WhosTheGrownUp

22nd April 2008

My mom and the Pope. Like peas in a pod.

I spent some time this weekend thinking about 81 year olds. Two of them in fact. My mother and the Pope. The Pope turned 81 just this week and my mom turns 81 in May. When I began drafting the piece, I thought it was going to be about two different versions of 81 – similarities and differences – and it ended up being a piece encouraging the Pope to get a really fat cat. I have absolutely no idea why I started talking about my mother and her cat AGAIN. It’s when I knew I should walk away from the laptop and come back to writing at a later point.

This morning, I sat down with my coffee and scoured the NY Times website to see just how excruciating the Pennsylvania primary is going to be and lo and behold, I see a headline about the Pope and cats.

And so, without further ado, I offer you some of my own observations about the similarities between my mother, also named Joan Garry and Pope Benedict.

Similarities

1) Both are devout Catholics. My mom goes to church almost every day. Except on Thursday when she golfs.
2) Both of them like to drink. And I’m not talking lemonade.

3) Both of them have been to a synagogue recently. My mom for my kids’ bar / bat mitzvah and the Pope to an east side synagogue to honor the Passover holiday.

4) Both Pope Benedict and the other Joan Garry have struggled with the morality (or lack thereof) of homosexuality.

5) Both my mother and the Pope have a connection to my friend Sylvia Vogelman. My mother has known her for years and the Pope’s chef on Saturday night was a friend of Sylvia’s. She was not at liberty to discuss the menu but did acknowledge that the Pope likes to drink wine. Duh.

6) Both the Pope and my mother have spent time with gay men who sing. My mom has attended a number of concerts of the NYC Gay Men’s Chorus. The Pope spends alot of time with priests.

7) My mother and the Pope both love cats. In fact Pope Benedict is the only Pope who has a biography written about him by a cat.

Differences

1) My mother does not wear big wacky hats. Although in a recent photograph, she looks like she is wearing a plant.

2) My mother has struggled with my sexual orientation and is a lot further along on this subject than Pope Benedict.

3) My mother prefers martinis to red wine. Her martinis are with gin, very dry and she likes olives.

4) No one has written a biography of my mother and I have not heard that one is in the works. If there was, I am quite sure that her cat Babe would not write it.

5) My mother loses her wallet and her car keys with some regularity. I am guessing the Pope has people who take care of these things.

6) My mother enjoys a Sunday afternoon nap and takes good care of herself. The Pope runs himself ragged. My mom watched the Yankee stadium mass and said “The Pope looked exhausted. He had bags under his eyes that went all the way down to his knees.”

7) My mom has a wonderful, neurotic and severely overweight cat that keeps her company and loves her without condition. The Pope only has an imaginary cat named Chico.

For those of you who know my mother or the Pope and can add to either of these lists, you know where to find me.

Our cat is learning to walk on a leash.

I can’t guarantee that you will enjoy this video. I also suppose I may get some backlash from PETA. I’m not sure. But I am proud of the fact that I got a video from my video camera to my laptop and then to YouTube and then onto my blog. But maybe someone can tell me why that camera icon is appearing instead of my son Ben walking Louis?

There’s nothing really easy about Juno

I have an op ed running this morning in the Newark Star Ledger. For those of you who do not subscribe to the Newark Star Ledger, here you go:

When Juno hits video stores this week, kids will be anxious to see it or in many cases, anxious to see it again. It was a date night film for older teens and a feel good movie on a very important subject for the newly minted ones.

Parents should see it, too. Parents should see it again if they saw it in the theatre. Because if your household is anything like mine (heaven help you), you missed an opportunity to talk and listen to your kids about the film and its implications.

My partner and I took our thirteen year old twins to see the film. To her enormous credit, our daughter Kit suggested we sit separately. At first I thought she just didn’t want to be seen with us. Then I realized that she was the wise one – we were all going to need some space.

We were sure the film would be powerful – a teenage girl who gets pregnant and has to grapple with her options. We were equally sure it would lead to an eye opening post-film conversation.

But it didn’t.

Maybe it’s because it’s such a feel good movie. Maybe we just didn’t have the nerve to go there. Maybe once we heard the kids say how much they admired Juno and her choice, we felt we could move on. We didn’t push the kids to another level. We should have. We took the easy way out. Just like the filmmakers.

I know it’s a comedy. But still. Juno is a great character. She has spunk and integrity. But her flesh and blood, her son is presented as a “problem” to be “solved.” Somehow we miss the fact that her son is a miracle and there actually isn’t a solution. There are many options, each with consequences and implications.

