Immer Geändert. On Judaism and Memory

Who knows why things stick with us, while others fade away. The inexorable plodding of each and every day may seem lingering, but you look back and suddenly the years have flown by like the pages of a book, blown over by the wind.

I'm feeling sentimental. For those who don't understand me, the real me, that means I'm having one of my rare moments where I am feeling particularly emotive about everything around me. If I turned over enough rocks in my brain I'd likely be able to pin point all of the triggers that brought on this state of being, but despite knowing that some of those triggers exist in the present, there is one in particular that is a memory from the past.

The memories started surfacing on Sunday, when I walked with N to the neighborhood bookstore. If I spent twenty dollars, I would get a free canvas bag, and I've never been one to turn down a bag or a book. Wandering the store, the book I had thought I was going to purchase wasn't in stock, and I was feeling a bit desperate about the whole affair - I really wanted to find a book that would walk out the door with me in a new bag. Sometimes books find you when you least expect it, and one finally caught my eye. After paging through it briefly I knew two things - 1) it was priced way over the twenty dollars I needed to spend, and 2) this book was going home with me, and I would keep it forever.

A bit dramatic for a book that I had paged through for all of five minutes, but there you have it. This is the book I bought:

When I was a child I had interest verging on obsession with everything that I could read regarding the Holocaust. Among all the other books I voraciously consumed, I read Anne Frank's diary over and over. World War II was my favorite time period to study in history, though the politics and troop movements and famous battles were not my primary focus. I wanted to know everything I could about the Nazi's attempt to exterminate an entire ethnoreligious group from the face of this earth. Eventually I moved on to other interests, but I would always find my way back to this hideous time in human history. It took me years to realize that my continuing exploration had a subconscious question driving my interest. I was trying to understand the one question that had no simple answer, "why?" Why did this happen? Why did people let this happen? How in the HELL did this happen? 

Those answers were not to come, at least not in a satisfactory manner, and my pursuit of these questions only continued into college as continued my studies in learning German - a concentration which led to a wealth of options in electives. I studied Yiddish, Yiddish literature, Jewish history, themes of gender and sexuality in Jewish folklore, the list goes on. Finally, my studies took me overseas, and I landed in Berlin, at a school smack in the middle of the old Jewish quarter. I began to wonder if here, standing where it all began, I would finally find the answers. Across the street from my school is the heavily guarded Alte Synagoge and scattered among the cobbles of the sidewalk were Stolpersteine, in English, stumbling stones - the brass inserts in front of every house where it is known that a Jewish person who perished in the Holocaust used to live. The stones tell you their name, their date of birth, deportation date, and if known, their date and location of death. They would say something like, Deportiert 1942, Ermordet in Auschwitz, Deported 1942, Murdered in Auschwitz. The very ground I walked on served as an everyday reminder of the questions I wanted answered.

My life and studies in Europe took me to Amsterdam where I walked through the Secret Annex in which Anne and her family hid all those years. Onward also to Jewish cemeteries in Berlin - the few that had survived, and to Wandsee, a gorgeous lakeside estate with vistas overlooking the water from it's location nestled in a stand of trees. It is now a museum, as on January 20th, 1942, a meeting of government officials created "The Final Solution to the Jewish Problem". The document developed at that meeting outlined the deportation of all European Jews to Eastern Europe with the ultimate purpose of extermination. The meeting lasted 90 minutes. 

My education in Europe began it's climax with a viewing of Schindler's List - which oddly enough, I had never seen, and directly after that a trip to Poland and to Auschwitz. While not very eloquently, I have previously written about that trip so I will not detail my experience in this, what is already an overly verbose post. What I will say, is better said in German, Ich bin immer verändert - I am forever changed. 

I can now give you educated and well thought out responses to many of those somewhat subconscious questions that plaugued me all of those years of study. I can wax eloquent regarding the part of the scapegoat that the Jewish people have played throughout all of history. I can explain in detail the pervasive nature of not only the insidious dynamics at work, but also the dangerous group think that turned ordinary neighbors into enemies and murderers. I can even interpret the designs and plans of The Final Solution and, with no positive connotation, marvel at its lethal efficiency. 

