It gets better*!

*note sarcasm.

Message from the nurse at the endo's office:

"We got your message about a new pump and Mr So-and-so (the physician's assistant in the office) is not familiar with that company and isn't sure about how they work as far as training so he'd like you to schedule an appointment to discuss it. In the meantime, if you need a pump to get you through, he suggests that you contact So-and-so the Minimed Rep to meet with her to get a replacement."

So much for an unbiased medical staff.

I could not be more pissed off. Weeks of careful thought (yes, M, I was faking nonchalance), 18 months of screwed up supplies, meetings with pump reps from two different companies, and I have to go in to speak with the physician's assistant because they aren't familiar with one of the three big pump companies?? All they have to do is agree that I need a pump! And if ever a person needed a pump, it's me.

Tommorrow, 2:45: show down with Physicians Assistant So-and-so. Stay tuned.

Pump watch continues

Tired of this yet? Me too! I called the soon-to-be-ex-endo's office yesterday to ask if they could please process my pump form. I was directed to the nurse's voice mail, where I left a message. Hopefully, they will get around to it today. If not, I may call tomorrow for a lantus scrip to back up my pump. I have, on two occasions, told them that my current pump is failing - I guess that's just not urgent enough for them! (please note sarcasm)

Minimed called me yesterday to see if I'd made my decision yet. I was afraid to tell them that I had chosen Cozmo! In fact, I hedged my bets and said I'd chosen Cozmo, but had yet to receive necessary forms from my endo, so it wasn't a done deal. I give these people *way* too much power.

I was amused that MM followed up on a potential order, but have yet to follow up on the significant customer service complaint I lodged with the rep last week. For all of last year, MM kept sending my supplies to my old addresses - home and work - in Massachusetts. Apparently, there are two records for me in their database and even though we confirm my correct address on their screen each time I order, somewhere in the process it flips over to the old record, and chaos ensues. OK, maybe not chaos, but a royal pain in the ass. No one with whom I've spoken has the power to delete that second record.

On a different note, I'm really, really, really, really tired of waking up with +250 blood sugars. Really.

Thing that made me go "Hmmm"

Friday has come and gone, with no pump. I checked in with my new best friend Shari at Smiths Medical, and as of 10:30 AM EST, they were still awaiting the medical necessity statement from my endo.

Wednesday I faxed my endo a quick note giving him a 'heads up' on my pump order and letting him know that my current pump is failing. I even was so bold as to mention that it conked out on me (batteries wore out) rather unexpectedly at about 3AM one day last week. My point being, in a very passive way, that I need a new pump sooner rather than later.

So, today, when the form hadn't been received by Smiths, the prudent thing to do would have been to hop on the phone to the endo's office and ask them to get crackin'. But I hemmed and hawed about harassing them... they're busy, right? It's not like they're going to just blow off the request, right? Can you tell I don't like to call people on the phone and ask for things? I could never pursue a career in phone sales, that's for sure.

By the time I got on the phone, it was after noon. And on a Friday, that means my endo's office is closed. Yes, he's pretty much the only show in town and can close up shop at noon on Friday.

Here's the kicker, though. When you call after hours, you hear a message. The message informs the caller that the office is closed, tells you when the office is open, and states that you may only leave a message to cancel an appointment.

At some point it dawns on me: I have no idea how to reach my endo after hours. Absolutely no clue.

One of the reasons I chose a local endo was so that, in the event of an emergency, I'd be connected to someone who could have a say in my care at the local hospital. But that point might be moot, considering I'd have no way to reach him!

I will admit I'm completely spoiled. I spent time in Massachusetts and as a Joslin clinic patient. I had docs (Joslin and otherwise) call me late into the evening and visit me after hours while in the hospital. Should I expect that of all endos? Am I being unrealistic?

When I call on Monday to ask about the pump form, I'll ask them how I reach the doctor if I need assistance after hours. And then, depending upon their answer, I guess it might be time to consider schlepping up to DC or down to Richmond for diabetes care. Sigh. At least I'm living a life that makes it possible to take the better part of a day to go to the doctor.

