Emotional Intelligence | Stevehein.com

Miscellaneous Short Stories

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see also misc short articles

How one upper class British couple dealt with their emotions

It was about 4 in the afternoon. He called her up at work and left a message on her voice mail which said "Love, we're having some people over for dinner tonight. Could you make something exquisite for them? They're huge in real estate and I would quite like to make a favorable impression on them. Thanks, Love. I know you'll do something brilliant."

Compliantly, she hurried out of work as soon as she could, went shopping and let herself into his flat, using the key he had given her some months before.

Feeling more pressured to succeed and please than resentful and taken advantage of, she was in the process of cooking when he came home and walked past her on his way to the bedroom, saying only "Hello, Love, I'll be out in a minute."

When he appeared some thirty minutes later, he was dressed in a formal suit and tie, and holding a glass of sherry in his hand.

He stood at the door of the kitchen, looked disapprovingly at her, and said sarcastically, "Are we dressing for dinner?" Her resentment was more than she could contain, even after 23 years of the best British socialization. She picked up the nearest object, a Limoges China cup and hurled it at him. It hit the wall next to him, shattering into a hundred pieces.

He stared at her in disbelief. Then after a long silence, he said with the famous British air of superiority, "Quite," then turned and walked away.

I don't know what exactly he meant by that, since I am not familiar with British English. But it didn't take a linguistics expert to know that she felt invalidated and belittled.

She picked up the pieces of China, continued cooking and not another word about it was ever uttered again.

He never apologized. In fact, there is little doubt in my mind that he never had any clue that he'd done anything wrong. What bothered her the most about the whole incident was not that he invalidated her, something she perhaps still isn't even aware of, but that he "couldn't even be bothered to offer me a drink while he was making one for himself."

On a scale of 0-10 she probably felt appreciated a 0. But, she had never been taught, in her years of expensive and elite private schooling, how to verbally express one's feelings, or even that it was natural for humans to have feelings. In fact, the British are taught just the opposite: that it is uncultured to be emotional; that there are very clear rules for the "proper" ways to behave and if one has been raised correctly, one "just doesn't do" certain things. Or to use the British expression: "It is not the done thing." The emphasis is on behavior, always behaving "appropriately."

So my friend expressed herself the only way she instinctively knew how- she became violent. And he, also being a victim of upper class British over-socialization, was at a complete loss for how to calm her feelings of intense unappreciation, frustration and resentment, so he walked away in her time of need to be comforted, understood and appreciated.

I wanted to help her see what was really happening, but I sensed she didn't want my help. So I just listened without giving my analysis or advice. I did give her one of my booklets before she left though, so maybe she will get something from it. Maybe she will visit my web page when she feels a need for some new ways of handling life.

Canada, 1999

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The Special Child

One day I left my computer on and a friend started reading my journal. I had been writing about some old girlfriends. I wrote that Sue was precious, Gretchen was special and Galina was rare.

When I walked in my friend said bitterly, "Don't leave your computer on again, okay?"

I asked her what she meant & then I went to see what was on the screen. I asked her what bothered her about what I wrote. She said "I don't want to talk about it. I just don't ever want to read or hear about your old girlfriends again." I could tell she was trying to hold back the tears.

I thought of saying "Well, it serves you right for snooping around in my computer." I knew better, however. Instead I asked her what bothered her the most about it. She still wasn't talking.

I tried tickling her, which worked for a moment, but then she went back into her frozen state. I tried two or three times to get her to speak. I tried joking and started to mock her a bit, trying to provoke some reaction out of her. Finally, I succeeded and she threw a book at me.

I had just read her the story about the British female who couldn't verbally express her feelings, so I said with a laugh, "I am glad there were no Limoges China cups around." That got a short laugh out of her.

I waited for her next move. I didn't feel guilty or responsible for cheering her up as I would have a year ago. I knew it was something inside her she was struggling with.

After a few minutes of silence between us as continued my work, she said in an attacking tone, "Can you explain to me why, if you think Galina is so rare, and she is single, why you don't go back to her?"

Feeling a bit defensive, which made it more difficult to think, I slowly, carefully offered some truthful answers to her question. I said that she lied to me, she doesn't value me highly enough, she still has the wrong values, she hasn't changed enough, she hasn't learned enough, she has never apologized to me or offered to pay back the money she cost me,and, as if that weren't enough, I don't trust her.