The trove of knowledge I have surrounding the Nazi's attempt at exterminating the Jews from the face of the earth has allowed me to answer all of the questions but one, "why?" My only conclusion is that there are no words that exist in any language suitable to answer that question. There are only the emotions that came with each visit I made to every new location. It was only my imagination, but I pictured the spirits of those who inhabited those places, staring, looking, whispering, "Remember, remember." 

I will always remember. I will always educate. It may seem strange that a gentile such as myself walks around with the entire history of a people to whom I do not belong inside of my head, but it was gentiles like me who did not, would not, decided not to step in. I do not bear the guilt, but instead walk with the understanding - to paraphrase Santayana - that if we do not learn and do not educate, we risk repeating the horrors of the past. 

The things that I am passionate about may seem odd - but I'm an odd sort of person. I am looking forward to reading this new book of mine in small bites - a page here and there in no particular order. allowing the emotions that flow from the pages to overtake me for a small amount of time. If you have the opportunity, watch the movie, if you have the privilege, walk the places I have been fortunate enough to see with my own eyes. Sie wird für immer geändert. 

Bacon Jam and Smokey Peat

Sometimes, you just need to be with you. I've discovered I can't be completely static - and cooking fulfills my need to complete or produce... something. Tonight was a solo night, with my favorite show, my favorite video game and my favorite pasttime - cooking.

Bacon Jam:

I made a double batch, so it took twice as long - and it was accompanied by the smokiest of delciousness out there - Laphroigh Quarter Cask

1lb of bacon

3 to 4 cloves of garlic

1 medium sized onion

1/4 cup apple cider vineger

1/2 cup packed brown sugar

1/2 cup coffee

Yes - you read that correctly - coffee. I keep leftover and stale beans for this purpose. You can flex maple sugar or burbon into or in place of the brown sugar to create your own spin. Burbon can also be consumed.

Take your bacon and brown it, just the edges. As soon as it shows those signs pull the bacon off of the  pan and onto some sort of paper towel - remove the fat while keeping a tablespoon in the pan.

Crush the cloves of garlic with the flat of your blade, then chop.

Chop the onions and then heat the one remaining tablespoon of bacon fat over medium heat. Saute the garlic and onions until translucent, then add the brown sugar, the vinegar and the coffee and heat to boiling. Reduce heat and cut the bacon into 1 inch pieces, then add to the mixture. Sip your drink of choice as you have some work and a bit of a wait ahead of you.

Simmer for at least an hour and a half.

It will reduce, and it will be glorious. Can it, mash it, stick it in a stew.... (points if you get that reference), but mostly spread it on everything and ANYTHING. 

I've used it in combination with brie, fig preserves and french bread, tonight. It has also been fabulous with brie and arugula on grilled cheese - but please, take your pick, and accompanying drink, and enjoy.

Where do we go from here?

The marathon is quickly approaching.

There, I said it. It is swiftly and inexorably approaching, much like it did last year, and much like it will do each year from here on out. I have my golden ticket, my winning lotto number, my entrance fee paid. I get the bombardment of emails greeting me with a cheerful and ego inflating "Attention Athletes!" The long-miler weekend is happening soon - twenty miles. I remember that run. It was the best run, performance-wise, that I have ever completed. Twenty got me hyped, somewhat misleadingly, for 26.2. In the springtime it was time to pull out the running shoes again as I had only been sporadically running during the winter months. I was out of shape but looked forward to the experience of reaching for a lofty goal and achieving it. I wanted to better my somewhat disastrous time by not being hideously ill the day of the race. I wanted to make everyone proud again. I wanted to make myself proud again...


The marathon is quickly approaching, and will pass by without me. This race will be run by others, but not by me.

There, I said it. The truth I've been avoiding. I'm not running this year. I'm somewhat hopefully deferring my slot for the next go-round, paying the entrance fee again, and looking with concern and anxiety to next October. If I was feeling polite I would tell you that I was disappointed in myself, if I was being honest I would tell you that I was crushed. I would tell you that I am dreading the expo, the flow of tourists and runners coming into the city, the signs, the preparations of those around me, the day before, and most of all the day of. I have friends running, and I've spent the last month and a half, and another month to go, preparing myself to get out of bed on that day, and cheer them on with every ounce of passion that I received the year before. This will be a bitter acrid pill to swallow.