When my friend Fran’s teenage daughter became pregnant, there was nothing easy about it. Fran works hard to make ends meet and her husband struggles with a chronic illness. She understood that her daughter could choose an abortion and this was an option. But she also understood that this baby was her flesh and blood. A granddaughter. She offered to help raise the baby. Fran’s life became harder in some ways but not in the ways that really matter. And that toddler gives my friend Fran unconditional love and joy. Fran could not imagine life without her.

My friend Sarah’s adopted son Luke is desperate to know that his first mother’s decision was not easy. “Was my birth mom sad?” he asked Sarah. “Did she cry?” The implication for Luke is that he doesn’t ever want to believe that it was easy or inconvenient for his mother to decide to give him away. Rejection is bad enough but thinking that your birth mother wasn’t too broken up about it? Devastating. He wants to know that he was loved beyond measure - that the idea of him was thrilling in some profound way to his birth mom. He needs to know that these things are not mutually exclusive with his mom’s decision to give him a better shot with my friend Sarah.

My friend Terry found herself in Juno’s situation nearly 35 years ago. She’d like people to know that the choice she made to give her baby away wasn’t easy. It was the most excruciatingly painful experience of her life. And no, her real name is not Terry.

Terry would tell Juno that, in the weeks following the birth, Juno’s body will physically crave the baby. She would tell Juno that getting back together with the father of your child causes an even greater sense of loss. And she would tell her that when she is ready to start a family, her sense of loss will hit her like a ton of bricks. She will want her baby back. And it will be too late.

As a fictional character, Juno is the centerpiece of the film. She is strong willed and independent-minded. She is smart, insightful and a little complicated. What a missed opportunity for the filmmakers not to use this character to take on more responsibility for a life decision that requires just such attributes.

I want our kids to understand the ramifications of the choices they make in life. I do want them to believe in happy endings but to remember that the path to get there is typically neither easy or obvious. I want them to never forget that a human life is not a problem to be solved but a miracle. And that “respect for human life” is not just a saying. It should be considered a profound obligation.

I wrote this piece hoping it would get published. But there are only two readers I really care about. It’s time for a follow-up conversation.

College tours - a stroll down memory lane.

For many families, this is a lovely time of year. When high school juniors casually prepare for the SAT’s. When families take wonderful road trips to look at college campuses, presenting unique opportunities for parents and child to bond, to plan thoughtfully for the future.

Of course there are those who don’t experience it that way. Some parents actually gasp when they hear the Admissions counselor mention the cost of tuition during the information session. Some parents forget that it is their son or daughter who will be attending the school. Some parents forget that colleges don’t focus all that much on the quality of the dorm mattresses. Some parents don’t understand why a prospective college doesn’t recognize that their son is the messiah.

Prospective college students don’t need help. Parents do. And so, in that spirit, I offer the following advice to parents who are about to embark on college tours with their high school kids.

1) KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT. For all of you Type A micromanaging baby boomers out there, I know this will not be easy.

2) If you can’t keep your mouth shut, send the other parent.

3) Avoid loud gasping when you see the room the size of your kid’s closet with 4 people jammed into it.

4) Generally avoid gasping all together.

5) Do NOT. I repeat, do NOT brag about your kid to anyone else (kid or parent) on the tour.

6) Watch “Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory” (the one with Gene Wilder) before you set out on your tour. Pay close attention to Grandpa and keep your fingers crossed that your kid behaves like Charlie.

7) Watch the movie a second time and pay attention only to the other parents. Don’t do anything they do.

8)Don’t scream at your kid when they hold the Mapquest map upside down and cause you to be late for the tour.

9) Wear sensible shoes, especially if it is raining. Encourage your kid to do the same. We had one tour in the pouring rain and Scout nearly slid like Derek Jeter across the length of the auditorium while the Director of Admissions calmly looked on.

10) Make sure your child has eaten before a tour. I generally find that hungry people are crabby people.

11) Dress casual but not too casual (Unless you are going on a tour at Sarah Lawrence). I would reconsider my own wardrobe for the tours - when I realized that I was wearing the same sneakers (those cute converse with no laces) as the tour guide, I thought I had gone a bit too young.

12) When they won’t get out of the car because one of the school buildings on the campus annoys them, avoid the words “I drove all the way up to freakin’ Medford MA and you didn’t like the CASTLE?”

13) If you try cafeteria food, do not gag or spit any of it out.

14) Once the tour is over, CONTINUE TO KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT! This is the most critical time. The kid will disagree with absolutely every observation you make - even if they completely agree. To be serious for a minute, find a checklist that your kid can fill out - tons of them online - the checklist enables you to keep your mouth shut and for your kid to react subjectively to each tour against the same set of variables.

15) Remember that horrible voice mail message Alec Baldwin left for his kid a year or so back? Do not, under any circumstances, say anything like that while on the tour. No matter how idiotic, obnoxious, ridiculous or insanely your kid behaves (see why the ‘keep your mouth shut thing’ keeps coming up?)

