Category Archives: Family Issues

Ruling by Exception

May 21, 2004

My dad was a lifelong smoker.  He tried his first cigarette at eleven years old, and the habit stayed with him until his death at 62.

My father died of lung cancer.  I tried to convince him to stop. Research on smoking was mounting everyday.  Smoking kills.

The biggest challenge to my pleas to dad came from other smokers.  At least once each year a major newspaper would print the photo of a hundred-year-old man who swore he made it to the century mark by smoking a cigar every day.  Mr. Exception.

Mr. Exception broke the rules on smoking, and he won.  We break rules all the time, and we make it.  We cross the street without looking, we forget to floss, we dash to the store and leave our seatbelt undone.  And we survive.

Nowhere does this rule of the exception shine brighter than with the subject of marriage.  Ms. Exception…she proves that marriage doesn’t matter.  She had ten children and raised them all herself, the veritable Enjoli woman who brought home the bacon and fried it up in the pan …by herself and for herself…and her brood of ten.  And that’s not all.

All ten children made it through college with PhDs, and today they drive Porsches and live in mansions on hundred-acre estates.  As a group, the terrific ten have developed the cures to the top twenty diseases worldwide.  Mankind will survive now, thanks to them. And they owe it all to their single mom who sacrificed everything in life to make it happen.  If she can do it, you can, too.

Single moms deserve our applause for making it.  But parents beware.  In our hurry to encourage women who raise families on their own, we run the risk of making the exception the new rule.

In the modern era of cultural redefinitions, Ms. Exception has been lifted high on a modern pedestal to make a woman feel guilty that she ever wanted something as ordinary as a husband, as common as a simple home where two people work together in love and harmony to raise two children.

How mundane.

How ordinary.

How limited in imagination!

Surveying the American landscape with its single moms and children, the visual message for our children is clear.  Marriage is an option.  But it isn’t necessary.

Movie actresses lead the charge.  Slipping in and out of marriages like changing dresses in the boutique, using their ample cleavage to lure the next boyfriend into a romp and a magazine cover, they vow that life was never so good as when they were freed from the shackles of traditional families founded on lifelong marriages and fidelity.

By failing to embrace marriage, we effectively give our daughters a new vision of the future.  We tell them, “You could be the next Ms. Exception, if only you would dream and plot and plan and scrape and skimp and save and struggle.  You could do it all on your own.  You could.”

After all, they could be the next Ms. Exception?

Is that the best we have to offer them…to let them struggle for success on their own?  What about the tried and true formula?  Marriage?

As one American voice, we could actually admit that social engineering has done nothing to create a better chance for success than a marriage between a man and a woman who love and honor each other till death do they part.  We could set marriage as a goal for our children and work to teach them how to succeed.

Where better for children to learn the true magic of unconditional love than in a family where Father and Mother model the daily work of giving and forgiving, of taking turns, of sharing the sublime and the mundane with the one special person they gave their life to?

Sure, it’s not easy.  It takes commitment and hard work…planning, forgiving, regrouping, and sacrificing.  But, for those who make it, the joy of a family together throughout a lifetime makes it all worthwhile.

The choice is fairly simple.  We can actively teach and guide our children to plan for and make families through marriage.

Or…we can let them do it themselves.  On their own.  They could be the next Ms. Exception.  Wow!  Imagine that!

See Archives for past editorials.

April 23, 2004:   m…m…m…Married?

May 14, 2004:   Order in the Courtroom!

Order in the Courtroom!

May 14, 2004

Her steely eyes shoot laser beams over the bench.  “You got it wrong!” she lashes out to her targeted victim.  “WRONG!”

The camera pans around the courtroom past a young lady at a podium, moves across an aisle and a gallery of spectators, and lands on a young man at another podium.  His shoulders sag an inch, and his eyes fall to the ground.

“Look at me!” Judge Judy’s sharp voice commands.  She has lost her sense of humor.  And it’s hard to blame her.

Week after week, her courtroom is filled with young men and young women fighting it out to the bitter end.  Lots of young men and lots of young women, but their stories are the same sad song.

They fell in love.  He moved in.  They had a baby.  He moved out.  And now, standing on opposite sides of the aisle in a courtroom, they are laying out all the reasons why the other person is awful.  It’s all his fault.  Or her fault.