My frustration is laid at the feet of no one but myself, but if we're being honest - and it seems that we are - the anger and frustration and self-flagellation isn't entirely fair. The truth is that I fight an invisible disease everyday, one I don't feel comfortable enough to discuss or name with the internet, and that disease has contributed, or rather destroyed, my ability to train this year. I don't talk about it, I don't want to, but it's there and it hurts. I can't lay all the blame there, but I have to portion blame where appropriate to avoid the tidal wave of anger and guilt I feel when I stare at my running shoes and think, "remember what you used to do? Where you used to be? Now you are no where."

This isn't a plea for sympathy. It is a confession, a whispered revelation, a silent 'help me'. Most importantly it is getting this off my chest so that I can look at the more important question at hand: "where do we go from here?"

That answer just might be found in the laces of my running shoes, the encouragement of friends, and the simple but profound statement of "Onward". I know that I am not any less of a person for not running this year, but believing that statement is a little trickier. Much like the battle I fight everyday, I will work harder at that belief, at cutting myself a break.

I am a marathoner now and always, and no illness or sense of despair can take that away from me. On October 12th, I will still be a marathoner - and so will so many of those around me. I am so proud of you all, I know what you've gone through and this is your year, not mine - enjoy every single moment.

See you on Congress Parkway in 2015.

Things I wish I could say to the Parents of my Freshman

Hello,

First, thank you for the trust you have placed in me, and in our institution. You have provided us with the faith that we will do right by your child. Without stating it I also understand that [most of] you are placing the trust that we will shelter them, keep them safe, keep them healthy and even happy.

Did you ever truly consider how tall an order that is? I reflect back upon my young life, prior to full time work, grad school, college, and know for a fact that was an order that couldn't have been fulfilled by my own parents at all times. Sometimes I stayed up too late (reading, I was a nerd), didn't do my homework, sobbed over breakups, and even watched heartbroken as my family stability crumbled around me due to life threatening illnesses of one kind or another.

I have come to understand over my career in higher education that the wild eyed fear that exists in a parent's eyes as they drop their student off that first day is the terror of the unknown, of not being sure that the lessons have been heard, of worrying that your 18 or so years of parenting will not have been enough to prepare them for this upcoming trial.

And so, you turn to me: the adult in the room. However, a huge thank you to the kind few who look at me and mistake me for a student on move in day - bless your souls. My supervisor always likes to reassure parents on this particular day that "Your students have heard your lessons", and some of them have. Some will actively attempt to dump all that information out the minute your car pulls off, while others will valiantly cling to their convictions at times to the detriment of the acceptance of new ideas, people, or paths. Your student may surprise you at where they fall along this spectrum.

The only constant that can be expected is that they are going to make mistakes. Sometimes they will be little mistakes, like sleeping through class, and other times they will be big mistakes that they may be too ashamed to ever tell you about. That, my dear parents, is often where I come in. I get to see your students at their worst - that's my job. When they violate policies, they meet with me. I get to see them combative, angry, frustrated, sad, clueless, arrogant, manipulative, rude, scared, terrified. What makes me enjoy my job is my ability to see the good in the child that you raised, and to see their actions as mistakes. I always tell them, "this moment may be a defining one, but it doesn't have to define you".

I wish I could write this letter to new parents - and maybe some day I will, but the moments that I see them at their worst is when I get to tease out the type of parenting style with which they were raised. Did you solve all their problems? Did they get everything they ever wanted? Have you always risen up and defended their every action? If the answer to any of those questions is yes, they are about to get a very rude, "welcome to the world" when they sit down in my office. I had a girl burst into tears once when I told her that I couldn't get her a single room:

"No?" she asked, incredulously.
"You don't hear that very often.... do you?" I replied, one eyebrow cocked skyward.
"No..... my mother never tells me no." she stated shakily.
"....Welcome to the rest of your life."

I spent ten minutes after that getting her to stop crying.