This didn't seem to help my friend feel any better. It became clear that it wasn't confusion or curiosity which motivated her question.

Little by little my friend started to open up. She said she knew that she would never be as special to me as the other girls were. I tried to debate with her for a short while, then said, "I am not going to debate about whether you are special or not. If you don't feel special after all the time we have known each other, then there is nothing I can do about right now."

A few more minutes of silence passed.

Then I sat on the couch next to her. I put my arms around her. I said, "You are special to me. You are very special. You are the only person I know who is just like you. But it really doesn't matter what I think or whether I consider you someone special. What matters is whether you think you are special."

I explained that it is like a rock which one person picks up and says, "That is just worthless rock," while another picks it up and says, "This is a piece of gold," or "This is a piece of diamond."

She said, "But your opinion of me is so important."

I told her I appreciated that she valued my opinion, but that at a certain point, it became unhealthy for her to put my opinion above her own opinion of herself. Realizing I was doing most of the talking and giving a mini- lecture, I asked "When you are not with me, do you feel special?"

Thinking of her answer now as I write this brings tears to my eyes.

"Not really," she said softly.

How tragic that her parents never made her feel special. If they only knew. They are good people. They had the best intentions. But they were misguided. Now she bases her self-worth on what I write about in my journal in reference to three people she has never met.

We talked a bit more and then she leaned over and buried her head in my arms and cried. On a very deep level she felt the truth, she felt the emptiness where this special child should have been nurtured, should have been acknowledged and loved.

There is a hole inside so many of us. If we could open up the brain, we could see that there are connections which are reaching out to the spot we might call "I feel special." But the connections were severed or never attached. I think of a building which has had a hole blown out of it. The wires, the pipes and the reinforcement bars are left dangling in the wind.

If parents could just see inside their children's brains... If they could just see the lifelong damage they do.

Canada, 1999

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Denial and Confusion

I once volunteered for a social agency called "Helpline." Helpline is the telephone crisis line in Florida where people can call 24 hours a day and talk to someone. I went through a few weeks of training. Then I started asking too many questions, challenging too much, I guess, and the staff shunned me, beginning with the lead trainer. I noticed that when she was lecturing her eyes would go from one person to the next, but skip over me. I made her feel uncomfortable, so she avoided me. I decided to talk to her about it & she denied it. She said "If I had a problem with you I would tell you about it." Oh.

Statements like that are exactly what confuse a child. As Branden says, his feelings and instinct tell him one thing, then the adult denies it. So he learns not to trust his mind, his most valuable survival tool. Even for me, I wonder if I am the one who has the problem, so I am sure it is much more confusing, frustrating and self-confidence weakening for a child.

Canada, 1999

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Express and Let Go - a case of being caught in the middle of two other people and expressing my feelings to both of them, then letting go of the results.

The other day I was in the laying in bed reflecting on my feelings about something. I determined that I felt troubled. I decided the action I needed to take was to talk to the person involved and express my concerns. I was a little afraid to do this, no doubt because of my fear of conflicts and confrontation. But I decided to go ahead with it. When I talked to him he told me there won't be any dramas. In Australia this means more or less, "There is nothing to worry about." But I was worried, and later I realized that him telling me there won't be any dramas didn't help me feel any better. In fact, I felt worse because I felt invalidated and unheard. He had given me a long, logical reply to my concerns, but even though what he said made some sense logically, I still felt worse after I talked to him.

Later I expressed my concerns about him to someone else. After we talked I asked myself these questions:

Do I want to prove he is a liar?-- Do I want to ascertain whether he is or not?

What about the idea of the future? - Do I want to make predictions as in "I predict you will feel betrayed" or that "he will betray you" - "you will regret it- mark my words... bbb." Then I can say later - "I told you so."- but what would this accomplish!? So I am right - big deal.

So what do I want? - to say - "I was right"? - which alienates people - or to say "I was wrong"? - which humbles me - makes me more appealing perhaps, more human- less self-righteous.