We have a winnah!

Assuming my endo does the medical necessity stuff toot-sweet, it'll be here by Monday.

Pump Shopping, part 2

I've narrowed it down to two different pumps. We'll call them "A" and "B".

Met with "B" company rep last week. Sat down for maybe 45 minutes at the local Borders and went over the pump. About 5 minutes in, he realized I'd clearly done my homework (or, as I explained to him, someone else had done my homework) and dropped the whole spiel approach, which was good. I asked some questions, he demoed some features, we chatted about pumps and diabetes in general. I left that meeting feeling pretty darn sure I'd go with that pump.

This morning, I met with the "A" company rep. Met with her in the staff room at my endocrinologist's office. She is there every Tuesday. Please note that when my endo and I discussed new pumps last visit, he did not express a preference either way. One can pretty much infer a preference, however, as company A sets up shop in his office. His staff take calls for her and schedule appointments for her. She is, apparently, on their staff (or so thought the very confused person who took my call).

When I arrived for our meeting, she started off with, "How's the Symlin going?" How, might you ask, did she know I'd started symlin? She had, on the table, my chart.

Yes, you read that right. My. chart.

Now, she's on their staff (I think). She may serve as a CDE for them. But we were meeting outside of an appointment, and she was in her capacity as a pump sales rep.

Honestly, it's pretty much a draw between the two pumps. Features wise, they are very similar. "B" is more fun and a tad bit more flexible. "A" is a company with a very strong history and a 'cutting edge' future. Pot-ay-to, Pot-ah-to.

But the cozy cozy relationship company "A" has with my endo rubs me the wrong way. Makes me lean toward the underdog.

Looks like I'll be a boogie woogie bugle girl for Company "B". Stay tuned for insurance dramas (hopefully, there won't be any!)

Pump Paperwork

My pump went through its latest set of batteries in a record-low 4.5 days. This morning, I'm getting around to filling out insurance worksheets for two pump companies, so that I can make my final decision.

I have good insurance, and always have. This pump will be the first for which I will have any sort of copay, and the amount I have to kick in won't be that bad. I really shouldn't complain, but here I go!

It irks me that no one I've spoken to can talk to me about the true cost of the pump and supplies. I'll be paying 10% of whatever negotiated rate my insurance company has with whatever pump company I end up choosing. There is no way, at this point, to find out what that amount is. Pumps, if not identical in features, are at least comparable in number and type of features. Cost will most likely be the deciding factor.

I'm hoping that this insurace form exercise will shed some light on things. But I have this persistent image in my head of the pump company and the insurers (appearing to me as middle aged men, clad in dark suits) whispering and pointing at me.

Stumped by a Meme

A recent mini meme that skirted the edges of the O.C. stumped me. Challenged (in a general, "anyone can play" sort of way) to "List seven songs you are into right now", I drew a complete blank.

Perhaps it's because most of the music I hear these days is the soundtrack to Life with Two Young Boys. Radio Disney offers up a somewhat limited selection of songs, and those are played over, and over, and over. I know *way* too many Jesse McCartney songs and, quite frankly, I can really relate to Debbie from Bowling for Soup's "1985". I try to sneak in some more mom-friendly tunes (like those on the Tom Paxton CD's I love) but I'm often overruled by the littlest dictator and his big brother.

I love music. I grew up in a house where music was everywhere. My mom plays piano, Dad plays the guitar, brother David plays guitar and violin professionally, and I have strong memory/song associations to this day. I can hear my parents and their friends singing "Let it Be" late into the night at parties, or the Joan Armatrading album cranked up loud enough to feel through the floors while my mom cleaned.

Problem is, I forget about music. Does that sound silly? I just forget about it. I don't think to put a CD into the stereo, I haven't gotten around to connecting the speakers on my PC, and I do not own any sort of pod type device (though that may change, soon, if I can't get someone else to load the songs on for me).