The point of that little anecdote is that for better or for worse, you are their parents/guardians, and your style will come out in how they respond to an authority figure, how they treat their roommate, and how they deal with stress. This letter is coming to you too late, Freshman Parents, for me to provide pointers and bits of advice on how to best prepare them, however. That will be for another day. What we're focused on here now is what you can do in the moment, what you can do when you're worried, when they scare you, when they won't call, when you are angry at me. What do you do?

My Freshman Parent How-To, Some Hard Truths and Caring Pointers:

1. If you want to talk to school officials about your student, learn about FERPA, and talk with your student about signing a form. This is, however, your student's choice. If they don't want me talking to you, I won't. I don't care who pays the bills. Take that up with them.

2. I don't care what you think, getting involved in your student's disagreements with their roommate is always a bad idea. You can support your student, but please, don't intervene. We've got roommate meditations for that.

3. Have a conversation with your student about the nature of the internet. The things they write, post, blog, snap, tweet, whatever, are a part of public domain - and those words thrown out their about "Imma beat the shiiiiit outa mah roomie!1!" are not private, and can be considered violations of our electronic harassment policy.

4. I understand - this is your child, your baby. Your most precious part of life. I watch over 1750 precious individuals every day, and that doesn't make any of them less special, it just means that I'm not going to individually bend the rules or provide special treatment to the one that you consider 'yours'.

5. If they don't call after 24 hours it doesn't mean they are dead in the ditch, it likely means they are still sleeping. If you ask us to check on them - we will, but depending on protocol we may not update you on their condition. Protip: if we see them during this wellness check, I guarantee, we do ask them to CALL THEIR MOTHER.

6. Some schools will call you if your student is admitted to the hospital - some won't. Often times the ones that do, do so as a courtesy, not as an obligation. So, when your cherub is transported to the hospital for alcohol poisoning (or regular old illness), you might not find out. This is where open communication with your student comes in. Talk about situations like this before they happen - it will cause your student so much less anxiety in the moment and I'll have a lot less tear-filled "don't tell my parents!!!" to deal with.

7. Speaking of open conversation: Sex, Drugs, Booze, and everything else under the sun. That's what your student may run into. Contrary to popular media, not all of them will get into everything, but the ones who have had the opportunity to reflect upon the effects, and why they might or might not want to use or do X, Y and Z are a lot more likely to be responsible about it. Trust me. This is one time to steer the conversation away from abstinence, and towards intelligent decision making.

8. Speaking of sex: Talk to your female AND male students about sexual assault. Talk about consent, and how important it is, and that silence does NOT. MEAN. YES. You may not want to think about them having sex, but you need to make sure they know that sexual assault happens, that you want to be able to have open conversations about their experiences should they so choose. There is nothing more heartbreaking than to sit with a sexual assault survior and have them say, "My parents can never know. They will never understand."

9. Student Conduct (Judicial) Process - you should be asking about this. Basically - what happens when your student makes one of those mistakes mentioned above? Do you get notified? Whom do they meet with? (Me!) What are plausible outcomes in typical situations?

10. Know the campus climate - the Clery Act was signed into law in 1990 and it requires all campuses to publish an annual report about the criminal activity that has happened in the year-to-date. This will help you know what is going on around campus.

11. Strongly encourage your student to at least know the resources available to them on campus, specifically the location of and how to utilize any health services, counseling center, and any sexual assault crisis services. Hopefully this knowledge will be as useless and unnecessary as the stuff they crammed in for last weeks geology exam - but it will be indispensable if they need it.

12. Talk to your student about how to respond to authority figures - specifically in confrontational situations. As I always say - volume never solved any argument. There is always an outlet for complaints if they don't like how situations are handled, they should utilize a proper form of complaint.

13. No matter how much you wish it - sometimes they aren't ready to be away at school. Returning home may seem like a setback, but it actually might be a step in the right direction. They're already beating themselves up - give them a hug, let them know it will be okay, and that after they spend a few days licking their wounds you expect to talk about a game plan.

14. When they come home on break, don't comment on the new hair color, piercing or even a new tattoo. They are, like it or not, an adult now, choosing to do what they wish to their body. You have hopefully taught them that their body is their own, they should respect it, and let no one else disrespect it. This is the current method of expressing themselves - with hope it won't be too permanent (credit for this one goes to my supervisor).