I never finished this inner dialogue. But I think the objective mostly is simply to relieve myself of the burden of carrying the information. To give the other person the benefit of my feelings, to share some information with them which they may use as they see fit, then to let it go. (Because in this case it really didn't affect me directly, except for the immediate feelings I was having about it.) To not let it matter whether I am right or wrong. To make no predictions. To simply state my feelings and my fears in a non-dramatic, non-manipulative way--as a dispassionate observer. This seems to be a healthy way to handle something like this. I realized I was getting too involved in some other people's business and I realized it was affecting me. I felt a need to do something, so I had to decide what to do and how to do it. Expressing my feelings in such a manner seemed to work well with the second person because she listened carefully and showed she understood my concerns. I felt affirmed and appreciated because she thanked me for sharing them. So I felt much better.

I wonder though how I would have handled it if she would have said something like, "There is nothing to worry about." Then I would have had to let it go all by myself, with no help from anyone else. This is much harder to do, but it would have been the required course of action in such a case. Maybe I'll remember this when something like this comes up again someday.

Australia, 2000

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Little story about feeling words

I once asked someone how she felt after our talk the night before. In a typical Australian way she said with a bit of hesitation in her voice, "Good." I pressed her to be more specific. She said, "I don't know if I should say." I said, "Go ahead, I've handled worse rejections." She said, "No, it isn't like that at all." I said, "Did you feel pressured, uncomfortable?"

"No."

I smiled mischievously and said, "Well, what was it then-- Passionate, aroused, intensely attracted?"

She fixed her eyes on mine, as if a hidden part of her had suddenly been uncovered.

She hesitated, then said, "Yes, it was like that."

Australia, 2000

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Cause for Concern In Bundanoon and Australia -

The other day I got a ride down to the train station by a local Bundanoon resident. We were coming from the north, down Train Station Avenue. When we got about a block from the station, she turned left onto a side street. I asked where she was going. She told me she didn't want to take a chance on getting a ticket by turning around near the station.

I felt a little puzzled by her answer, but left it at that till she turned right at the next block and then parked in the circle. I looked around and questioned her about how someone could get a ticket.

She explained that because there is a double white line, you are not allowed to turn right to cross over the street and park on the other side to drop people off at the station.

Stunned, I said, "You have got to be kidding."

"Oh, no, I am not," she replied.

Then she went on to tell me that several people have been given tickets for turning from the southbound lane into the parking circle near the train station.

"Are you serious? Here in the little town of Bundanoon?!"

"I am dead serious. And it is no small fine. I heard that it costs them two hundred dollars.

"Two hundred dollars!!?"

I really couldn't believe I was hearing this. I felt mystified. I asked, why in the world would anyone give someone a two hundred dollar ticket for such a trivial thing. I asked if there had been a lot of accidents.

"As far as I know, there haven't been any accidents at all. For some reason the local police lady decided to start ticketing people. She stood there handing out tickets one day to everyone who turned around or turned from that lane to over here."

Just as we were talking, a car came down past the post office, slowed down and turned around very slowly and went back the way he came. At first I thought he was going to park in front of the community building, but he slowly drove down towards the national park, so I assumed he was from out of town and had simply turned the wrong way, or changed his mind about where he wanted to go. He was very careful and certainly didn't endanger anyone by his turn. In fact only a few cars passed by at all during the several minutes that we talked. But nonetheless, my friend, said, "That would have cost him two hundred dollars if our friendly police officer saw him."

I said, "That is insane. Can you imagine what someone from out of town would think about Bundanoon if they got a ticket for that!? It is not like there is a lot of traffic around here. And even if someone pulled in front of you when you were turning into the parking circle, the other cars wouldn't be going fast because there is a stop sign up at that corner and the corner is too sharp to take quickly anyhow. That is incredible. I just can't believe a police officer in such a small town would alienate all her neighbors by doing something so unneighborly as that when she has to see them every day."

My friend assured me she was not making this up. She actually heard one person vehemently protesting the ticket so she went over to see what the matter was and that is how she first heard about it. Then she read a letter in the paper that the police officer had written saying that she was going to be ticketing people.

I kept looking at the corner in complete disbelief as she talked. I said, "You mean they aren't given any warning? The officer can't just walk over and say, 'Hey, please be careful, when you turn around here, I am afraid there could be an accident some day'"?

"Nope. It is an automatic 200 dollar ticket."

I shook my head in sheer disbelief. I asked how are people going to respect the police if they are doing things like that? What about using some judgement?