And music is so good for you! The NIH even puts it on their kid's website, noting that music can measurably reduce stress and pain levels. I've got stress! I've got pain! Music might be a smarter choice than chocolate (scratch that, that's blasphemy.) Heck, Strong Hospital in Rochester NY even offers a live harp music program for palliative care! And unlike so many other things that are good for you, there's no sacrifice involved when it comes to listening to music (unless you count cutting down on my consumption of XM Comedy Radio).

So my current resolution is to remember music. So, to that end, here are seven songs I tend to play over and over, maybe I'll remember to go play them already!

1) "This Old Porch" - Lyle Lovett. "This old porch is like a steamin' greasy plate of enchiladas... " Don't you want to know more??
2) "Wide Open Spaces" - Dixie Chicks. Every girl yearns for a little room for adventure.
3) "What do you hear in these Sounds?" - Dar Williams. Sort of makes me want to go to therapy.
4) "A Little Respect" - Erasure. Heard this in the grocery store the other day, of all places, and actually danced down the baking aisle.
5)"Cheerleader" - Deirdre Flint. Wickedly funny. Funnier because I wasn't a cheerleader.
6) "Greetings to the New Brunette" - Billy Bragg. Would the leaves fall from the trees if I was your old man and you was my missus?
7) "Build me Up Buttercup" - The Foundations. Cannot help but bounce.

Though I clearly need to explore more current musical selections, I must say I'm less stressed already!

I need you (I need you)
More than anyone darlin'
You know that I have from the start...

Love & Insulin

As I've mentioned before, I married a man I met while working at summer camp. So, you know how this ends. But feel free to reminisce with me.

In the summer of 1991, I returned to Clara Barton Camp as year-round camp director. The next summer, over at Camp Joslin, John Palmer returned for a stint as CIT Director. John had been a camper and staff member throughout his school years, and found himself able to return to camp for a summer. I first heard about him at an ADA Youth Services committee meeting earlier in the year, when he was mentioned as a 'stellar' former staff member who they were 'thrilled' to have come back*.

Early in the summer, I was driving a bunch of Joslin campers back to their camp, after a movie night with their Barton counterparts. To ferry them back, I grabbed the keys to the blue van, because I didn't want to embarass myself while driving the red - standard transmission - van. Problem was, the blue van was nearly out of gas. Sure enough, a little more than halfway to Camp Joslin, sputter sputter putt putt... out of gas.

It was John who stopped to check on us, came back to transport the campers, drove me back to his camp to call Barton, drove me back to the van and, when one of my staff showed up with a can of gas (our caretaker couldn't be bothered to come out and help at night), it was John who ruined a pair of shoes trying to pour gas from a can down a crooked spout into the van's gas tank.

At which point, I thought, "Wow. What a nice guy."

The rest of the summer was spent getting to know him a little better, since "Admin" hangs out with "Admin". As time wore on, I (and my peers) would say, "That John Palmer is so nice, who can we set him up with?" He often asked me to dance but he asked tons of people to dance. He loved dances - he even once rented the top half of a tux and wore it with shorts to play along with a joke.

We kept in touch after the summer ended and, one fall evening, I found myself driving out to Springfield to meet him for dinner. The whole way there I was thinking to myself, "Is this a date? I hope he doeesn't think it's a date! What will I do if he tries to kiss me?"

The whole way home, I was pissed that he didn't try to kiss me.

A month later, he picked me up to take me to see James Taylor and, on our way out the door, commented that he should have gotten a ticket for my roommate, too. Talk about confusing. Luckily, he cleared things up at the end of the evening with a sweet goodbye kiss and, the next day, wrote me a letter! He put pen to paper! I won't divulge the details but suffice it to say I was impressed enough to see him again. And again. And the rest, as they say, is history.

