Experience and Art
This was a fabulous evening. My husband, my two boys and I went downtown. We met my parents for dinner at one of our favorite restaurants. They have fantastic oysters and a great view of Washington Park. It's five minutes from our old house, but we haven't lived down there for two years.
So, we got all dressed up. I wore one of my favorite dresses. It's a tasteful black and white, polka dot wrap dress. My boys were in their nice pants, good shirts and sweaters. My husband and father were wearing jackets. My mom was lovely in a black and white skirt. We felt good. We looked good.
We joined my parents. We exchanged pleasantries. Then, a funny thing happened. Even though I felt that things were going to be so different, because I feel different, things were actually very much the same. Similar conversations. Similar reactions to our environment. We were all trying to have a good time. Perhaps I tried too hard.
Soren came up behind me at the restaurant and started giving me a back massage. We do that a lot, when people need stress relief and comfort. Soren, at seven years old, knew that I needed something. He got out of his chair, walked over to me, and gave me a hug. Then, he started rubbing my shoulders.
How did he know? Well, I don't hide my feelings. He knew when I said, "Well, I guess no one is interested in the story I'm telling" that I felt ignored and offended. His response was to offer physical comfort. It was welcome.
He proceeded to give my mother a shoulder rub. She also appreciated the gesture. It was kind. It broke the ice. Soren saves the day, again.
Off we went to the art gallery. I introduced my parents to the owners, one of whom is an artist, who had several pieces on exhibit. Soren had a lot of questions about Mr. B's work. Mr. B answered Soren and was pleased to discuss his motivation. I loved that. That was my favorite moment of the night.
We moved onto the second gallery, which happened to be a bar that my husband and I often frequent. We met our friend, who was one of the artists and he introduced us to his daughter. We talked about art, kids and all kinds of things. My parents left after about twenty minutes. My mom wasn't as comfortable at the bar as she was at the gallery. We were in OTR (Over the Rhine) in Cincinnati, which used to be the worst neighborhood in the city. My grandfather, on my mom's side, was a policeman and walked a beat in that area. It's had a revival, due in large part to the company my husband used to work for.
When my husband and I lived downtown, we went to these places regularly. When we had children, we took our boys to the urban parks, restaurants and events. The best outcome of those experiences is that our boys think diversity is normal. They speak to everyone. They don't get nervous. They enjoy seeing new things and people who look different than they do. They don't even mention the differences that so many adults find so important.
People stop my boys and speak to them. These people are white, brown, black and everything in between. Our boys treat everyone the same. When a gentlemen stopped to ask the boys if they were having a good night, Soren said, 'Oh, yes. We love coming downtown. We used to live near here.' The gentleman responded, 'Well, I live near here, too. You have a good night!'
And we did. We ate. We walked. We saw some interesting art. We talked with people that we would not meet in Milford, Ohio, where we now reside. This is why we make trips downtown. The heart of the city is where the most interesting people live. The best parts of our culture reside downtown. The art, music and theater are there! Our boys our comfortable. They know they're safe. We left at 8:30, before the bars started getting busy. When we walked out of the last bar/gallery at that time, I smelled someone smoking pot. Kieran said, "I smell smoke."
"Yes, some people smoke. I hope you never smoke. It isn't good for you. Dad is bringing the car around now."
That was the only negative comment my children made about being in OTR. They felt at home. We lived there for the first five years of Soren's life and the first two of Kieran's. We take them to music festivals, restaurants, museums and parks in the heart of the city. They make friends with anyone who is willing to play or talk with them. In fact, one of the places we went was the Art Beyond Boundaries gallery.
We met three artists tonight and had the opportunity to talk to them about their work. Soren had a lot of questions for two of the artists. I told him what I thought about the pieces, but then I suggested that he speak directly to the person who created the work. That's what he did. I watched my son looking up to these three men. He asked good questions. They gave good answers. There was a mutual respect and understanding happening. I knew it was good for all of them. They had a lot to say to one another. I didn't need to intervene. I only had to make the introduction. One artist happens to be an older black man. One, a middle-aged white guy. The other was a young, white man, who was disabled. Soren was very interested in the last artist's work. Mr. Maloney, the artist, was sitting in a chair, near his work. As Soren started talking about it, Mr. Maloney interjected. Soren introduced himself and they had a conversation. Eventually, Soren asked if he was okay. Mr. Maloney said he was fine, but that he had been in a car accident years ago, so he has trouble with his hands and walks with a cane. Soren listened, said, 'Oh, okay' and went on to discuss the art. The artist gave Soren a piece of art to take home. Soren asked me to put it in my bag, because, 'It might get ruined by the rain.' Soren asked a human, heartfelt and honest question. He was concerned. He wasn't condescending or inappropriate.
Why are we so afraid of what someone might say to people who are different. If we leave people alone, they'll probably come up with questions and opinions of their own. Those questions and opinions will probably be better than the one's we fear.