Then I remembered something else that stunned me in the same day in Bundanoon. I had ridden a bicycle to check into the timetable for the trains to Canberra. At a speed that was probably slower than a fast walk I rode up to the schedule posted on the wall. Then I coasted the few meters over to the automatic ticket machine to see how it operated. I glanced over to the other side of the tracks and saw someone watching me with what seemed to be a disapproving look. I had a sense that he didn't like me on my bike, since I could think of no other reason he would be looking at me in such scornful, almost hostile way.

I don't remember when I noticed the sign the sign that said "No bicycles or skateboards" but didn't feel concerned about it in the least since I was the only one anywhere near the train platform at that time of the day. It wasn't till I received this negative feeling from a distance that I started to feel self-conscious about my completely innocent actions. I felt judged, watched, disapproved of. I suddenly felt very uncomfortable, even a bit threatened on an instinctive level.

The man who looked at me went inside the train station building. I then noticed a sign that said "Ticket Window" so I rode my bike over with the intention of asking about the trains, since I had never taken a train from Bundanoon before and wanted to be sure of what I was doing, especially since it was important that I arrive by a certain time later that afternoon.

So I rode my bike over to the ticket window. As I was reading the handwritten sign that said, "Please purchase your tickets at the automatic machine" I heard a voice say, "Excuse me...."

Immediately I sensed I was again in some kind of trouble. Sure enough, the man said, "There are signs up that say no bicycles." I apologized repeatedly, not wanting to enter into a conflict. I simply tried to change the subject quickly and get the answer to my question about the next train to Canberra. Showing less hostility, the man confirmed that I had read the schedule correctly and I thanked him.

As I rode away I felt a little annoyed by him for harassing me needlessly and I thought of going back to ask him why he felt it necessary to assert his authority as a train station employee when I certainly wasn't endangering either myself or anyone else, but I also felt a little understanding and even compassion for him thinking that he probably doesn't have too much to do, probably isn't paid very well and probably has a fair amount of trouble with kids on skateboards and bicycles.

I still was puzzled about why he couldn't use his judgement to see that I was a relatively mature, responsible adult who was not likely to run over any little old ladies who were waiting for the train, especially since there were none around. I also felt a little resentful of his use of authority and, I must admit, a bit defiant, as I recalled all the times I have been irrationally ordered around by some low level authority figure in my life. I even thought of writing a letter to the train company to encourage them to promote more use of judgement by their employees, but since I was in a generally happy mood at being back in the lovely town of Bundanoon where I had been warmly welcomed by my friends and since I am just a visitor to Australia, albeit a long term visitor with plans to return each year, I just rode off and thought nothing more of the small interruption to my otherwise pleasant experience in Bundanoon.

But when my friend and I were talking about authority, rules and the use of judgment, it all came back to me. A week or so later I returned to Bundanoon, for about my 5th visit and I decided that I cared enough about the town to write this letter. On the way into town I heard a radio announcement by the RTA that the police are also going to give more speeding tickets on the Princes Highway. All this cause me to fear that Australia is becoming more and more like the United States, which I left partly because it is slowly turning into a police state where more and more signs are being posted prohibiting more and more things, where there is more and more black and white thinking with less and less use of judgment, where it is virtually impossible to argue with the government once fined or arrested, and where the use of fear and punishment is on the steady increase while people confuse respect for authority with the fear of authority.

I strongly believe that to be effective in a free society, authority must be based more on respect than fear. When those in authority exercise their power without judgment, intelligence, reason, tolerance, compassion or empathy they lose the respect of the people. When this respect goes, it must be replaced with fear for laws and rules to be obeyed. This fear creates defensiveness on all sides. Unless they are truly sick people, the authority figures themselves don't feel good when they punish others. On some level they know that what they are doing is wrong and they know it can't be justified with reason. So they feel insecure and easily become defensive. The people they are paid to control become more resentful, less respectful and more defiant. As the punishment and fines go up, the people become more fearful and stressed even when there is no authority figure around.

All of this combines to create more tension in the society, more conflicts and more confrontation. It is extremely socially divisive, causing those in authority to seek security among their own kind while disconnecting themselves from the rest of society, whom they are supposed to be serving. The process will only get worse once the process reaches a certain point. I believe the United States has already reached that point, while Australia still has a chance to avoid making the same mistakes. I love Australia and the vast majority of my experiences here have been positive ones. In fact I have been extremely impressed and encouraged by how much tolerance and judgment there is here.