I can't recall ever wondering if it would be a good idea to marry someone who also has type 1 diabetes. Optomistic? Well-Adjusted? In denial? Probably all of the above. I checked out our odds of passing diabetes on to children (17% or so, for those keeping score) but in the blush of young love, never considered it an obstacle. It actually has some big advantages. He's much more disciplined than I am about keeping prescriptions filled and juice in the fridge, so when I run out I can always swipe some of his. And I can spot his lows remarkably well - just by the look on his face. I think he's particularly proud of me for winning the Ascensia Dream Fund last year, more so than someone who doesn't have diabetes might be. And I never have to worry that he just doesn't get what it's like to live with diabetes - he's been doing it longer than I've been alive.

He's an inspiration when it comes to diabetes. Thirty-eight years, half of those before the advent of home blood glucose monitoring, and no complications (but yes, I'm knocking wood).

He's golfing in Texas today, and I'm sure he has his meter and skittles and will drink extra juice at the turn.

He left roses for me and Toys R Us cards for the boys before departing for his 7AM flight this morning, so I can forgive him the golf.

John, Happy Valentine's Day from the bottom of my non-functioning pancreas (that's like my heart, only deeper).

XOXO
K




*Words in quotation marks are Paul B. Maddenisms. Please say them with a heavy Boston accent.

Turns out Zach's a girl

For Christmas, we bought the boys a small fish tank and two fish, Zach (a sunset wag platy) and Cody (a black molly). Within 24 hours, Cody was dead and I was off to Petsmart for a replacement. I must admit, I was feeling pretty smug, having convinced Jake to select an all-black (read: easy to match) fish. That Cody lasted about a week, at which point I realized that the tank was just way too small, and I set up a larger tank. This, no doubt, is how they suck you in.

After moving the fish, I started to take apart the small tank, but ended up leaving about an inch of water and the gravel in the smaller tank, to be tossed out when I could sift the rocks out. Yes, that was a week ago. It takes a while to get to things.

Zach, stressed from the move to the big tank, settled in to one corner of the tank the other day and stopped swimming. Yes, we did lie to Ryan and tell him that Zach was just very tired (until I could get to Petsmart). No lessons in life and death just yet.

Much to our surprise, tonight we discovered two barely visible teeny tiny baby fish... in the old tank. The old, unfiltered, no food, no heater, one inch of stagnant water tank. Not the clean, perfectly titrated new tank. Where, apparently, fish go to die.

So, now I have to keep FOUR fish alive. Wish me luck, those baby fish are hard to swap out.

My Turn at DiabeticFeed.com

I had the pleasure of chatting with Christel Marchand of DiabeticFeed.com last week about my book, my diabetes, and my family. I'd love it if you give it a listen!

http://www.diabeticfeed.com

I surprised myself by being really nervous, but I think it turned out ok. If you agree, feel free to leave glowing feedback at their site.

Thanks again for the opportunity, Christel and John!

Eenie, meenie, minie, moe...

When it comes to insulin pumps, mine isn't quite as ancient as the backpack size machines of the early days of pumpin', but the word "dinosaur" has been used to describe my minimed 508 (I'll pause here while some of you gasp).

I acquired this pump a month into my second pregnancy. I was on a pump break and using Lantus (successfully) but that was too new for a vessel of life such as myself, so I returned to pumping rather abruptly. Six weeks later, Minimed informed me that I could opt to jump to the Paradigm pumps, a whole different platform. If I declined to switch, I would be locked out of that series until my current warranty expired.

I found the glossy packet overwhelming and decided that another switch during my first trimester was not a great idea. Things were going well, no need to upset the apple cart.

As a result, I have been somewhat out of the loop on pump advancements. I know about carb wizards and insulin-on-board and such, but I've kept the information pretty much at arms' length, because it wasn't an option for me. No sense getting all jazzed up if it's not going to happen for me for several years.

Well, as of last October, I'm out of warranty. As an aside, I love that phrase. Yes, it's the pump warranty that expired, not mine (I hope). But my little blue artificial pancreas is so much a part of me that the words fit.

