an Art Farm | Tags: , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Among truths held self evident, that healing is the purpose of life must be central. But this view challenges the conventional A-list: asset acquisition, accomplishment, accumulation of wealth, accolade, acclaim, awards, advancement…to name but a few.  

“He who dies with the most toys wins” is the popular path, but life’s hard labors will come to our doorstep, at which time the question is whether we step up or cower. Our future hangs upon the response. 

Easier it is to kick the can down the road.  John Maynard Keynes, the economist of destiny, who structured the post-WW2 financial reconstruction, famously said, “In the long run, we are all dead.”  But life’s grim reaper is one keen accountant, and even if we choose to ignore, intergenerational trauma will settle all accounts going forward.  

“Intergenerational trauma” was a new concept to me until a few years ago when my wife, a Licensed Clinical Professional Counselor spoke of it.  Since then the term keeps popping up and it seems to define something of our zeitgeist.  Some among us may claim this is just “a hoax from China” but scientific fact argues against brazen disregard.  

Epigenetics is the science of how environmental and behavioral factors alter gene activity without changing the DNA sequence.  The term “epigenetics” comes from the Greek word epi- which means “on or above.”  Originally introduced in 1942, the field has grown rapidly since 2004, when the genome was fully sequenced.  

Among its findings are that environmental factors can influence the health and traits over three generations through epigenetic change passed down via sperm and egg cells; the “transgenerational” effect impacts grandchildren even though they were not directly exposed to the original environmental factor.  In other words, even the untold family stories shape who we are, and become. 

“Beneath every railroad tie there lies a dead Irishman” is an adage describing the struggles of the Irish emigres.  My father’s ancestors immigrated to the United States circa 1850. We do not have records, but believe the Mahany clan were from the city of Cork, in the County of Munster where the Great Potato Famine raged.  Between 1845 and 1855 more than 1.5 million adults and children – all enduring trauma – left Ireland seeking refuge in America.  

The railroads were major employers of the Irish, and the Mahany family followed that path.  Daniel M Mahany/Mahoney, my great-grandfather, was born in Kentucky in 1860, the era of the Civil War, the Confederate South; intense tension among the Catholics, immigrants and the Protestant natives; machine politics and its rogues’ gallery of gang violence.  As a laborer on the L&N Railroad his work must have been extremely difficult, and how he dealt with those tensions, or even traumas, once home is left unspoken.  

My Father said little, next to nothing, about his family of origin and I can only wonder what traumas lie buried, untold stories of a painful past, but which still shape our gene pool.  I am the third generation of Daniel Mahany’s child D.J. Mahany  

One of five siblings, I process this neither in a vacuum nor by committee.  The path of healing is deeply personal, each of us bringing to bear the untold complexities of our own lived lives.  But plain is the historical record, factual is the science, and now is my moment.

I wonder if the turbulence of our times is not, to some degree, a long overdue reckoning of intergenerational trauma.  There seems a purging of the collective id; the hypermasculine posturing, saber rattling of geo-political Oligarchs, the comic pretensions of World Wrestling Entertainment, all of which seem a masking of unhealed traumas endured and too long accrued.  Mass violence marked the 20th century – the “century of genocide” – and I wonder if now comes the time when accounts need be settled.  

My children are the fourth generation.  My parenting choices have the potential to be liberating.  Nothing can be more important to me now, at this stage of my life, than healing as the only thing that matters, that the future may be made more clear, centered in the light.  

Turning 12

Posted: December 6, 2024 | Author: | Filed under: Chronicles of a First Time Parent, consciousness, What is an Art Farm | Tags: , , , , , , | 5 Comments

Our son turns 12 next week and I am mulling over rituals to mark this right of passage as our cherub becomes a young man. 

I was raised in the Roman Catholic Church and its ritual would have been Confirmation. I have little memory of that, but it appears five hours of community service were required.  I do remember wearing white, walking down the aisle and choosing Mark as my name.  I chose that name to honor my best friend, who had just suffered a terrible accident in which both his arms were amputated. My choice was one of solidarity. 

The Catholic tradition seems neither my nor my son’s path; I find Christian dogma limiting although Christ consciousness tremendously expansive.  My faith is a work-in-progress while I am seeking alternatives for raising my son. 

In the Amazon, the Satere-Mawe tribe have young men wear a glove filled with bullet ants for 10 minutes.  Pushing the threshold of pain is not quite the path I seek.  In Ethiopia boys jump over a cow, and in Vanuatu they jump from tall towers with vines tied to their ankles, but manliness, to my mind, is more than a measure of strength and courage. 

In the Hebrew tradition the bar mitzvah marks a boy’s coming of age whereupon he begins to assume responsibility for his actions.  Responsibility tied to manhood appeals to me.  13 is the age of Bar Mitzvah but to my mind, manhood is not just the number of years spent on the planet.  It must be earned through understanding.  This ritual, then, is about values and lessons learned.     