I simply plea with all Australians to support the use of judgment, reason, and tolerance. And I urge those in authority to avoid relying on the primitive use of fear through fines, threats and punishments, and instead to act in ways that will earn and keep the respect of those who are paying the salaries of your bosses.

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Other-esteem vs. self-estee - (Casey and the skateboard) (approx 2,000 words)

This is a small example of developing self-esteem in a child and the dangers of invalidation.

The other day 11 year old Casey came out of the hostel on a skateboard he had modified. He had attached a long threaded rod to it. Then attached a handle to the rod, so he sort of made a scooter out of his skateboard. His mother proudly told me to look at what he had created. This was already a small boost to his self-esteem -- just the acknowledgement and approval and pride of his mother. She didn't make a big deal out of it. She didn't try to make herself look good through him-- in other words she didn't try to use him to fill her own unmet esteem needs. She just mentioned it with a mother's glow as she looked over at him.

I said something to acknowledge him and his creation. Something like "wow" or "cool." Then I asked, "Did you make it all by yourself?" He nodded. Then I thought of saying, "Good job" or "Good on you," as they say in Australia. But I remembered it was more important what he thought of it than what I thought of it. So I asked, "Are you happy with it?"

He looked at me puzzled. Not many people ask something like that of a child. We are always offering our judgment of something, but rarely asking people for their own self-judgment. In other words, we are always setting them up to seek and respond to what I call "other-esteem."

Over years and years of other people passing judgment on us we learn to seek the approval of others. It becomes more important than our own self-approval and self-acceptance. Their standards become more important than our own standards. We become externally oriented and outwardly directed instead of internally oriented and inwardly directed. We listen to the external voice of "authority" over our inner voice. We respond to extrinsic rewards and fears rather than intrinsic ones. There are lots of ways to say it, but the key is that over time, little by little, we lose our sense of self. Or perhaps we could say our "self" never get develops.

I asked Casey another question: "Are you satisfied with the way it turned out?" This time he smiled and said yes. I have noticed that children smile more when they are pleased with something as opposed to when an adult is pleased with it. Evidently it feels better for them to have a chance to affirm their own satisfaction in the presence of someone else. I suspect that different chemicals in the brain are created when someone else judges or evaluates us. I wonder if a child starts out being more interested in his own self- evaluation. If he lives in his own world more, so to speak. It seems this is probably the case. Children can be so amused and so pleased with such small things.

When you give a child an opportunity to assess himself, you give him a power; you are empowering him. But when you judge him, you disempower him. You rob him of his need to set his own standards and form his own inner compass. Those that have a strong sense of inner direction have perseverance in the face of public disapproval. These are the people who become the leaders, the creators, the inventors. .

A critical factor in building self-esteem and empowering the child is not to invalidate his self-assessment, whatever it is. If he says something like "I'm not very happy with it," it is important not to try to talk him out of his feelings, even though you may have good intentions for trying to do so. For example I have seen some adults who would invalidate the child and say something like, "What do you mean?! Don't say that. How could you not be happy with it? It is a great invention. You should be really proud of it."

When you over-rule his own assessment you are doing several things which could unintentionally damage him or your relationship with him. First, you are confusing him. You are telling him that his own assessment is wrong. You are telling him his thinking process is wrong and that his feelings are wrong. You are telling him his brain isn't working well. Thus you may be teaching him to lose confidence in his greatest asset and most valuable survival tool: his own mind.

Another source of confusion may come from the child who thinks something like "I know it isn't as good as they are saying. Why would they be telling me it is good?" Psychologist Nathaniel Branden suggests some children may think like this: "They must be lying because they feel sorry for me or they think I am too weak to handle the truth."

Second, you may be giving him the message that your opinion is more important than his opinion. He fells instantly smaller, less of a person. His self-esteem plummets. You might think that you are helping him by trying to build up his self-esteem, but you aren't; you are doing just the opposite.

Third, you may be teaching him to keep his opinions to himself. Over time, the more you invalidate a child and disagree with what they say, especially in the area of feelings, the less they will share with you. And what they do share will be mostly what they have learned that you want to hear. Things they know you will debate with, disagree with or invalidate, they learn to leave out of the conversation. It just doesn't pay for them to try to argue with you. Parents are generally much more powerful in every way: physically, financially, verbally, logically.