So, now that my dino-pump is doing things like eating batteries weekly and throwing occasional odd errors, I'm pump shopping. Truth be told, my friend Meredith is pump shopping, and I'm just along for the ride, peering over her shoulder.

It's very overwhelming. I will clearly have to re-learn pumping (to a certain extent), but everyone I talk to about this swears I will love life with a smart pump. Me, I feel like the guy who was perfectly content with his horse and buggy when that newfangled horseless carriage came along. Which features do I want? Which pumps have what features? Which call center has the shortest wait (and the least annoying hold music?) Which companies are in the market to stay? Who is closest to the coveted closed loop?

I have a gut feeling as to which pump I'll choose at this point. If all else fails, I have my reliable cootie catcher to help with the choice. It's only a four year committment, after all. Me and my new smart pump should be just fine.

But please don't ask me what color I'll get. I couldn't find any in hot pink.

It's the Little Things that Slay Me

This afternoon, I received a flurry of emails from my book packager. Tucked away in one of them was the following gem:

"We had a request for clarification from the Library of Congress. Apparently, a Kathryn Gregorio directed a video in 2001. Not you I assume?"

The answer to that question is, of course, no. That Kathryn is a filmmaker in Brooklyn, and I've actually known about her for years, because I am just that vain, and periodically Google my name. You do that, too, right?

Ok, let's all just pause for a moment to take this all in. The Library of Congress. The LIBRARY OF CONGRESS.

Yes, it's just part of the process of publishing a book. There are numbers to be assigned, copyrights to be obtained, and other details that are beyond me. It's hard to even comprehend them because I can't get past the words, "THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS."

This is even cooler then the moment I realized that I would be working with the same book packagers who put together John Lithgow's LithgowPalooza books.

I know, I shouldn't shout. It's a library. I should whisper.

the library of congress.

hot damn!

Book Help Wanted

I am looking to interview (via email, by Sunday!) a person with diabetes who is or has been a single parent.

If you are such a person, and wouldn't mind answering a few questions, please email me at kassie@parentswithdiabetes.com

Thank you!

Mo Cushla

My kids are terrific. I know this to be true, quite frankly, because I have seen other people's kids. I used to run a summer camp, I volunteer at school, and I am a cub scout den leader for 9 third-graders (4 of whom are on meds for attention disorders. That I know about.) Jake's school has a red-yellow-green card system that they use for behavior warnings. I'm not sure what the colors mean or what the consequences are because, in three years at this school, Jake has been 'off green' twice.

And once, it was as an April Fool's Joke on his dad.

For the most part, they leave the bad behavior at home. Ryan almost always comes home with "happy and energetic" checked off on his day care note. We had a rough spell when he'd outgrown the 2's room but was still in there (damn potty training) and on a few random afternoons he freaked his teacher out by ignoring her when she put him in time out, opting instead to silently stare at a spot just below her knee and rapidly blink his eyes.

Ok, that last one's a little weird. But the point is, they don't cause much trouble. I'm biased, but they're the kind of kids you like to be around.

Problem is, Ryan has started hitting.

Now, young children hit. Out of frustration, when they are exhausted, simply because they can... it happens. Frankly, if you tell me that your toddler never hit, I'll call you a liar. It happened, you just never got a note about it.

A note with comments bathed in YELLOW HIGHLIGHTER, and an 'incident report' to boot.

Ryan hit Nicholas. Repeatedly. The teacher even used the phrase, "pounded on". At issue was a toy that Ryan brought from home. So, no more toys from home.

A reasonable prohibition.

Today, after I said, "No" literally 10 times to the question "Can I bring a toy?", Ryan decided he needed a Plan B. On the short drive to day care, he grabbed a matchbox car and stuffed it in his sweatshirt pocket on the sly. Luckily, I am still smarter than my 3 year old, so I picked up on this maneuver. Figured I'd out-sly him when I hung up his sweatshirt by his cubby. Get to the cubby... and he's already moved the car to his back pocket.