During the summer my son and I volunteered frequently at the South Portland Food Cupboard.  It was an enriching experience, and community service seems relevant in his coming of age.  Construction work such as Habitat for Humanity comes to mind.  I have heard of Church Youth Groups who undertake community service projects.  I am looking for local possibilities.  

The insights of other men should be another aspect of this plan.  My nephew, my son’s cousin, did have a Bar Mitzvah and has agreed to talk with him about the experience, and his own coming of age.  A philosopher/carpenter friend has offered to teach more welding, and we may join with a classmate of my son and his father, for a shared experience; working with tools in the act of making.  Another friend, whose son also is the same age, is loaning us a lathe for turning wood, and that may be another opportunity for input from other men in the community.  My son will benefit from hearing more than my views.  

And then there is the topic of sexuality.  My Father’s coming-of-age speech to me was as comic as it was lacking.  It was haltingly brief, when he simply asked, “Do you have any questions?”  Feeling the tension, of course I replied, “No,” whereupon he handed me a paperback book on Catholic morals.  I recall the author was aghast at a recent 6th grade school field trip, where the girls wore red lipstick and hosiery.  Just blame it on the girls remains the dogmatic view.  What I learned of sexuality came from my older Brother and the locker room, but my son deserves better than that.  

The pious among us claim that traditional morality teaches the male as the leader, with male-female relationships the only acceptable norm.  I regret to inform them that history teaches otherwise.  The Christian era has been relatively brief, while Ancient Greece, Rome and China openly practiced homosexuality and pederasty.  LGBTQ may arguably be the historical norm and reversion to the mean would seem natural. My son will benefit from thinking not in centuries but in millenia. 

The process of writing this has become the means to outline a plan.  Among the core values this DIY ritual should include are:

  • compassion and cooperation are keys to a healthy masculinity
  • no means no, and might does not make right.  
  • emotional intelligence has greater value than sheer intellectual horsepower
  • listen to your heart, not just your head; be curious, ask questions, follow your passion
  • practical problem-solving skills provide a grounded self-confidence
  • making is hard-wired in our DNA; art predates agriculture, and therefore civilization itself
  • Integrity presumes courage; let your word be your bond
  • energy follows thought; actions have consequences

Walking

Posted: October 10, 2024 | Author: | Filed under: Chronicles of a First Time Parent, Farming off the Farm, What is an Art Farm | Tags: , , , , , , | 1 Comment

5 October was day 279 of 2024.  Year-to-date, 274 lives have been taken by suicide in Maine.  

Last Saturday, on the Eastern Prom, “we the people,” deplorables and elite gathered to meet, to give voice, to bear witness, and to walk in support of Suicide Prevention.    800 people walked 2.2 miles with the majestic Casco Bay stretched out around us.  

More than $120,000 was raised.  Under the name “Healing Life” our family raised $820.  We are eternally grateful for the support of our family and friends.  We all went the distance.  We all came together.  Actions speak louder than words and as a family we shall do this again, a repetitive routine exemplifying our commitment to community.  

In the early hours it rained, but the sun broke through.  Beads of many colors were passed out: White for loss of a child, Red for loss of a partner, Gold for loss of a parent, every color of the spectrum, every reason to support suicide prevention, even rainbow beads in support of LGBTQ.  One older man wore a rainbow shirt, that read, “Be a Good Human.”  So simple, yet so hard.  

We worked the raffle table, which was a chance to engage with many people.  One young child, age 6 perhaps, wore gold beads and a placard around their neck, bearing the single word, all caps, “DAD.”  The Mother, now a widow, struggled to pay, and we helped her through the digital payment.  As it turned out she won two raffle prizes.  

She was one among many, all touched by the dark sceptre of death by suicide.  Emotions were raw, so very hard to look life straight in the eye.  But we did.  We all did.  And we walked in support of a cause.  

The American Foundation for Suicide Prevention (AFSP) funds scientific research and public policy advocacy on a national level.  AFSP Maine is one of a nationwide network of chapters, doing the grass roots work focusing on eliminating the loss of life from suicide.  Members of our community were recognized, stood up, each story of loss told.  It was gruesome, and yet, in our bearing witness hope was present.  

In the South Portland Public Schools a Director of Mental and Behavioral Health has been hired, and people from the National Alliance of Mental Health, the CDC and AFSP are lending a hand.  A team has been assembled and a community response is taking root.  Our task now is that such hope is nurtured and blossoms.  

I spoke to my daughter about my childhood, when shame reigned supreme, when no one would dare speak of suicide or mental health.  To put this in context, I spoke of my Grandmother, whose first born child, in 1923, died of SIDS at 21 days then was told by her Doctors, “just go home and forget about it.”  

As if.  

Long is the road to greater acceptance, to understanding, but on 5 October, along the eastern Promenade of Maine, 800 people walked 2.2 miles.  

