misty watercolor memories (of disneyland)

Yesterday at a playdate, over a mojito ("Would you guys like to come over and play? Can I make you a mojito?" let me think... YES.) I had a conversation with a friend who is planning to take her two and a half year old son to Disneyland soon. Apparently, upon telling others of this plan, she's been met with lots of comments like, "Why? He won't remember it." 

Now, I'll interrupt myself for just a moment to say: I love Disneyland. The Disney industrial complex? That, I could critique for hours unabated. It's an unfortunate thing, to be sure: stories that re-enforce the heteronormative, that teach girls that physical beauty is of utmost importance, in which problem solving is all but absent and "heroines" are doomed by their own trusting nature to wait in peril until a handsome guy shows up to save them from themselves, or, in some cases, someone else. Someone...ugly! The horror. I dislike just about everything those stories represent, but somehow I am able to divorce that distaste from my feelings about Disneyland. Main Street's cherry sours, the Matterhorn's abominable snowman, Space Mountain's winding line -- I love it all and, since I grew up in Southern California, have been there more times than I could count. I am stoked for her and stoked for her son.

Okay, back to it: When my friend told me that people poo-pooed her plans for a family vacation to Disneyland, I was surprised. Who in their right mind would advise against taking kids somewhere they are guaranteed to find magical, just because they might not remember every second of the trip? Do they parent this way all the time, and if so, what kinds of things do they consider passable, just because their child won't remember? And then it dawned on me. Cry-it-out. Circumcision. Feeding schedules. Spanking. I've heard them all justified the same way. Oh, they won't remember! It's easier to do it now, when they won't remember. 

I try not to dwell on this sort of thinking too often, but occasionally I'll look back on a day and ask myself: if this were George's (or, now, Zelda's!) last day, would I feel bad about the choices I made today? I don't think, "Eh, who cares? In 10 years he won't remember that I yelled at him!" or "I'll just let her cry; she won't remember it when she's 20!" I replay our days, hopeful that the love and respect I feel for my children was evident in my actions and my words. If I can't honestly say that it was, I apologize and promise to try again the next day. It doesn't matter if my kid is 6 months old or 65; the way I treat them doesn't hinge on what they'll be able to recall, but what will assure them of my love in the present and future, and what will, I hope, better their lives. 

In the running for first memory: the time we forced him to go sledding

A lifetime is made up of a million small decisions, outcomes, and lessons, right? Patterns get created; habits form; preferences take shape. While I'm the first to admit that some days are a total wash and subsequently try to forgive myself, I also realize that those days aren't necessarily immediately water under the bridge. Even minor parenting missteps can have lasting effects that our children can't always articulate. Does the fact that I raise my voice in excitement -- both angry and otherwise -- create a yeller? Well, duh: yes. But, if my son hollered in the library, do you think he could explain that he was doing so because he heard me yell last Wednesday when I was railing about the Presidential primaries? Probably not. On the flip side, however, if he can remind me of the location of every public restroom in every store or restaurant he's ever visited? Some things must be sinking in. There's no scientific journal quite like a two year old, and certainly none as cute. 

The nothing-counts-before-five(?) rule may work for some families, but I'd rather not go through my kids' early lives with fingers crossed that this punishment/pain/other regrettable situation isn't the dreaded first memory. And what will that first memory be? The one they recount on a lazy morning in bed when asked by a boyfriend or girlfriend; the one they tell in a team building exercise at a new job; the one they talk about around the fire at sleepaway camp? I don't know. But if it can't be a story about meeting Winnie the Pooh, I'd gladly settle for a memory of loving, attentive parents in some mundane, everyday situation. Our luck, though? It'll totally be the sledding.

Intact and Jewish on NPN

I have a guest post up on the Natural Parents Network today. If you haven't read enough about George being intact, check it out! Sorry, George.

a conundrum

I regularly read the news from places where I used to live, places where my friends and family have settled, places that I know well and in which I feel I have a vested interest. So, a couple of months ago, when I saw a few stories about a proposed ban on infant circumcision in San Francisco, I took notice. Most of the articles I read at the time dismissed the man gathering signatures as a weirdo, and the idea as too farfetched to ever succeed. Well, weirdo or not, Lloyd Schofield's measure may actually end up on November's ballot, and I'm really, really conflicted about that possibility. 