“I only want what’s fair,” the young man says.  “I paid the rent for a year.”

“But he said he would support me,” the young woman challenges.  “And then I caught him with another girl.”

All the while Judge Judy shakes her head.  Impatient…she taps her pencil on the papers.  She looks at her bailiff Burt.  “Do I look stupid?” she asks him.

Smiling, Burt shakes his head.

“Stop!” the Judge snaps.  “Stop, I’ve heard enough.”

“But I haven’t finished.”

“You don’t need to finish, Madam.”

“But he wrecked my car and he said he would fix it.”

“But I paid her rent, and she owes me half.”

“STOP!”  The boy and girl stand silent, and the audience giggles.  They know what is coming.  They’ve heard it all before.

“You got it wrong, Sir.  Young lady, you got it wrong.  First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes boy and girl with a baby carriage.

“None of this makes any difference.  You aren’t married.  You decided to do things your own way…out of order…and you created this mess.

“The saddest part of this is that you now have a child together.  The baby is going to pay for your mistakes.

“No.  If you had been married, then you would have had an agreement. Marriage means there are certain obligations and definite rules about how to start a marriage and make it work. Then we could talk.

“But you have nothing.  That’s it.  You had a friendship, and now you don’t.  Case dismissed.”

It makes for entertaining television.  But it makes for tragic lives.

If members of Congress really want to know why marriage is important, they need to watch Judge Judy during each lunch recess.  They will have a front row seat to witness the endless stream of young girls and boys who never learned the natural order of life, of producing families, and of creating marital harmony.

America abandoned marriage in the 60s for the promise of “real love,” and now we have a culture where order doesn’t matter.  Fall in love, get pregnant, live together, move out and start over again, it’s a new modern order that never gets down to the basic question of life.  What about the children?

The traditional order of love and life was not an arbitrary structure forced upon society by some mad social scientist.  It is a natural order established in all world cultures over thousands of years, an order that recognizes the basic desire of humans to fall in love and to build families.  It’s an order that we used to teach our children, an order we used to honor in our own lives as their parents.

The young people in Judge Judy’s court room are funny to watch when we treat their problems as entertainment.  But they and their problems are tragic when you think of what we have failed to teach them.  We have failed to address the true path of building life together with another person and planning for success.

Order in the courtroom:  first comes love, then comes marriage, then comes Dad and Mom with a baby carriage.

See April 23, 2004: m…m…m…Married?

Thank You, Janet

May 7, 2004

I may be the only person in America who wants to thank Janet Jackson for her trashy NFL debut.

I have nothing to add to the volumes already written about Janet’s breast.  How many times can you say disgusting?  Inappropriate?  Filthy?  Degrading?  My thesaurus is worn out!

Besides…I really need to thank Janet.  She accomplished more in the flash of a moment than all the letter writing campaigns and citizen phone calls did during the past twenty years.

I know.  I tried.

A short five years ago, while changing channels, my husband was assaulted by a porn-fest on our basic no-frills television service.  Up to that moment we had considered our home porn-free, having rejected any and all offers for HBO and similar pay-for-filth stations.  We just wanted the basics.

We had no idea that basic service would funnel XXX movies (relabeled NC-17) into our home right along with the Disney, Toons, History, and Food channels.  Right there, passing from channel 40 to 44, an IFC movie with blatant oral sex was in full swing.  And we decided to take action.

We called and we wrote.  I have a fat folder of all the letters and faxes demanding a change.  Our little battle campaign took months and involved everyone we could think of:  IFC, ABC, COX, FTC and FCC.  The answer in each case was the same.  WDC.

WDC…We Don’t Care.  The universal response to the filth funneled into our home, unbidden and unwanted was, “We don’t care.”  Each person had their own version of WDC.

The program director for IFC (Independent Film Channel) said she hadn’t seen the XXX movie because she didn’t “watch that kind of filth.”  She would sell it.  But she wouldn’t watch it.

The cable network said it was our fault.  “You should have known it was there before you turned on the television.  Read the television guide.  All of it.”

The Federal Communications Commission (FCC) representative told me to buy a new television…”with a V-chip.”

They all agreed on the basics.  Basically, according to them, my husband and I were the guilty parties.  Our problem could be easily solved.