Wow. The kid is good. Not good enough, however, as his peers are desperately trying to see what he's hiding behind his back.

Sigh. One huge fit and a few right shots at Mommy later, he's calm enough to leave with the day care staff. Thank goodness I never have to be anywhere on time.

I am sure it's just a stage. But you can bet I'm keeping my eye on him. If only to see that right hook coming.

mo cushla, for those not familiar, means 'my darling, my blood' according to Clint Eastwood's character in the boxing movie Million Dollar Baby.

They're Seven Feet Tall

Regular readers of the O.C. will have heard about Camp Barton and the soon-to-be-world-famous Barton Girls. Camp Barton has been called "the most wonderful place in the world," "the place where I learned everything I know about diabetes", "my home away from home," and "where I met some of my best and most amazing friends."

And that's just from me.

But today I'd like to tell you about another outstanding diabetes camp. Arguably the second most wonderful place in the world, the place that my husband credits with saving his life. The Elliott P. Joslin Camp for Boys with Diabetes.

Camp Joslin is a mere 2.5 miles from Camp Barton. It's a long walk. Not as long if you are a staff member with a serious summertime crush. Or if you have a car and a not-so-serious crush.

Their cabins aren't as snazzy (yet) but their pond is way better. Dances at Joslin were much less... smelly than dances at Barton, because they were held under their airy Basketball pavillion.

We sing a much wider variety of songs than the Joslin boys (and sound much better of course) but most summers they even offer radio broadcasting as an activity. Our camp skits are terrific, but I've never laughed so hard as when I saw their staff perform "The Little Mermaid" and "Home Alone" with a diabetes twist.

Camp Joslin is staffed by the kind of guys you can't help but love and gals that you sort of envy and sometimes hate for their proximity to your aforementioned summertime crush. Then again, when I was at camp, most of those young women were stuck living in "The Bunny Hutch" (yes, the name for the nurses cabin) and I can't really envy them that.

Barton and Joslin are, I believe, the only single sex diabetes camps in the country. They both offer some co-ed programming, but their 9 week summer programs are single sex.

Both camps were started long ago, when boys and girls didn't camp together. Both grew into strong programs under the medical supervision of the Joslin Diabetes Center and the fundraising/program efforts of the Unitarian Universalist Women's Association (who originally offered up the land around Clara Barton's birthplace when Dr. Joslin put out a call for a place outside the hospital to which he could take his young patients, just learning to live with insulin. Now, they are two separate entities and I like to joke that my marriage (and a few others like it) are the only type of Barton/Joslin merger we need.

It's a nice setup actually. The two camps meet for dances and other activities. But the girls at Barton get to just be girls - without too much worry about how they look for the boys. I imagine the boys like it too, for much the same reason.

Maybe it's because I married a Joslin boy (who I met - and danced with - when I was Camp Director and he was Program Director: Admin hangs out with Admin, what can I say) but I love Camp Joslin. Visitng their campus gives me the same warm fuzzy feeling that I get from Barton. You can't stand there and not know that it is a truly special place. All rivalry aside, it's terrific.

Now if only we can get more of those Joslin boys bloggin'. On second thought, we were always much chattier than them anyway.

PS: The song (you knew there'd be a song, right?) goes...
We're from Camp Barton and
Our tribe's the best tribe
we fight the Camp Joslin
they're seven feet tall!

They try to beat us but
they can't defeat us cause
we're from Camp Barton and we're off the wall!

Freedom of the (t-shirt) Press

Cafepress, and other sites like it, give people the power to design and sell t-shirts, mugs, mousepads, and other items. It's a neat little concept and, like so many other venues in this digital age, it gives average people the power to publish their thoughts. Sort of like blogging, only wearable.

I think there are, like, a bajillion items for sale. No topic is off limits (well, they do have some rules about content) and people get pretty darn creative.