You are also more powerful emotionally. First, you can frighten them with any number of threats. Second, because you are more able to control your emotions, to show the emotion you want to show-- to talk yourself out of your true feelings and to put on an act that you really feel something else. For example, you may feel a little sad that they aren't happy, but instead of saying the most truthful -- and actually, the easiest -- thing, that you are sad to hear that, you think that encouragement is called for so you muster up your best cheerful tone of voice and tell them there is nothing to be unhappy about!

So because you are more powerful in all these ways, and because it doesn't feel good to constantly lose battles with you, you risk creating a situation where your child shares less and less over time. In the homes where such processes continue you find almost a total breakdown of communication by the time the child is a teen. Mom doesn't know where her son is or what he is doing most of the time. She doesn't know how he feels about school, about his teachers, about his subjects about drugs or about how she is doing as a parent.

So, then, what do you say if the child puts himself or his work down?

One thing you can do is say how you honestly feel using a feeling word. Over the long term, by the way, not only are you teaching emotional honesty by doing this, but you will find it becomes easier and easier. And you actually feel better because it takes less energy and creates less stress to be honest.

Minimize your negative feeling if you want, but don't totally change it. Remember though, how you feel is not what is most important. What is most important is how your child feels. Remember, you are there to fill your child's unmet emotional needs- - he is not on earth to fill yours. And if you are too emotionally expressive, you risk creating a role reversal situation where the child begins to parent you and put your emotions first.

So don't elaborate on your feelings. Don't give him a mini-lecture. Don't try to talk yourself thru your own feelings, don't even explain them to him unless it is a relatively major issue, and even then, if you really feel the need to explain yourself, wait till your child has explained his.

Instead of talking about yourself, put the focus right back on him. The sooner the better; so the less you say, the better. Kids need to talk. They need to be heard. They need to be understood. The way this happens is you learn to listen and seek to understand.

So you say something like, "Yeah? How come you are unhappy with it?" Then whatever your child says, you accept. You accept their perception. Even it makes no sense to you, it is still their perception. They own it. Don't try to steal their perception from them or tell them they shouldn't or can't keep it. It has some value to them because it is part of them at that moment. No matter how unhappy they are, I believe it is better to accept their perception. After you accept it, then they can start to solve their own problems. And they will. They always will. Just give them the opportunity. Don't rob them of the chance to learn to manage their own emotions by instantly trying to talk them out of their feelings.

In my experience, once you accept their unhappiness, the next thing that happens is they say something positive. In other words, like pendulums, they start to move back towards equilibrium. Humans are pleasure seeking animals. When we are out of equilibrium we naturally seek ways to get back to it. One of the most precious things about children is their creativity. Give them a chance to develop it, to excersise it. Let them come up with their own solutions. Offer gentle coaching if you want, by saying something like, "What would help you feel better about it?" Or if they seem stuck, offer them support by saying something like, "Is there anything I can do to help."

If they aren't talking, it might be best to just silently offer them a hug or a caring moment of silence with your hand touching them. Many parents fill the need to fill the uncomfortable silence with their own words. I suggest you avoid doing this. There is power in a quiet moment with your child. You might let them know you are willing to listen if they want to talk about it later, and that you are sorry they are feeling so bad, if that is actually how you are feeling.

Or you might be feeling frustrated or helpless. If so, go ahead and tell them, but minimize it so your feelings don't become the central issue. Just communicate honestly and compassionately with them. Stay if they seem to want you to, or just let them work it out a bit on their own, confident that they will. In fact, when you do this, you are showing your confidence in them and helping them develop self-confidence.

Most of the time, kids can quickly figure things out for themselves. Most of the time they can solve their own problems and heal their own wounds with just the smallest amount of sincere empathy and validation on your part. And when they need more help, they ask for it. With our love for them and our good intentions we so often underestimate them and over-protect them. To build their self-confidence, self-esteem and sense of self, we can help them most when we ask for their own self-appraisals while keeping our input to the very minimum. Then we simply validate their reponses and seek understanding of why they feel the way they do. This is how we help nature unfold before our eyes. Then we step back and watch in awe as out of this young child grows a unique individual unlike any other in the universe.