We should, they explained, carefully pour through the TV guide and make note of all the programs, on all 300 stations, all 24 hours, each and every day of the year.  As conscientious parents, we would then know for each and every minute of the day what potential filth might be there ready to attack us.  Like media sentinels, we would stand guard 24/7 in front of the household television ready to pull the plug at just the right moment.

Or…they told us…we could get rid of our television.  Really.  After all, being an American does not guarantee us the right to watch television.

I wrote the Federal Communications Commissioner.  What in the world was he doing to guarantee basic standards of network programming to homes with children?  What did he intend to do about stations that put nudity, profanity, and porn onto basic television service?

WDC.  His answer?  Silence.  We don’t care.

What did five months of letters, phone calls, faxes, and newspaper editorials produce?  Nothing.  Actually…worse than nothing.

Five months after writing the first letter of protest, while studying my television guide, I found the same XXX movie slated for rebroadcast, once again as a basic program option for all families.   There it was in the program guide, three separate broadcast dates in October, three opportunities to teach children the basics of sadistic sex and porn on family television.

Five years ago, the Chairman of the Federal Communications Commission put his stamp of approval on porn for families when he failed to care, when he failed to take action.

As much as it pains me to say it, “Thank you, Janet.”  You did what I was never able to do.  You got their attention.  Maybe you were crass, maybe you tarnished the image of America abroad, and maybe you defiled the ultimate family entertainment known as the Super Bowl.  But someone had to do it.

At long last, we have the attention of the FCC.  Legislators are serious about taking care of the needs of families and children.  Finally, we are ready to draw a line in the sand and stand for decency.

If we had been doing our job all along, we would never have suffered through this year’s Super Bowl fiasco.  And for that, we owe you, Janet.  Thank you.

See April 9, 2004, Dear Paul

m…m…Married?

April 23, 2004

They were a tender sight across the room, the two of them leaning across the table, talking and laughing, smiling into each other’s eyes.  Even as they ate dinner under the low lights, they kept their fingers laced together on the tabletop.

As the waiter cleared their table, they sat in silence.  Then, in the quiet interlude before dessert arrived, the young man reached into the inside pocket of his coat and pulled out a small box.  Scooting his chair backwards, he stood tall and moved to the side of his date.  Slowly, kneeling on one knee, he looked up to her.

Everyone in the room knew something special was happening.  Cooperating with the young man, voices drew lower, and when the young woman’s face lit up with joy, the couple was met with an impulsive collective applause from the strangers seated around them.

It really happened.  But it seems quaint today, an awkward public moment to declare one’s intentions.  One simple question, Will you marry me, ushering in a lifetime of commitment.  One question, followed with an answer and a promise, a tender moment that will be tested by the trials of time.

Boy, how things have changed.

My husband and I met in the 60’s when marriage vows were passé.  Quaint promises were given on the beach and meant, not for a lifetime, but for as long we both shall get along together.

During our college years divorce was elevated to a social duty for unhappy married people.  And the advent of birth control seemingly eliminated any consequences of sex…along with the need for parents to usher in a late-night wedding to save the family honor.

In 1966, Robert Rimmer’s The Harrad Experiment portrayed an experimental college where students were “expected to couple up in various combinations and permutations in order to develop a free and uninhibited approach to sexuality.”  None of that had a single thing to do with marriage, vows, and fidelity.

And in 1969, this experimentation spawned the movie Bob & Carol & Ted & Alice where two couples applauded one another’s affairs and swinging.  Billed as a farce, the foursome under the sheets provided Americans a voyeuristic romp with the “neighbor next door” that made marriage vows a laughable anachronism.

For people of our generation, confidence had been shaken in traditions of the past.  Marriage was seen as just a piece of paper.  Cynicism grew.  And grew.  Even the word itself came under suspicion…m…m…m…marriage, “You want to get m…m…m…married?”

As we saw it, marriage was difficult.  It wasn’t perfect.  People cheated on each other.  They got divorced.  Why try it if you knew it wouldn’t work?

Well…after all these years, we got what we wanted.  And now we are paying the price.  Congress is working to pass a Federal Marriage Amendment.  Meanwhile, abstinence educators are working to teach children the benefits of saving sex until marriage.