16) When you get home, CONTINUE TO KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT. When the other parent starts asking questions, do your very best to let your kid speak for her/himself. I know it’s hard because you are a Type A micromanaging baby boomer.

17) Always save the most important piece of advice for last. Never forget, ever, ever, ever - just how extraordinary your kid is and how lucky ____ College/University would be to have her/him.

Today, Scout’s college is my college too.

I’m at Emerson College in Boston today. Our daughter is a freshman here. I’ll be in 3 or 4 classes today, talking about leadership, non-profit managment, marketing, advocacy. I believe I’ll be going to more classes today than my daughter. Although I have heard that she does go to classes, participates and even writes papers. I find this comforting.

I’ve also heard that she will finish her freshman year in less than 4 weeks. In fact, Scout told me this last night over dinner at the Trident. I had the chicken quesadilla. Scout had soup and carrot cake. Not an obvious pairing but it worked for her.

In three weeks, Scout will no longer be a college freshman. So much work, so little time. I could see the panic in her face.

In three weeks, she will be home for the summer. She could probably see the panic in my face.

Have you ever wondered why I like Andy Rooney?

Hey, this is Joan’s son Ben. I’m the kid who was in my mother’s last post, posing in front of a waterfall. You might have missed the waterfall because of my muscular build. Many months ago, I was the voice over for a few of Joan and Scout’s videos that you can see if you click here. My mom and I are planning to make a video soon without Scout and you’ll be able to tell that my voice has gotten much lower.Many people ask me “Why do you enjoy watching Andy Rooney on 60 Minutes?” Sometimes I agree that it is odd that I like watching Andy Rooney because most thirteen year olds don’t want to watch an old guy talking about his own problems for five minutes straight.But I do.One night I was watching 60 Minutes with curiosity. Then Andy Rooney popped up to talk about an article he saw in a newspaper. I found him amazingly truthful and not afraid to say what’s on his mind. Another reason I watch him is because I learn many random things that I enjoy knowing.Tonight for example, he was talking about cars at car shows and how crazy expensive they are and how they seem to get uglier every year. I learned that a car from many years ago can travel the same speed as one of these crazy robot cars that people buy today. One other fact I learned was that a crazy percentage of American families have three or more cars.Every Sunday night I ask my parents to tell me when Andy Rooney is coming up. Usually I am going crazy on my Rock Band guitar.Andy Rooney’s an interesting guy and I know he’s really old but I hope he keeps making stories for years. And I hope some day he’ll brush his eyebrows (Joan suggested I write that).

Things I am afraid of.

Hats off to Scoutie for talking about the whale thing. I mean it. Everyone who knows her knows she has a real and significant phobia about whales. Her insights about its larger implications were very grownup.

Scoutie also has a pretty dramatic fear of loud noises. I never knew the origins of the whale phobia but I was sitting right next to her when the loud noise phobia began.

It was August. A very hot afternoon in Southampton. Scout was about 3 or 4. She fell asleep en route to a circus. We had to wake her up in the parking lot. There were already tons of people and loud music. She was all crumpled and sweaty. Cute but crumpled and sweaty.

We cajoled her up and through the turnstyles. We were almost late (Scout no doubt had something to do with this. She seemed to have demonstrated a phobia of promptness at a very early age) but got there just as the show began.

It couldn’t have been five minutes before they roll a canon out into the middle of the ring. And then BBBOOOOMMM! And a guy comes flying out of the canon. Everyone cheers.

Scout comes flying out of the tent. With her mothers flying after her.

That was the end of the circus for Scout. There was no negotiation. We knew it was over. And based on who Scout had already become, we knew it would be a long time before she ever stepped foot into a circus tent again. And that loud noises would never be her friend.

To her credit, however, once she stopped screaming, she wanted to know more. Her innate curiosity shone through. And for the next 2 1/2 hours during our ride home, she repeated:

“Why’d they shoot that guy out the canon?”

Maybe I should get back to the title of this post and the picture.

I’m going to, over the next few posts, ponder things I am afraid of. Scout’s post inspired me.

So I’ll start with this picture. I am afraid of:

1) Bar mitzvah parties with photo booths

2) Boys who know so much about wrestling that they can create just the right pose for a picture at a bar mitzvah photo booth.

3) My son growing up.

Completing the Immersion Effect

Lately has been heavy, and filled with fear.

I fear that I am coming to the realization that many college freshmen come to: I am (possibly) in the wrong major.

I fear that I am going to catch the awful stomach virus that has put my friend Matt, his dad, 10 cousins, and grandmother, in the ER.

I fear that if I caught said “virus” (see link for my presumption), I might get even further behind in my work.

I fear that what they say is true, and that once you leave home for college, you never really go home again.