There are 22 pages of items that come up when you search for "diabetes". Fundraising teams (JDRF walks, bike teams, even a skydiving team!) use the service to print their team shirts, and it's fun to see some of the stuff they come up with. I'm currently considering ordering a mug from the folks at Divabetic, and one of diabetestalkfest.com's terrific shirts.

Skimming through the diabetes tees, though, I came across a few I don't get, and one that flat-out floored me. It, to me, was wrong on so many levels. Let's just say that any product that can you used for your "diabetic dog" or your "diabetic child" skeeves me out (Nicole, is 'skeeves' in the dictionary yet? Let's start a campaign.) Intrigued? Check it out for yourself and let me know what you think.

Taggy McTagster

Four jobs I’ve had in my life:
1. Counter gal at New Flourtown Pizza
2. Information Transportation & Reproduction Specialist (gopher and photo copy gal at a law firm)
3. Year-round Diabetes Camp Director
4. Study Hall proctor for the Athlete Tutoring Center. (go ahead, laugh at that image. Me, trying to tell the PC Basketball team to quiet down during their mandatory study hall.)

Four movies I can watch over and over (defined as movies I cannot channel surf past):
1. A League of Their Own
2. Bend it Like Beckham
3. Circle of Friends
4. The Sure Thing

Four places I have lived:
1. Pennsyltucky
2. Massahampshire
3. Little Rhody
4. Verginny

Four TV shows I love to watch:
1. Who's Line is it Anyway
2. Six Feet Under (Best. Series Finale. Ever.)
3. Gilmore Girls
4. Boy Meets World (watch it. It's funny. Trust me.)

Four places I have been on vacation:
1. Northeast Kingdom, VT
2. Germany
3. Georgia
4. Sea Isle city, NJ

Four of my favorite foods:
1. Italian Hoagie (on an Amoroso roll)
2. Cheesecake
3. Bruschetta
4. Avacado

Four websites I visit daily:
1. The O.C./Bloglines
2. CNN
3. Boston.com
4. groups.yahoo.com

Four places I would rather be right now:
1. Home
2. Home with my family
3. Home with my family and some cheesecake
4. In my fancy new home with tons of closet space with my family (and cheesecake)

Tagging...
Amy T
Heidi
Elizabeth
Caro

Your Shoes, My Shoes

Your shoes, my shoes, done walked a mile or two
Your shoes, my shoes, done all that shoes can do

They walked with Rosa to the front of the bus
The walked with Martin when he prayed for us
They walked with me, they walked with you
They've done all that shoes can do

Lines from yet another Tom Paxton song that's been playing in the car of late. A peppy tune, fun to sing, with a meaning too deep to discuss with my boys.

Or not.

Jake slid into the kitchen tonight, came up behind me, and said with an innocent voice, "Mommy, I know what the Ku Klux Klan was."

I spun around in my office chair, as casually as one can when one's 8 year old enters the room talking about the KKK.

"Hmmm. What do you know about the Ku Klux Klan?" I asked, as I made my way to the kitchen table and motioned for him to join me.

"They wore costumes and marched around and if they saw a black person, they killed him. They were bad."

And so it began. A short 'chat' about the KKK, who they are (not were), what they did and what they do, what they and others believe. We talked about the fact that the KKK would prefer that he and his best friend Brandon not be friends. We talked about their 'costumes' (which he admitted he thought were cool and reminded him of Star Wars) and cowardice.

I asked how this came up - apparently they were mentioned in a book at school. They've been discussing Martin Luther King, and Rosa Parks, and George Washington Carver.

I sang the song he's been hearing in the car the past few weeks, and he lit up with recognition. "Oh, that's who he's talking about."

I tried my best to keep tears from falling as I talked about the bravery of Rosa and MLK and others. When we were done, I shooed him upstairs to watch TV with his dad. A little Spongebob to lighten the mood.

And then I stepped out onto the deck and let those tears flow. Tears for all the crappy things people in this world do to each other. Tears of awe and admiration for people so brave and willing to stand up to it all.

Tears for the fact that, too soon, Jake will learn about the evil that is out there.