Yet, the hardest work lies ahead…even if we restore marriage as a timeless and honored relationship between a man and a woman…even if we lead the coming generation to the altar.

Marriage as an institution is only as good as the love that blooms when a young man bends his knee and a woman reaches out to accept his hand.  Cynicism has no place in marriage.

Marriage as a lifelong relationship will only flourish if we restore the sense of dignity and hope contained in a vow to love and honor, till death do us part.

If marriage matters, we must bestow honor on those who work to make their marriages last a lifetime.  We must work to understand the desires and emotions that cause marriages to crumble, and we must honor our marriages enough to work for their preservation.

Most of all we must muster up the courage to admit that marriage is a good thing.  We must stop the stammering and stand tall.  We must ask boldly and answer gladly.

Will you marry me?  Yes!

Dear Paul

April 9, 2004

I’ve read your letter.  Right there, one day after the Super Bawdy 2004 half-time show, I wanted to see what the NFL Commissioner Mr. Tagliabue himself had to say.

But, Paul, I’m confused. You say you are delivering a “powerful message.”  You warn people, “Don’t even think about it.”  You promise “harsher discipline for over-the-top demonstrations” complete with “stronger penalties and fines, even leaving open the possibility of suspensions.”

Yes, I’m confused.  You see, it sounds so good to read your unequivocal message, your powerful promises to crack down…until…it dawns on me that you are not talking to MTV, CBS, Janet or Justin.

The power of your outrage is directed to cell phones in the end zone.  You pull no punches.  “Cell phones, pens, all the other things, penalties likely will escalate if this does not stop.”  Wow!  You really told them.

Thankfully, Paul, you don’t have to fight this battle alone.  Many coaches are “outraged by these episodes.”  They have called to tell you that such incidents are “uncalled for and humiliating to their players and embarrassing to players in general.”

Well, Paul, you’ve got it half right.  You clearly have the language of outrage mastered.  But you need to use it for more than cell phones in the end zone.

So what about your comments on a naked breast center field?  Ahem.  With great restraint and tact you let America know you “were extremely disappointed.”  You promise us you will “deal far more effectively with the quality of this aspect of the Super Bowl.”

Very tactful, Paul.  But certainly, tact is not what is required here.  Where is the language of outrage…the penalties, the suspensions, the take-no-prisoners call for an end to trash and filth hawked through the open door offered by the NFL?  Where are the calls from coaches “outraged by these episodes”?

Super Bawdy 2004 was not just about one breast.  It’s about a game of fun being hijacked for the sake of corporate profits.  It’s about nasty being sold as cute…at every turn.  And it’s about an NFL hierarchy that has been willing to “go along” for the ride.

So you’re upset about Janet’s naked chest?  Then explain to us why the only women televised on NFL games are the ones with bare chests pushed together into deep cleavage framed by cheer leader costumes.

So you’re upset by commercials that have an entire nation saying “Holy S—” in unison?  Then explain the “Best Damn Sports Show” promoted constantly without blushing.

Monday Night Football, a family tradition for us, has become increasingly irritating in its display of T&A in commercial times.  The Twins and their boobs flash an unending peep show and cameras take shots of products through the suggestive pose of a woman’s open legs.  Any five-year-old can imagine the cameraman looking up the lady’s skirt to admire her thong.

Dear Paul, Super Bawdy 2004 is the natural result of the NFL playing with fire long enough that it finally got burnt.  And now that the rage of a country is blazing, we need something more than a limp-wristed “aw shucks…we really wish you hadn’t done that” comment from the Commissioner.

What do we need from you, Paul?  Dust off your speech for cell phones and black pens.  Call up your outrage!  Work up a lather.  Draw a line in the sand.  Demand, threaten, and punish.  You are the one who ultimately pays the piper, and you get what you pay for.  Draw the purse strings closed and set out the rules of the game in plain language that everyone can understand…even if you have to follow the rules yourself.

The sorry truth of this whole sorry affair is this.  If you want to keep selling the “Best D___ Game in Town” with bikini-clad babes, you are not going to be able to exercise the moral authority to keep another Janet and Justin from rising out of the ashes.

You have shown us your outrage, Paul.  Now…show us you know what to do with it.