15. I'm here to be your partner, not your adversary. We may not agree, but I want what is best for both the community and your student. Sometimes it may seem like those two are in conflict, but at the end of the day, I promise you - I do care for your student. So much so, that I will make sure they see that their actions have consequences, and will hold them to those consequences.

16. Encourage your student to read our policies and procedures. It's not a bad idea for you to do so either - but it really shouldn't be just you reading and spouting the information back to your student.


I'm sure I will think of more, but this is getting long enough already. At the end of the day, I care for your student. I want them to succeed. At times they can be their own worst enemy, and while I won't fix things for them, I will give them the opportunity to fix things for themselves. It's up to them to decide what they want. That's the scary part - giving them the choice. Some will spurn the hand that is offered, while others will use it to lift themselves out of what might be the most difficult part of their lives thus far. We'll provide the roof, the food (sometimes) and even the resources. I always hope that the happiness, the friendships, and the endlessly fun college memories will follow.

When those memories are not so fun, though, I'll be here.

Your trust is well placed - but really in the end, you aren't placing that trust in me. I think we both know that you're placing your trust in them, your student. It's just really scary to admit it.

--
A Student Conduct Officer who cares deeply for the child you are sending my way

True Confessions: Student Conduct Doubts

There are times that I wonder about the 'point' of the work that I do. I wonder about the quantifiable effect that I'm having upon the students that I'm meeting with. I look at the severity of their infractions and ponder how much time I spend constructing the valid conversations, the critical questions, and most of all the empathetic open-mindedness with which I approach each interaction.

What does it matter? We don't work in a world where thank yous come in droves, where our students typically excel, and where they write notes filled with words of gratitude for the leadership they have witnessed and learned through our relationship. Many times my measure of success is meeting with a student once - and then never seeing them again.

The doubts creep in at times - are they rolling their eyes at the inconvenience of  the meeting they are required to schedule? "It was just drinking, man!" Do they find my attempts to connect and understand authentic, or do I just look like I'm trying too hard?

Reflections of this ilk are what descend on the tough days - the ones where I know my words are falling on deaf ears, where I finally sign that termination letter that I've been dreading, where the mental instability of a student saps the remaining energy that I possess in the space of a half an hour meeting.

The doubt, however, is always held back by a few thoughts, inspired by the quotes of others, and just in case you need a reminder today, here is what inspires me:


We don't get to determine what constitutes a crisis to our students. A hangnail to one may be the straw that breaks the back of another. It is not our place to put their crisis into global perspective, it is our place to help them understand where that crisis falls in the grand scheme of their own life, and assist them in learning that while the choice they made may be a defining moment in their life, the current crisis that exists does not have to define the rest of the long road ahead.


"My job is to believe in other people's children" - Dr. Roper at the ASCA 2011 keynote

We have to believe they can succeed. Even the difficult ones, the ones we don't like, the students who give us reason to despair. We must believe and have faith, because just maybe at that point there is no one else who believes in them - even themselves. Looking at a student and saying, "I believe you can do better" may change nothing - but it could change everything. That is why I do this work.

Blogger Replies to Affronted Working Mother! ClickBait!

To start, the source of my ire is this particular article, I'd recommend perusing it prior to continuing, but I summarize briefly, so your choice:

http://www.thenewportbuzz.com/working-mom-pens-open-letter-to-gwyneth-paltrow-and-absolutely-destroys-her/235550/

There are so many things wrong with this I can hardly stand it.

The dramatic reader-grabbing title just grates on me, I could barely force myself to click on such click-bait feculence (I'm lookin' at you, Christian Winthrop, article author). Once reading the article, the only entitlement that jumped off the page of me was that of the original letter writer. We spend so much time as women wallowing in feelings of inadequacy, that when someone else admits either their own ignorance or challenges some will leap forth and jump on that offered sore spot and tear it to pieces like the vicious harpies every one of us has inside.