I fear that my cat will not remember me when I go home.

I fear, as I am an American citizen who pays extra attention to the news, that any day now, the hydrogen bomb will drop, I will have to hide under my desk, the Russians will attack from Cuba, the Communist countries will take over, the illegal Mexicans will revolt, the stock market will crash, my politicians are all sleeping with prostitutes, Al-Qaeda will attack and when they do they will target my coast, my city, my school, my dorm, and specifically, my room where I sleep peacefully at night.

But tomorrow, I will face my fears. Tomorrow at 6 p.m. I will face the greatest fear I have ever had: BIG THINGS.

Laugh and poke fun as you wish, but I have always had a phobia of big things. It started off when I was in kindergarten, and I had to be escorted out of Natural History Museum in New York City. Why, do you ask? Because of the whale. Because of that huge friggin’ whale, hanging from the ceiling, going after the squid. Except I wasn’t even looking at the squid. Until the movie “The Squid and the Whale” came out the other year, I had no idea there even was a squid. I was frozen by the whale, by the sheer magnitude of it. I could not move. I could not talk. I could not look away. I was transfixed by the most horrifying, massive object of all time. And it had teeth.

Years passed and I though it was just the whale. I was, as I fully expected to be, teased. Honestly, who has a fear of whales? I blamed Pinocchio. I screamed and cried when that whale swallowed him. It was unjust. He was so sad and lonely, and he just wanted to be a real boy. He didn’t ask to be “accidentally” incorporated into a gulp of sea water. He wasn’t ready or prepared.

And then I went to Paris, and saw the Eiffel Tower. It was not alive, nor was it threatening in any way, shape, or form. But it was huge. And everything around it was so small in comparison. It was this gigantic, unrealistically big object placed around objects nowhere near it’s size. It was horrifying. I could not look at it without feeling my chest close in on itself, my head spin, and my tongue sink deep into my small intestines.

That is my phobia, I realized. Really big things that are unnaturally big compared to everything else surrounding them. Having something so abnormal, yet only abnormal when compared to everything else around it.

Big things versus small things. Giant leaps in size, height, weight…or could we just say change?

Wait… Is it really that cliché? Maybe I am just afraid of giant leaps in change?

Yes, that sounds about right. I am afraid of change.

I am not afraid of the skyscrapers in Manhattan. I am not afraid of large people, or heights, or textbooks. Rather, I am afraid of the difference between something large and something small. I am afraid of the change in height existing between the Eiffel Tower and the surrounding Paris. I am afraid of the change in mass existing between me and the whale at the Natural History Museum. If everything was the size of the whale and the Eiffel Tower, it would not be as scary, because there would be no difference between it and everything else. If everything was the size of the whale and the Eiffel Tower, it would not be as scary because there would be no change.

But I am learning that something cannot grow, or develop, if it does not first start out as something smaller. Inevitably, everything must change.

And so tomorrow, I am going, with my pal Matt (who spent the last two days vomiting), to the IMAX Theater at the Boston Museum of Science. The explanation sums it all up:

In the Mugar Omni Theater, the world’s largest film format is projected onto a five-story-tall IMAX® Dome screen. It wraps audiences in larger-than-life images of flora, fauna, and faraway places. A state-of-the-art digital sound system completes the immersion effect.

Here is a link to the movie we will be seeing: Grand Canyon Adventure: River at Risk

Everything I am afraid of. Larger than life. Completes the immersion effect… Fear… Overwhelming… Change.

Teenage drinking

Eric Asimov’s column in this morning’s New York Times raised questions we grappled with here at whosthegrownup.com last summer. How do you raise your kids to be responsible when it comes to alcohol. Here’s a conversation Scout and I had a while back on this subject. (Note: special thanks to Ben for the voiceover. He had to try very hard to make his voice sound lower. He no longer has to try very hard).

Why I was reluctant to get a pet.

Louis reads email

I knew it. I just knew it.

It’s not about the caretaking, the litterbox or the nail clipping. I’m not resentful in any way that I have become Louis’ primary caregiver. It’s not that either.

I just knew what would happen to me. I’d get ridiculous. I knew I would read books on how best to train your cat. I knew that if there was a book on teaching your cat tricks, I’d be reading it. I knew that I would be the one who would know that Louis just doesn’t like Beef and Egg skillet dinner and that I would be the one admonishing the rest of the family for serving it to him for dinner on nights when I have chorus practice.

But above all, I knew that I would take ridiculous pictures.

Here’s Louis reading his email.

Huff Post readers weigh in on Scout’s post

About two weeks ago, Scout wrote a piece about being stereotyped. She is an Obama supporter, diligently filled out her absentee ballot for the New Jersey primary and is taking the politics business seriously. Her post, Nobody Puts Baby, or Barack in the Corner, is a smart and provocative piece. And yes, I am her mother and have no ability to be objective.