Chairman Mao famously quoted the Taoist Master Lao Tzu, who said, in the 6th century BC, “the journey of a thousand miles begins beneath one’s feet.”   Let us now stand together, let us walk and go forward, let us heal, we the people.  Our childrens’ lives depend upon this simple truth. 

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In our gardens, our variety of Butternut Squash has been harvested; Tomatoes produce their last; Pole Beans come in this week; Cosmos finally sings aloud in chorus; Mums reside on the entry porch.

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And tonight, in the sky overhead, the Northern Lights showered above, a heart, it seems, in the first photo. Enjoy…

Seedless Champagne Grapes and Suicide

Posted: August 30, 2024 | Author: | Filed under: Chronicles of a First Time Parent | Tags: , | 2 Comments

Recently a friend left home grown blackberries on our porch.  To another neighbor, that day, I delivered home grown peaches and wild seedless champagne grapes.  Life in South Portland would seem idyllic.  

Year-to-date in Sopo there have been zero murders but there have been, to my knowledge, 5 suicides and 1 attempted suicide: 3 were school-aged youths; 2 were parents of children, whom my daughter oversaw as a Rec Camp Counselor; 1 was my daughter’s age-group peer, whose suicide attempt failed.  

February: a 19-year old, recent graduate of the local high school, a counselor in the elementary afterschool program, worked his Friday shift, then drove south to Portsmouth, New Hampshire.  As Aurora pulled dusk across the sky, in his truck he sat, sent a final text to his family, then reached for his newly purchased shotgun.  

April: a boy named Angel, age 16, a straight-A student at the high school, “an independent young man who enjoyed his job at Burger King” rode his bike into the woods.  His phone was left on the ground, but kept transmitting via Snapchat’s location app.  My daughter, his classmate, was aware of this, as were all her peers, and told us that he had gone missing.  A dark night followed, when come morning we learned this young boy had left his bike and phone and taken a rope deeper into the woods.  

June: Two children, both age 8, campers at the South Portland Summer Rec Camp had lives ripped by suicide.  One girl’s mother committed suicide while another’s uncle took his life.

July:  A young boy, age 18, who worked as a Summer Rec Camp Counselor, attempted but failed, to take his life.  For one week he was in Maine Medical Hospital.  

August:  A 14-year old eighth-grade graduate, with “striking blue-green eyes and charming grin [that] made everyone melt,” #6 on the South Portland Little League Majors team, MVP of our All Stars, he took his life.  His brothers’, Mother and Father’s lives ripped now asunder.  

We gathered this evening at his “celebration of life” where our collective grief and despair mocked the word “celebration.”  Social conventions keep not up-to-date with the epidemic in these times.  

His classmates, young boys, were well dressed, as though waiting for school pictures, some wore their athletic jerseys.  The photos on display were those of a toddler and elementary school student, so brief was his life.  

The line was long and snaked around the Funeral Home, hundred’s having turned out in his memory, all of us stunned, grasping for air.  Like Dante’s “9 Circles of Hell” we wound closer into the building, then entered the parlor where the pine casket was closed.  Deepest into the void, we stood in a cratering emptiness.  

We are bereft.  There are no words, no answers, so many unanswered questions.  Repeatedly now we have come together in these most searing of “celebrations.”  

In talking with neighbors, the usual suspects of cause are technology and social media.  Statistics support that, but pandora’s box having been opened, we cannot go back again to an earlier easier time.  My wife and I, instead, have been talking about emotional intelligence and mental health.  

Mental Health America defines Emotional Intelligence as “…the ability to manage both your own emotions and understand the emotions of people around you. There are five key elements to EI: self-awareness, self-regulation, motivation, empathy, and social skills.”  This definition seems clear and cogent.  

To the CDC, “Mental health includes our emotional, psychological, and social well-being. It affects how we think, feel, and act. It also helps determine how we handle stress, relate to others, and make healthy choices.”  To my mind, this definition is vague and leaves me wanting.  

The Superintendent of South Portland Schools wrote to me, “in short order we must pivot to broader community work. On the district side, these efforts will be led by our new Director of Mental and Behavioral Health who will start on September 9.”  

While standing in line at the celebration, we spoke with Lee Anne Dodge, the soul-affirming Director of SOPO Unite, a high-school based “coalition bringing together all sectors of the community–parents, school staff, police, healthcare, businesses, youth serving organizations, civic organizations and faith based organizations….and promote resilience in our community.”  Lee Anne told us that she will meet this week with the CDC to discuss how to broaden their response to community needs.  

Andrew Forsthoefel, the Restorative Practices Systems Specialist of Cumberland County, leads a circle of parents meeting to listen and give voice, coming together to navigate these challenging times.  I have reached out to him and our dialogue will deepen into the fall.  

We the people.  For better or worse.  Until death do us part.

It is my hope that we can weave a new narrative of outreach and empathy, forming circles of hope, to support and save our children, while this black plague of suicide ravages our communities.  

Indeed, now the only way out is through.