Firstly, I'd like to say -- though I've said it before and will, undoubtedly, say it again -- I am completely opposed to the practice of circumcising infants and children. It is, in my opinion, a grievous violation of another person's body. A cosmetic surgery that, in the first world where I live, serves no medical purpose. A betrayal of your child's innate trust in you. There is no situation in which I consider it excusable, and I say that as someone who chose a bris shalom over a brit milah to varying degrees of protest from friends and family. With full understanding of and respect for the Jewish tradition, we could not fathom marring our son's perfect body, least of all without his consent. 

That said, the reaction to the proposed ban on circumcision, now that it's making more than local headlines, has surprised me somewhat. I never expected to receive a thank you card from my son in twenty years, expressing his gratitude that I made such an enlightened decision, but I've read some male perspectives ranging from "I was circumcised and I resent the implication that my parents mutililated me" to "Who cares?" Very few responses have been supportive of the proposed measure, and I've read exactly zero men's opinions that lean in fervent favor of the ban. What gives? 

As someone who fights with voice and vote for body autonomy -- for the rights of every person to make his or her own choice about the only thing we each (should) own inalienably -- I'm shocked at the lack of response this is getting from pro-choice feminists. Women who would go to the mat over my right to do what I want with my uterus aren't willing to so much as argue for my son's wang. And I think I know why, at least in part. It's an uncomfortable subject, and a valid sticking point for those who might otherwise vote to ban circumcision: antisemitism. Is it possible that I'm engaging in antisemitism by being an intactivist? I say no, and here's why (though, YOU may be an antisemite, so you know... check that shit):

1. To get this out of the way, Jews can be antisemitic. Self loathing takes many forms. This is not that.

2. You would be hard-pressed to find a reasonable member of any cultural or religious group that believes wholeheartedly in every single tenet they are supposed to uphold. I think 'reasonable' is key here; I appreciate that we allow zealots their beliefs, but I also appreciate that the zealot's right to be zealous ends at another person's body and/or wellbeing. This fact is decreasingly true, but mostly holds for now. 

3. Female genital mutilation (FGM) is defined by the World Health Organization as a procedure that intentionally alters or injures genital organs for non-medical reasons (sound familiar?). It is internationally recognized as a human rights violation. This, too, was a difficult issue as FGM's prevalence in some African and Asian cultures brought up questions of racism and ethnocentrism. Since the WHO first began actively discouraging the practice and campaigning for changes in public policy in 1997, it has been outlawed here in the US. I doubt you could find anyone willing to come out in favor of the removal of an infant's clitoral hood or partial removal of her labia.

4. It is obviously unfortunate to kick an entire culture while they're down, and Jews, like African immigrants to the United States, have certainly had enough outright assaults on our traditions. Being downtrodden, however, does not make us automatically right. Those who need social justice the most are the most helpless members of already oppressed groups. 

Despite all this, I still don't know how I feel about legislature barring observant Jews (and Muslims, for that matter) from participating in a tradition they hold dear. Part of me wishes everyone would just wake up tomorrow and decide that it's mean to cut up a baby, regardless of the history, what Moses said or the cruelty of boys' locker rooms. I know, though, that the discussion is what will facilitate change. I hope sufficient discussion happens before November, because a thousand dollar fine won't help any more than my wished-for inexplicable overnight revelation. In the meantime, I'll be rooting for you, Lloyd Schofield, because everyone deserves a turn on the ballot whether I've made up my mind to agree with him or not. 

(Readers, what do you think about this ballot measure? I'm especially interested if you live in SF!)

the naming

It's been a (long) half month since George's birthday, birthday party and naming ceremony. The week was a little harried, a little different than I'd imagined, but in the end everything worked out beautifully. The fog lifted in San Francisco just in time for George's aunties to make it and in the absence of challah or a mohel, my baby got his Hebrew name just the same.

When I was researching the bris shalom, I found very few resources online for parents who, like us, were trying to welcome and name their son in a gentle and respectful secular way, not incorporating circumcision. The local synagogue provided a less than receptive community, but a couple of friends recommended Barbara Gilday, a lay minister who works with the Unitarian church in town, and she turned out to be a really good fit. If you, like us, live in a town without a very big, active or liberal Jewish community, but you'd like an officiant, as we did, you might have similar luck with your nearby Unitarian fellowship.