The Huffington Post liked the piece as well and published it that same day. Within an hour, Scout had well over 100 reactions. I found myself kvelling.

So in the true spirit of kvelling, I offer you some excerpts of the comments she received.

I’m 66 years old. I’m proud to see young people engaged in the political process. You are the future of America. (Note: clearly this woman has not been in Scout’s room recently)

Once you’ve been around for a while and had your head handed to you in a basket over and over again by the likes of Delay, Rove, Limbaugh and the like, then maybe you’ll understand why the old farts don’t fall for the big talk anymore (Note: spoken like a true old fart)

A menopause joke? Could people over 40 be dismissive of the youngsers because the young think the world was created the day you were born (Note: crabby author. Hot flash maybe?)

I’ve been teaching for 25 years and I think this is an exceptional piece of work. You’d get an A in my class. (Note: Where were you when Scout was in 11th grade?)

Submit this piece to the NY Times, WSJ, WashPo, LATimes and USAToday and see if anyone has the integrity to bite (Note: please forward contact info for these pubs to comments @whosthegrownup.com. I’m banking on Scout’s notoriety to ensure my early retirement)

I can count on one hand the blogs posted on HuffPo over the last four months that were worth reading and yours is one (Note: what? You didn’t like the one I wrote about Oprah’s Big Give)?

The comments go on and on for pages. Scout read them all and learned alot. She learned that she touched a chord with a lot of people. She also learned that some people are very, very touchy about menopause.

Sad Sad Scoutie.

SAD SAD SCOUTIE

I realized after I posted the picture that the picture of our little Scoutie was too small to appreciate. Now you can see just how nice her hair looks. Fortunately, her big pouty lip is covering up the big zit she had on her chin at the time.

A vision of pathetic loveliness.

Exam week

Sad Scout and Mothers

I need to explain this picture. Scout was in the midst of exam week. She called her mothers at midnight. She needed help. I bet you can see that in her pathetic little face.

She was working on a paper. It was no doubt overdue. It was for a class she is taking this semester. Love and Eroticism in Western Culture. IN108 at Emerson College Really. That’s the class she is taking. Aren’t you jealous?

She called for help on a paper for this class. At first I was kind of flattered and then she told me what the paper was about. For the life of me, I can’t remember the whole topic but I know for sure that it involved sex, paranoia and masculinity.

I think we were just the right people to call.

Don’t we look helpful? Actually Eileen looks helpful. I look like I recently had a tragic haircut. In fact, I’m really not sure why I chose to post this picture given how bad I look.

Oh yeah, I remember now. I chose to post this because this particular picture because if offers insight into Scout.

Here she was, feeling low, pathetic, stressed. She had broken out in some rash that sent her to the Emerson health center. But never too pathetic to photograph herself looking pathetic and then taking a snapshot of her desktop and emailing it to me while we were still on our video chat.

I really don’t know how she does it. It’s impressive. As I’m sure the paper about sex, paranoia and masculinity was.

Nobody Puts Baby, or Barack, in the Corner.

OK, I’m an idiot. In fact, we’re all idiots, all 26,917,473 of us U.S. citizens age 18 to 25. We do everything for the wrong reasons…or so we’re told.

As an 18-year-old Obama supporter, I am constantly being stereotyped.

Left and right, I am categorized by patronizing remarks from the older voters such as, “Oh, you would like Obama,” or, “Let me guess, you’re an Obama fan, right?” When I respond “Yes,” I am immediately reduced to a 4-year-old, except I am not offered a lollipop or a sticker.

No, I don’t get gold stars for having an opinion. For being a passionate young voter, I get two condescending eyes and a half smile on a head moving side to side in pity.

Is this reaction from those older than me to mean that my support for Obama is lesser than another 18-year-old’s support for Clinton? Is my vote for Obama passé? And if that’s the case, are some votes more legitimate than others? Or maybe, just maybe, my support for Obama is just too obvious and vapid.

The first step in assessing these questions is to acknowledge the truth: Sen. Barack Obama has resonated with young voters in a way that no other presidential candidate has. Young voters vote for him, and my goodness, older people just won’t shut up about it. Just once, I would like to read an article about Obama that didn’t mention his voter’s age demographic. Sure, the fact that my generation is more present is exciting and yes Obama has captured the imagination of people my age but let’s remember two things. First, Obama could not have made it this far riding solely on the coattails (or pigtails) of 18- to 25-year-olds. And secondly, while we’re talking about young people, let’s remember the young Republicans. Does anyone ever talk about any fervor coming from the young Republicans ring? No.