The statement that so offended this working mother was this:

“I think it’s different when you have an office job, because it’s routine and, you know, you can do all the stuff in the morning and then you come home in the evening. When you’re shooting a movie, they’re like, ‘We need you to go to Wisconsin for two weeks,’ and then you work 14 hours a day and that part of it is very difficult." - Gwyneth Paltrow, TV interview regarding her divorce

The writer then begins to scathingly pick apart all she deems absurdest in the above quote, which based upon her reply seems to boil down to, "You don't know me! You've got money you crazy bitch! Your life is golden!" .....to paraphrase.

I get why the author of this open letter, that Gwynny Paltrow will likely never read or care about, would be so frustrated by that statement. It seems that Ms. Paltrow is saying that in her opinion, her job as a movie star is harder than working a 9 to 5. My question to this highly affronted mother is - did you ever stop to think about why Ms. Paltrow feels that way? Did you ever spare a spot of empathy to think about the tough time that this actress may be going through with her marriage falling apart and feeling like a failure as a mother for being away from her children? Or did you just consider the bed of money that you clearly feel that Ms. Paltrow sleeps upon to be comfort enough to ease those pains, soothe those wounds? While "ripping her apart" you have committed the same sin of assumption that has so angered you in the first place. You are correct - Ms. Paltrow doesn't understand your life, or your struggles, or your daily challenges with your bank account. On the same accord - you do not understand hers. That's the part you missed.

I'm not going to go into all of the imaginative thoughts that went through my head for why Ms. Paltrow said what she did, or why I only look upon those comments with empathy. That would take all day and none of that would convince you of your strongly held entitled opinion that "I've got it worse". What I will say, however, is that your opinion of movie stars appears to be culled from the pages of those glossy magazines that attract the eye from the aisles of the supermarket checkout line, and not from any direct contact.

Why not try a little empathy instead of affronted irritation? The difference between Ms. Paltrow and you, or myself, is that when you and I make assumptions about other people they are not blasted across the six o'clock news for sheer enjoyment of those who take delight in breaking others down. I know for a fact that 70% of the people in my life don't understand the job or the work I do, and I filter their comments about my particular line of employment through a filter of "they don't understand, all is well. I know the truth." While a bitter pill to swallow at times, I derive my satisfaction from that, as opposed to frothing at the mouth and wielding barbs of sarcasm.

We as women face so much in this world of ours, the last thing we need is to throw one more obstacle in the path of our sisters. Your letter, while witty, to me was just sad. You showed no empathy, and more than a little jealousy - exactly the opposite of what I think you were trying to convey. I won't pretend to know how hard your life is, but instead will wish you well and I hope you have a better day. Maybe writing that letter to a superstar actress made you feel better, I just wish you had found a better outlet for that irritation. Your vitriolic response is why we write hilarious and hyperbolic emails to best friends and why they invented the feature that allows us to make our blog posts, private.

Be well, my sister. The same to you, Gwyn Paltrow,

“There is a special place in hell for women who don't help other women."
-Madeleine Albright

The Greek World Looking In - A Former GDI's Perspective

This rather lengthy piece was inspired by many occurrences over the past few days, but mostly by the nature with which I see others in student affairs react to the world of Greek Life. TL;DR - We're all on the same side, y'all. 

My undergraduate career took place at a 4 year, public, extremely urban institution. We didn't have a football team, we had more students living off campus than we did on - and most of those commuted, and one thing we certainly didn't have was a strong presence of Greek Life. When I was in undergrad I had all the incredibly stereotypical notions of what Greek Life was about, why I would never have rushed a sorority, and most of all: how dumb it was to pay for your friends. I scared all those in my social circle by adding  ΔΦA to my AIM (dating myself) profile my Freshman year - I had to assure all of my horrified friends that no, I was not drinking the Kool Aid, I had been inducted into the German Honors Society. Cue the collective sigh of relief. 

My first year of graduate school meant big changes in my environment - I transition to a state school in the middle of nowhere and spent the next two years somewhat bemusedly appreciating the life that a majority of my friends had called 'college'. Greeks were EVERYWHERE. Our housing department had graduate assistants in what was called Greek Court - on campus houses for lucky fraternities and sororities. Becoming friends with some of those GAs afforded me the ability to look into an unfamiliar world. Visiting their apartments which were nestled cozily at the juncture between two houses, during break times meant that we got to watch TV in the Great Rooms of the houses. There was SO much to look at - hallways filled with portraits of the members, paddles as far as the eye could see, banners, plaques, trophies for unknown awards - I had a lot of questions. 