My heart was soaring. As parents, we make introductions. We present opportunities and new ideas. Then, we stand back and watch our children interpret, engage and understand the world. It's beautiful.
So, we got all dressed up. I wore one of my favorite dresses. It's a tasteful black and white, polka dot wrap dress. My boys were in their nice pants, good shirts and sweaters. My husband and father were wearing jackets. My mom was lovely in a black and white skirt. We felt good. We looked good.
We joined my parents. We exchanged pleasantries. Then, a funny thing happened. Even though I felt that things were going to be so different, because I feel different, things were actually very much the same. Similar conversations. Similar reactions to our environment. We were all trying to have a good time. Perhaps I tried too hard.
Soren came up behind me at the restaurant and started giving me a back massage. We do that a lot, when people need stress relief and comfort. Soren, at seven years old, knew that I needed something. He got out of his chair, walked over to me, and gave me a hug. Then, he started rubbing my shoulders.
How did he know? Well, I don't hide my feelings. He knew when I said, "Well, I guess no one is interested in the story I'm telling" that I felt ignored and offended. His response was to offer physical comfort. It was welcome.
He proceeded to give my mother a shoulder rub. She also appreciated the gesture. It was kind. It broke the ice. Soren saves the day, again.
Off we went to the art gallery. I introduced my parents to the owners, one of whom is an artist, who had several pieces on exhibit. Soren had a lot of questions about Mr. B's work. Mr. B answered Soren and was pleased to discuss his motivation. I loved that. That was my favorite moment of the night.
We moved onto the second gallery, which happened to be a bar that my husband and I often frequent. We met our friend, who was one of the artists and he introduced us to his daughter. We talked about art, kids and all kinds of things. My parents left after about twenty minutes. My mom wasn't as comfortable at the bar as she was at the gallery. We were in OTR (Over the Rhine) in Cincinnati, which used to be the worst neighborhood in the city. My grandfather, on my mom's side, was a policeman and walked a beat in that area. It's had a revival, due in large part to the company my husband used to work for.
When my husband and I lived downtown, we went to these places regularly. When we had children, we took our boys to the urban parks, restaurants and events. The best outcome of those experiences is that our boys think diversity is normal. They speak to everyone. They don't get nervous. They enjoy seeing new things and people who look different than they do. They don't even mention the differences that so many adults find so important.
People stop my boys and speak to them. These people are white, brown, black and everything in between. Our boys treat everyone the same. When a gentlemen stopped to ask the boys if they were having a good night, Soren said, 'Oh, yes. We love coming downtown. We used to live near here.' The gentleman responded, 'Well, I live near here, too. You have a good night!'
And we did. We ate. We walked. We saw some interesting art. We talked with people that we would not meet in Milford, Ohio, where we now reside. This is why we make trips downtown. The heart of the city is where the most interesting people live. The best parts of our culture reside downtown. The art, music and theater are there! Our boys our comfortable. They know they're safe. We left at 8:30, before the bars started getting busy. When we walked out of the last bar/gallery at that time, I smelled someone smoking pot. Kieran said, "I smell smoke."
"Yes, some people smoke. I hope you never smoke. It isn't good for you. Dad is bringing the car around now."
That was the only negative comment my children made about being in OTR. They felt at home. We lived there for the first five years of Soren's life and the first two of Kieran's. We take them to music festivals, restaurants, museums and parks in the heart of the city. They make friends with anyone who is willing to play or talk with them. In fact, one of the places we went was the Art Beyond Boundaries gallery.
We met three artists tonight and had the opportunity to talk to them about their work. Soren had a lot of questions for two of the artists. I told him what I thought about the pieces, but then I suggested that he speak directly to the person who created the work. That's what he did. I watched my son looking up to these three men. He asked good questions. They gave good answers. There was a mutual respect and understanding happening. I knew it was good for all of them. They had a lot to say to one another. I didn't need to intervene. I only had to make the introduction. One artist happens to be an older black man. One, a middle-aged white guy. The other was a young, white man, who was disabled. Soren was very interested in the last artist's work. Mr. Maloney, the artist, was sitting in a chair, near his work. As Soren started talking about it, Mr. Maloney interjected. Soren introduced himself and they had a conversation. Eventually, Soren asked if he was okay. Mr. Maloney said he was fine, but that he had been in a car accident years ago, so he has trouble with his hands and walks with a cane. Soren listened, said, 'Oh, okay' and went on to discuss the art. The artist gave Soren a piece of art to take home. Soren asked me to put it in my bag, because, 'It might get ruined by the rain.' Soren asked a human, heartfelt and honest question. He was concerned. He wasn't condescending or inappropriate.
Why are we so afraid of what someone might say to people who are different. If we leave people alone, they'll probably come up with questions and opinions of their own. Those questions and opinions will probably be better than the one's we fear.
My heart was soaring. As parents, we make introductions. We present opportunities and new ideas. Then, we stand back and watch our children interpret, engage and understand the world. It's beautiful.
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