Critical moments in the order they came to me (update)

Quote of the day:

Life shrinks or expands according to one's courage - Anais Nin

Oh well, I guess it is time to answer my own question. Here follows some critical moments in the order they came to me.

My son’s bar mitzvah nineteen years ago:

I sat behind the women’s screened off section of the intimate, tiny, neighborhood, orthodox synagogue – surrounded by strangers. My son sang like a lark, even as a nightingale. His voice rang through and into my soul catching my breath and holding me, too awed even to weep, although I felt tears streaming down my cheeks.

Sitting behind the “screen” in the women’s section watching the men gathered in the main hall of the synagogue I became confused with feelings. At first I was overcome by the ancient tradition and ritual of my son joining the men’s world and being hailed as a sapling adult. And then, almost at the same moment I was angered by the injustice and inequality of the situation. There I was, the person who had brought him up almost entirely alone with very little income working and struggling to make ends meet as a single parent. And yet, I was required to sit behind a screen, excluded from the ceremony and watch others participating in this important event.  In order to see what was going on with my own son I had to strain my eyes peeking through cracks of the wooden slats designed to keep the genders apart.

At that moment, I realized that my son was entering the adult world and would soon no longer need me. I decided then and there that I would change my life. Two years later leaving my family in Israel, I was on my way to America, son at my side. At age 39 I went back to school in Buffalo, working full-time, and during the following ten years, completed a BA, Masters and Ph.D.

My son’s birth thirty two years ago:

What a sense of achievement! Up until then I had “learned” to think of myself as bad, destructive and unlovable. At that moment I felt that I was finally capable of doing something good. After all, if I was so bad, how was I able to give birth to this beautiful and wondrous child? I looked at the infant lying there next to me, immediately after labor, his eyes open staring directly at me. I knew intuitively he was sizing me up and thinking to himself, “Hmm … I wonder who she is.” From that moment he became my teacher about unconditional love.

Completing my final doctoral, “comprehensive exams” (prior to the dissertation).

At the end of coursework for the doctorate I was required to write an exam. It would take six hours with a half an hour lunch break. The exam included three questions to be answered in-depth with correct citations based on memory. Seven hours later, sitting in my car after completing a 25 page paper, I wept with exhaustion and exhilaration. The feeling, surge of in-confidence was indescribable. Indeed, I have never been able to describe it.

Two days before my friend Charlie died:

He sent for me early in the morning to help him confirm that he was nearing the end of his life. After we talked together about his fears, Charles turned to ask me how I was feeling. The moment was critical in a few different ways. First, realizing that if someone cares enough about me to ask me how I feel even as he is dying, I must be lovable. Second, Charlie called for me when he wanted to be told the truth about his situation knowing that I was able to face the discomfort - I must be dependable. Finally, love is deep and complex and does not end when someone dies.

When I was in my late teens, a couple of small, seemingly insignificant incidents changed my perceptions forever. Even now in my fifties I vividly remember the feelings of those moments some thirty years ago.

First:

I met Bill Stafford, an American Peace Corps teacher, on a train traveling from Johannesburg to Bulawayo and invited him to stay with us for a while as he passed through Zimbabwe (then Rhodesia). He was on his way to work in Botswana, a neighboring country. One day he and I gave a ride to a young black African woman who was working at a friend’s home. Bill jumped out and opened the front door of the car for the woman to enter. As he did that I remember feeling amazed and ashamed both at the same time. In that moment, I realized that I had learned all black African people were expected to sit at the back of the car. Bill’s behavior showed me that it was natural and polite to offer a guest the front seat of the car no matter who they are or the color of their skin.  In those days we would feel liberal or magnanimous if we simply allowed a black African person in our car at all!

Second:

I remember a Jef Wouters’ poster of a brown Madonna and child in my friend Jan’s home. I was probably seventeen years old when I first saw it. I remember standing very silently in front of the painting. I was aghast! By the time I was seventeen I had never thought of seeing the Madonna and child portrayed any other way than white with European and Caucasian features. My perception had been completely shaped by the images I had seen throughout my childhood. I was moved so much by that picture that I purchased it. It hung on my wall for over twenty years and, sadly, was damaged during my move to America.

(Both these incidents are adapted from the third chapter in my book, Confronting Our Discomfort: Clearing the Way for Anti-Bias in Early Childhood)

A number of books have changed my life. I want to mention just two: Educated in Romance: Women, Achievement and College Culture by Holland & Eisenhart, and A Room of One’s Own by Virginia Woolf.

The first was required reading for a course on qualitative research specifically with regards to ethnography. I remember the moment I was reading it that turned me into a feminist. It was in the spring of 1992.

A Room of One’s Own I read as a result of reading Silences by Tillie Olson. I completed both books in the summer of 1994 after which I created my first ever study and, alone, built myself a large, strong desk (which I still use today).

My own room has supported my writing a dissertation, a book and now a blog!

Of course, it has helped me do so much more, but that I will leave for future postings, perhaps.

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Just in - an email from a dear friend in New Zealand (you can see her in my Friends album):

Have just read your crit moments. I was moved by what you said and your thoughts, also your willingness to share. Love Laura

Comments

[kimbofo]

This is a staggering personal post. I feel almost voyuerestic (spelling?) reading it. But by sharing your insightful words I can feel the pain, puzzlement, wonder, intelligence, love, wisdom and humility that you, too, must have experienced during these 'critical moments'. I don't feel nearly experienced enough to be able to write anything of this calibre.

[Brenda]

kimbofo says it better than I could. I feel changed from reading these; more connected than ever to this 6 billion strong shared venture of living. That there are those such as you living at this depth, this profundity, with this insight and loving compassion... makes it all even more worth while than it already it. Exceptional and inspiring! xo

[the narrator]

This is an extraordinary list. in the moments, and in the writing. Very excellent.

[Tamar]

Kimbofo, Brenda and narrator:
Thank you so much. Am so pleased this was *good* reading. It was, indeed, difficult to write.

[Jean]

I printed this out to read in comfort and I'm still having thoughts and feelings about it. It's very interesting and moving to know such deep things from your life experience, and leads to much deep pondering about one's own...

[Tamar]

Jean - it was quite difficult for me to write but a release to put it all out there.