On top of all of this, nothing prepared me for the experience of Greek Week. The entire campus came alive with the competitions that each group had been practicing and training for since winter break. I finally understood the torn up fields and occasionally uprooted tree - practice for Tugs had been in full swing under the cover of night. My students that were walking back to the halls as I was leaving the library late at night looking exhausted and carrying bags with them had been practicing and putting together costumes for Airband. The occasional sprained ankle or mysterious bruises were a direct result of pyramids practice. As the building I worked in shook with the thundering concussion of cannon fire, I was the only one who reacted. Our secretary laughed at my concern, "Tugs, honey - they'll be firing it off at the start and finish of each one all week."

I took my ignorance into my own hands during my second year. My multicultural counseling class assigned each person to pick a demographic with which they were uncomfortable, and find a way to immerse oneself in that culture. As I sat there, convinced there was not one group on this earth with which I would find myself uncomfortable, the back of my mind whispered, "Greeeeeeeekssssss". After a day of ignoring it, I finally threw my hands in the air, and trudged over to Greek Court to speak with the Greek Life Coordinator. After a short conversation he encouraged me to seek an immersive experience not just with any Greek Life, but with the fraternities and sororities of the National Pan-Hellenic Council (NPHC) - the historically black fraternities and sororities on campus. Before I knew it, there I was, sitting in on an NPHC executive board meeting, slightly wild-eyed and extremely uneasy with how uneasy I was feeling. They accepted me - and my awkwardness - with a graciousness and humor that I wasn't expecting. They offered themselves and their organizations up for any questions I might have. The entire project ended up being one of the best experiences that I had in Grad School. 

Between that, my thesis advisor Dr. Charles Eberly - affectionately known by every Sigma Phi Epsilon brother on earth as 'Doc', and the daily experiences on my campus, my opinions and paradigms about Greek Life were fleshed out. I saw leadership where I once saw sheep, I perceived the potential for lifelong bonds where I once saw blind devotion, and most importantly I saw those who made mistakes and created a poor name for their organization as outliers - no longer the norm. I began to see the philanthropy work, the difficult jobs faced by executive board members, the pride and at times loving exasperation that advisors had for their students.

There has been quite a bit in the media lately regarding hazing and/or poor choices made by brothers or sisters. Compounding this is how these groups are portrayed in not only the reporting of these events, but in every Hollywood or prime time television depiction. Zac Efron’s got a movie coming out guys! His fraternity lives next to a family with a new born baby – expect hijinks and idiotic tomfoolery! No one will go to class! Enough alcohol to fell a football team! Parties large enough to cost the equivalent of a year of tuition at the Pretend University where this Pretend Fraternity is chartered!

My colleagues in Greek Life have their work cut out for them. I may battle the, “Come on, it’s COLLEGE” argument on a daily basis in conduct – but they fight an image that has been reinforced as a party environment far past and beyond any other group or experience out there. I respect both the care they have for their students, but also their unwavering dedication to help these organizations show the world just how fantastic ‘going Greek’ can be. In that I stand with them as a stalwart ally, pushing those around me to question the stereotypes in which they believe; to look for the good behavior, instead of seeking out news of the bad. For every chapter caught up in a hazing scandal, there are hundreds more who practice what they preach and uphold the tenants upon which they were founded.

Not every organization is headed in the right direction, and some make mistakes; that is why we have strong advisors and colleagues in Greek Life. We, being those who do not work with Greeks need to be sure we are not cutting the legs out from under our coworkers with dismissive opinions about Greek Life and those who do that work. We are – after all, brothers and sisters in this great world of student affairs. Work together, not against – and for the love of Mike, its Fraternity, not Frat.

Do you have thoughts on Greek Life? I’d love to hear them. 

Kids these days

When my friends and I get together at times the conversations will turn to things that have happened at my work. While I'm always respectful of privacy, there are certain stories just begging to be told under the heading of, "This is what the kids are doing these days...."