I’ll admit that for me it’s quite bittersweet; there are a surprising amount of young Republicans out there too. In fact, there’s one in my class. A real, live, young Republican among 15 young Democrats. And get this — he has opinions, too! My Republican classmate is both 18 and educated! Shocking! He has made it very clear that he is voting for McCain, and because he made the mistake of going to school in good ‘ol blue Massachusetts, he is constantly grilled on his reasoning.

People want to know his opinions. They ask him to explain his reasoning. They all assume an 18-year-old McCain supporter has done his research.

I believe my Republican classmate has more credibility voting for McCain than I have voting for Obama. McCain has “substance” and therefore my classmate must, too. It is somehow understood that he has a “real” reason to vote for McCain. I’m just another mindless young Democrat who’s got a crush on Obama.

I’m sorry.

Did anyone ever ask me why I support Obama? No. Would it be crazy if I said I actually find him to be more rational than Ms. Hillary Rational-Clinton has ever been? I’ve read Obama’s platform, and I think it’s the best one out there. I’ve seen him speak three times, and I was inspired by what he was saying, not just how he said it. Yes, I actually know what he stands for, and I am fully aware of where he wants to lead our country.

And I think that makes me a heckuva more educated voter than most of the patronizers I’ve come by.

But here is my worry: I’m afraid that I will hurt my candidate. I think the youth vote will hurt Obama.

I see it everyday: Obama is being dismissed by older generations on the grounds that he is attracting young voters, and because young voters are seen as uneducated, they in turn see him as superficial.

Yes, he is absolutely a breathtaking public speaker. Yes, he does have a certain fierceness in him that Clinton probably lost during menopause. And yes, these qualities are attractive to a young voter, like myself. But I am not naïve. And nobody puts baby, or Barack, in the corner.

Obama is regularly being compared to President John Kennedy. I see this as an honor, but not just for the reasons the media continues to obsess over, like the fact that he is “young” and as “Kennedy was the first Catholic”, “Obama is the first black.” While I believe these points are all worth noting, there is a far greater meaning in comparing the two politicians. They share so much more than what is on the surface. In fact, they share something I see as crucial: they share the same values.

If you look closely at Obama’s platform, you will find many of the same ideals that Kennedy possessed, like “The Rights of Man,” the need to challenge the status quo, and most importantly, the strength that is patience.

In President Kennedy’s 1960 Presidential Nomination Acceptance Speech, he said, “After Buchanan, this nation needed a Lincoln — after Taft, we needed a Wilson — after Hoover we needed Franklin Roosevelt . . . And after eight years of drugged and fitful sleep, this nation needs strong, creative Democratic leadership in the White House.”

I think he was referring to himself. But as a virgin voter who supports Obama not just for his heart, but for his head as well, I see that Kennedy could have actually been referring to Obama, too.

Like Kennedy, Obama is simply offering something new, something creative, something substantive. I know this because I’ve done my homework, and in doing so, I’ve learned that Obama has done his

Scout’s readers weigh in.

So The Huffington Post published Scout’s piece yesterday. You can still find it there on the Politics page (scroll down. it’s on the left. Naturally.) It’s about young people and voting. You can also read it here. Two differences. 1st, there is no picture on HuffPost and here at whosthegrownup.com, you can spend a few minutes trying desperately to figure out why it appears that Scout is going up in flames. She tells me that it’s a problem with her Polaroid camera (which she uses instead of a digital camera as I got a bit fatigued listening to her tell me yet again that she left her digital camera on the <insert here> <examples include, the train, the bus, her friend’s car, a cab and the moon>. (that’s her in the suit.?Ç¬† She says the cell phone is in the crater just behind her)

You’ll also note that the title was changed for HuffPost. They went with the catchier “Losing My Voter Virginity.” This references her conversation with a complete stranger at the post office who was charged with ensuring that Scout’s absentee ballot arrived safely in her home state of New Jersey in time to be counted.

I checked this morning and someone had weighed in on Scout’s post. Here’s the comment:

Welcome to the real world. But don’t put too much faith in any president, who is mainly a figurehead. Policy is made by Congress, which usually is dominated by dead-heads who stubbornly defend the status quo. Tell your young friends to be sure to vote out the dead wood from both parties on Capitol Hill — and that would include most incumbents.

Scout no doubt appreciates that the reader took the time to comment but even I thought that this person sounded like somebody’s mother. And she already has two of those.

And I might add that this reader was way more civil than the reader who offered her/his two cents on my decision to vote for Barack Obama on Super Tuesday.

Jenny writes:

I am heartened to see that a majority of your fellow New Jerseyians didn’t follow your inane logic and vote for Obama. Obama will not be able to magically remove cynicism from politics; not everyone eats up his empty platitudes as eagerly as progressives do.