Barbara isn't terribly knowledgeable about Judaism, but this turned out to be sort of helpful. She had very few preconceived ideas about how the bris shalom might go, what was traditional and what we "should" be doing. We found some scripts and sat down together to craft a ceremony with only the meaningful-to-us and none of the extras or concessions. The result was a short, sweet and informal gathering with babies running around, friends and family sharing well wishes, bread and honey and -- most importantly -- an intact baby boy with a brand-spankin'-new Hebrew name.

Here is the script. I realize this won't be a riveting post for most people, but my hope is that someone might stumble across it while researching for their own son's bris shalom, and find a useful bit or support for the somewhat thankless task of naming an intact Jewish boy. Without further ado:

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Cast of characters:

Barbara: officiant

Stefanie: mama

Nathan: papa

Tara and Alena: godmothers

Barbara: In every birth, blessed is the wonder
In every creation, blessed is the new beginning
In every child, blessed is life.
In every hope, blessed is the potential.
In every transition, blessed is the beginning.
In every existence, blessed are the possibilities
In every love, blessed are the tears.
In every life, blessed is the love.

Nathan: This Bris Shalom, Hebrew for Greeting or Welcoming Covenant, is our naming and
welcoming ceremony for our son, George Singer. In following part of ancient Jewish custom,
we mark our commitment to raise him in the Jewish tradition, culturally.

Stefanie: We are gathered here today to welcome our baby boy into our circle of family and
friends.

We wish to recognize some of the people who will be important in his life:
His grandparents
His aunt and cousin
His godmothers

(during this recognition we named George's immediate family, including those who weren't able to make it, and his godmothers, who held him during the ceremony)

Barbara: Precious is every living thing in the world
Precious is the life of humankind.

In addition to symbolizing the fruit of Stefanie and Nathan’s union, they drink wine to follow
age-old traditions. They drink wine from this special Kiddush cup. Today, it is filled with the wine
of a sweet young life and from it they taste the sweetness of the great joy that having a family has
brought them.

(Nathan and Stefanie drink from cup and give George a taste.)

Nathan: With each child the world begins anew. By this ceremony your mother and I formally
welcome you to our world and our family. As we name you today, we undertake our
traditional responsibilities as your parents to take you forward into the world as we know it, to love
you, to guide you, to educate you, and to cherish you. You are whole, complete, and perfect. We
promise you, before our family gathered here today in your honor, to do our very best for you each
and every day hereafter.

Stefanie: George, we dedicate you to Torah -- to a never-ending fascination with study and
learning. With a book, you will never be alone.

Nathan: George, we dedicate you to chuppah -- to never-ending growth as a
human being, capable of giving and receiving love. With loving family and friends, you will never
be alone.

Stefanie: George, we dedicate you to ma-asim tovim -- to a never-ending concern for family and
community, justice and charity. While you care for others, you will never be alone.

Nathan and Stefanie: George as you begin your journey through life, may we learn and grow in
our wisdom together. (One after the other.)

(Here, during the actual naming part of the ceremony, Tara, one of George's godmothers talked a little bit about the woman for whom George was named -- Jane Schaffer. She explained the meaning behind his Hebrew name, Ro'i, which means shepherd, as does Schaffer. She then read the Mary Oliver poem "Wild Geese" which Jane and I both love[d].)

Stefanie: Now we would like you to please share any thoughts, blessings, well wishes for
George. (Here, a few people shared their wishes.)

All together: George, all of us bless you and pray that you, together with us, share a life of
wholeness and hopefulness and peace.

Stefanie: Bread is the symbol of sustenance and honey the sign of sweetness. We dip the bread
in honey in hope that our daily strivings will be sweetened by our love for each other. Please share
bread and honey with us to symbolically wish George a sweet life.

Here we passed around and ate the bread.

Alena (Godmother 2): May this child thrive with his mother and father and let his name be known as
Ro'i bar Nathan.

Barbara: Thank you for coming. Nathan and Stefanie now invite you to stay and enjoy refreshments.
L’chaim!

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