So, for your amusement, a short  and non comprehensive list of what the kids around me, are doing these days:
Disclaimer: Urban Dictionary and Google at your own peril

1. Smoking alcohol (this one is really creative and odd, all at once)
2. Soaking tampons in alcohol and putting them in places that God didn't intend. 
3. Confusing the hell out of me by crushing and lining their adderall to snort - it looks just like coke. Come on.
4. Fanny packs are coming back! This time with speakers - and they are called Jammy packs.
5. Neknominate - the Youtube drinking game that at last count has killed 5 students
6. New marijuana blunts that leave no roaches behind! [Translation: no evidence left but ashes]


That's what the hooligans are doing these days.

Nightmares

Trigger warning for sexual assault.


Last night I had a horrifying dream. I was reasonably prepared to have vivid images in my head as I slept because I had gone to bed early, done some form of physical activity that day, taken some meletonin to help me get to sleep, and was going to get a solid and very much needed 10 hours. All of that in my world is a recipe for my trademark realistic dreams. When they are good dreams I have to do all I can not to smash my phone against the wall when my alarm goes off - Tropical beach? Yes, please. Magical flying super powers? Hell yes! Benedict Cumberbatch? Thank you, more please.

However, they aren't always nice dreams and unfortunately when they are bad ones they are just as, if not more, realistic.

Last night in my dream I was sexually assaulted by someone I know. While that in and of itself should be enough to be ranked as top tier nightmare, the worst part of the dream was yet to come.  That, time-wise, played a relatively small part - he took me by surprise, it happened swiftly, and it became a fight once dream-me got over my shock of what was happening. 

He was enraged at my reaction and after a swift but violent fight that followed I escaped and he began chasing me. We were in a relatively public place that was, as it turned out, packed with people that I know. It turned into one of those clawing fighting biting trying to get away moving through mud kind of dreams. As I passed these people that I knew I was sobbing, trying to explain what happened as he was trying to drag me backwards, intent on retribution. They stared at me with blank faces and patronizing glances - "Why are you being so dramatic, why are you causing a scene? What are you talking about? Him? He's a nice guy! You slept with him? Lucky!"  On top of all of that because this wasn't reality, once I eluded my attacker I could still hear him, both speaking to me, "You're worthless, you wanted it" and speaking to other people, "What a bitch - I give her some and she has the gall to say she didn't want it?" And so on, for the majority of the rest of my dream.

Waking up meant an escape from the situation, but the memory of the crushing feelings of despair, shame, and anger at those around me whom I thought I could trust, remained - along with the realization that this will probably be one of the most realistic dreams that I ever have. Every day survivors of sexual assault face this type of disbelief, lack of support and shaming that I experienced in dream-form. Their responses, their actions, the fight they did or did not put up, how they were dressed, the prior relationship they had with their attacker all will be laid bare to be picked over like a carcass on the side of the road. They will be charged as guilty of wanting it until all signs point to a struggle, a protest, of fitting into a 10 item checklist of "how victims should react". Often it is only then that they have even the hope of being taken seriously, of having their needs met, of being told, "it wasn't your fault." 

I, as someone who has assisted with sexual assault investigations in the past, am not saying that every report must be immediately taken at face value with no further inquiry - rights extend to both the survivor and the accused. But we need to start checking our biases and disbelief, especially if we are not the investigator. We must learn to offer nonjudgmental, non-accusatory support. Anything else will compound and exacerbate an already unimaginable pain.

The end of my story, my dream, is that I woke up. I had the opportunity to wake up from the simulacrum of a nightmare that so many others must live everyday without hope of an alarm clock to bring them out. I have the luxury of leaving this experience behind, because truly - it didn't really exist for me.  I'll be reflecting on this dream for a long time and I think we all need to reflect on how we feed into victim blaming and rape culture every day. It isn't fun to think about, but to live the reality - of which I only experienced in the world of a dream - is hell. We must spend time thinking about how we as bystanders, family, and friends can serve as supporters - not contributing monsters to the nightmare that some live day in, day out, waking and asleep. We have to do better.