I know that Jenny didn’t call me “inane” but it kind of felt like it. Jenny, I respect your opinion and thank you for weighing in at joangarry.com. But for future reference, only my children and my spouse have permission to berate me publicly. If you would like any pointers, I’ll put them in touch with you.

They’ve all gotten quite good at it.

New Kid in Town

Just months ago, I stood in line in the Boston Commons, directly across the street from the dorm room I sit in everyday, to get a chance to see a speech by a presidential candidate. I recall the picture almost too clearly- my mental image of waves upon waves of vintage t-shirts, hippie skirts and sandals reminds me that it was still warm in Boston, a foreign concept indeed.

I, along with what appeared to be my entire school, had skipped out of class early to go see Barack Obama speak, live, in the flesh. My school is known for its focus on media and technology, so it wasn’t so much hearing him speak that caused us all to flurry to the park– any one of us could pull up a youtube video of him in half a heartbeat.

There was just something magical about him: something everyone had to see with their own eyes, if not just for themselves, but also to be able to say that had been there.

Having seen him speak twice, both in more private settings, I felt spoiled. There were so many people, so many young people, that I chose to step out of line and sit further away so that I might give someone else a chance to sit in front of the amplifiers and be hit more directly by the reverberations of his words.

And truthfully, I didn’t care. I was so in awe of my generation, of the number of newly-eighteen-year-old hands propping up “OBAMA ‘08″ signs, I thought I could almost be proud.

I remembered four years ago. You remember. That time when the young people were expected to have such a great impact on the vote? That time when the young people were supposed to act as the intelligent population (or was it the dissenting population?) and vote out our imbecile of a president? Remember how the young people just simply “forgot” to vote and how, if they had remembered, we might have an actual president, and not a buffoon, in office?

As I heard the unusually high-pitched drone of “O-Ba-Ma!” I couldn’t help but get excited. Could this be the year we finally do it? Could this generation of first-time voters, my generation, finally use that so-often-spoken-of-but-never-before-seen superpower we hold in the presidential elections process?

Months passed. Candidates blossomed from simple seeds into full people with ideas, sometimes beautiful and often times not. Affiliations were made. There was, as always, some flip-flopping. I did what I assumed all of my friends from the magical rally were also doing: filling out absentee ballots to send home so that their votes were not muted away at college.

After thanking the man at the post office for “helping to take away my voter virginity,” I skipped back to class (everyone in college loves to skip because we’re so happy all the time) and inquired with my peers, asking to which candidate they lost their voter virginity.

The responses were rather heartbreaking. I did not talk to one other person who had taken five minutes to fill out and send in an absentee ballot. Looking into the same eyes I had seen at the Obama rally, I was either laughed at or patted on the back and told, “Well, looks like you’re a better person than me.”

That was when I felt it. The anger I had felt towards the first timer’s stupidity and failure four years ago was now a large pit of shame in my gut. And today, the day known as “super Tuesday” to the adults who actually seem to care, I woke up with that pit feeling heavier than ever. I asked my friend, “did you vote?” to which he replied, “uhhh…when’s the primary in Connecticut? Oh, today? Oh…yeah I guess it’s too late.”

Too late was the feeling I had all day.

Until just now.

Arriving back at my dorm room, looking out the window into the very same Boston Commons, I read an article that I did not expect to see: “Record absentee ballots may delay Super Tuesday results.”

That’s right America- from what it appears, there’s a new kid in town, and his name is Eighteen-to-Twenty-five.

Presidential politics and 13 year olds.

John Edwards has ended his presidential bid. This headline news reminded me of our dinnertime conversation earlier this week. Two very different takes on John Edwards from our 7th grader twins. Each comment says alot about our kids and a lot about the presidential race and how it is engaging Americans of all ages.

Kit (pictured above) is not fond of John Edwards. I?¢‚Ç¨‚Ñ¢m sure if she heard about the haircut scandal ?¢‚Ç¨‚Äú she cares a lot about hair and this would sway her no doubt ?¢‚Ç¨‚Äú but her rationale is also thoughtful. She told me over dinner last night, ?¢‚Ç¨?ìI like Barack. He says we all have to change America together. He doesn?¢‚Ç¨‚Ñ¢t think he can do it all by himself.?¢‚Ç¨¬ù What does that have to do with John Edwards, I asked? ?¢‚Ç¨?ìHe says he is going to do everything. I am going to end poverty. I am going to fight for the middle class. I am going to fight big companies. He has a pretty big ego.?¢‚Ç¨¬ù

Kit’s brother Ben (also pictured above) marches to a different drum. He has been shopping for a new candidate to support since Mike Gravel dropped out. He liked Gravel a lot. He thought Gravel seemed so happy. Ben thinks people running for president should be happy about it. Interesting point.

So in the last few days, Ben has been focused on John Edwards. His argument in favor of Edwards is simple. His observation: ?¢‚Ç¨?ìI know what he stands for. He always talks about it. He wants to end poverty. I like that.?¢‚Ç¨¬ù Now you should know that Ben is hard wired to care about the less fortunate and is absolutely physically unable to pass a homeless person without offering change. So the message resonates. But Ben?¢‚Ç¨‚Ñ¢s real point is that Edwards stays on message. ?¢‚Ç¨?ìI have no idea what Hillary and Barack really care about doing as president.?¢‚Ç¨¬ù Duly noted.

CNN reported this morning that Edwards spoke with Obama and Clinton and asked them to carry the message about poverty with them as the campaign unfolds and into the White House if elected. I have to remember to tell Ben that.

He will be pleased.

Congratulations, Scout!

Scout hasn’t been returning my calls since she left for Emerson College after winter break.?Ç¬† I’m not taking that personally.?Ç¬† So I thought this might be the best way to reach her to tell her this exciting news.

Imagine our joy to open today’s mail and see this award for our little Scoutie.?Ç¬† And we thought her “Oustanding Middle School Choral Achievement” award was a pinnacle achievement.

The letter reads:

Dear Scout:

As one of our most loyal Veterans of Foreign Wars (VFW) supporters, I am proud to present your 2008 VFW National Military Services Certificate of Appreciation.?Ç¬†

The letter goes on and on waxing eloquent about our gifted daughter and it is signed by the one and only Allen “Gunner” Kent, Adjutant General,?Ç¬† VFW of the USA.

We’re so proud we could burst.?Ç¬† Lots of love to you Scout from Joan “Mini-Cooper” Garry.

It was scrabulous having Scout home from college.

The Scrabble people are fighting with the Facebook people. The Scrabulous application on Facebook is a trademark infringement. So say the Scrabble people. I say

PLEASE WORK SOMETHING OUT HERE. SCOUT IS ACTUALLY DOING SOMETHING EDUCATIONAL WITH HER LAPTOP!!!!

I must say that it was really nice to have Scout home for nearly five weeks. It was especially nice after her grades were posted on the internet, confirming that she would in fact be going back in five weeks (not that we ever doubted you Scoutie)

Dare I say it? Scout seemed more grown up. I reacted with the depressing realization that I might just be about as grownup as I am going to get.

Scout stayed out late, saw friends, made time for her siblings, slept late but not too late and naturally spent a great deal of time on her laptop. I typically consider this a colossal waste of time. Typically I’m right. There was the night that she spent hours creating a facebook page for our new kitten. Who knew?

But one afternoon, she asked me if I could think of a five letter word with the letters E, E, E, I, Q, and Y. Further, she needed the Q to be the second letter so she could get triple letter score. My eyes widened. She was playing online scrabble instead of watching a you tube video of a two year old asking Will Farrel for his overdue rent.

Scout and “the boyfriend” spent endless hours playing Scrabble during the winter break. It was sweet to watch and gave me such hope that the laptop could be used for good and not evil.

I’m really not kidding here. I now have hope that from time to time, Scout is doing something that exercises her brain muscles and builds her vocabulary. If Scrabulous is removed, all pretense is gone.

Who can I call?

Raise your hand if you let your kid call you a ‘bozo.’

Jojo the Bozo

Well let’s see. My hand is up. Do I see any others? Hmmm.

Scout left to go back to college yesterday after five weeks at home. Five weeks in which I can say that she was actually nice to have around. A vacation in which she enthusiastically agreed to accompany Ben and Kit skiing. A vacation in which she told Eileen she was right (there were witnesses). A vacation in which she invited Kit out for a nice Indian food dinner - just the two of them. A vacation in which I heard real live apologies from Scout for running late (the headline news here is the apology part and not the running late part). A vacation in which Scout and Eileen attended the theater together and neither called my cell to complain about the other.

A vacation in which is was so downright nice to have her around that I am willing to forgive the ‘bozo’ comment about the spelling of our new cat’s name.

Even though she might want to remember just how vulnerable she is on the subject of spelling. A few years back, she yelled from upstairs asking me how to spell the word “busy.” Thank god I was there; otherwise she might have gone with “bizzy.” Scout was working on cover letters for NYC summer internships (resume available upon request) and repeatedly asked for spelling help. I think at one point she asked me if the word ‘internship’ was one word or two.

But I digress. I’ll let the ‘bozo’ crack slide. I know it’s Scoutie’s own special way of telling me just how much she loves me. I know she misses me already. I know it’s her way of separating.

I’m going to be the grownup here. Go ahead Scout. It’s OK. I love you in spite(or is it ‘inspite?’) of the name calling. Call me a bozo for all the world to read (well, at least the world of visitors to this blog of ours).

I’m just glad you spelled it correctly.

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