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Alleged Christian Charity

When bike riding the other day I stopped at a farm house to ask for some water to drink. I met a single guy about my age. We started talking and he told me about a "alleged Christian charity" he worked at for seven years. He would drive a van around at night and ask homeless people if they wanted a ride to a place where they could sleep for the night. He said the organization got grant money from the government. He said they would claim that there were 10,000 young people sleeping on the streets everynight, but he thought they were vastly exaggerating so they could get more money. He said he drove around the worst parts of town and only saw a few young people a night. He said the organization was run unprofessionally, that they treated their employees very poorly, that the management did things that were questionable if not unethical and that he left because he felt very disillusioned

Abseiling

February 11, 2000 - Bundanoon, New South Wales, Australia

Today I went climbing on the rocks where no one else dared climb. The others didn't think it was possible to do what I did. Of course, that just made it more fun once I did it. I would have done it anyhow, but it is nice to have an audience.

It is hard to describe where we went and how we did it. In another city they were taking people on these trips to do pretty much what I did today. They were charging like one hundred dollars (about seventy US) I was thinking about doing it then, but it just didn't seem right to pay for that kind of adventure. Then today the manager of the hostel here in Bundanoon, Glenn, asked me if I wanted to go "abseiling" or if I had ever done it before. I suspected he was getting at something by the way he asked me, so I asked why he wanted to know.

He said the last time he went he had to leave a good rope behind and he wanted to go get it. Since my van wasn't ready yet and I didn't have much to do, and he made it sound easy--saying his ten year old son could do it--I decided to go.

First you walk down to this pretty waterfall, where all the tourists go in this national park. (Fairy Bower Falls in Morton National Park) Then there is no more path and you just climb down the creek bed over huge boulders, logs, branches, etc. Glen liked to use the rope a lot, but I prefered to climb on my own without it.

Abseiling is interesting. I guess it is the same thing as rapelling, or pretty close to it. It is pretty smart really. You loop a long rope around a tree, then you hook it up to this gadget that is a little like a cross between a belt and a diaper. It holds you up so you can hang in the air if you want. Then you can control the speed at which you drop down into the canyon. Then when you get down you just pull the rope down, roll it up so you can use it again. You don't need spikes or pins or a lot of special equipment like with rock climbing. It is a little scary, but not bad. Glen seemed to know what he was doing and I was just laughing most of the time--but not all of it.

Anyhow, you walk down the canyon/creek bed as it drops lower and lower into the valley. I suppose we went down between five hundred and 800 feet altogether. There was one place where Glen swam across a little pool and I decided to climb along the rocks to meet him on the other side. He didn't think I could make it with out getting wet. When he looked up and saw me on the other side while he was still getting set up to use the rope, he shouted out, "Smart ass!"

The next time though, there was no way around. He said, "Let's see you stay dry this time." I looked for a long time but the rocks were too steep and slippery, so I had to just drop in the water with my shoes on and daypack. He told me everything would get soaked before we were done, but I didn't know what I was getting myself into. He was kind enough to point out a big spider before I got in the water, saying, "Make sure you don't let that one bite you. He would give you a nasty bite, that one."

The water was so cold!! And it was up to my shoulders for about thirty seconds while I walked through it to get to the other side.

My pack was filled with water and I had to pour it out. I had put my tshirt in a plastic bag inside, but it was soaked. We climbed down the creek bed a little farther and then Glen said, "There is my rope!" I climbed over to where he was standing and he pointed to the edge of a cliff and said, "That's what we are going down next." I got a little closer to the edge and peeked over and said to myself, "Holy shit!"

The drop must have been about sixty feet, going by the length of Glen's rope which was just hanging in the water below. Figure that one story in an office building might be about ten feet, so we are talking something like stories high. And you drop straight into a pool of water that is over your head. Then you have to unhook the rope from the gadget around your waist so you can swim. I am not sure why I did this actually! Or why I wasn't more scared.

I kept laughing in disbelief. He asked, "Is that a laugh of confidence." I just laughed some more thinking, "This is totally crazy. I am not really here doing this!"

I said, "I think we can just climb back up the way we came." He said, "That wouldn't be any fun. Plus it would be really hard climbing." Then I looked around some more and said, "I think it would be a lot easier to go down that side over there, where we can stop every once in a while on a ledge and then land on dry ground." He didn't like my idea. He was determined to go right down next to the waterfall and into the water.

As he got ready he said, "Your knees aren't shaking, so you are doing better than I am." I don't know why they weren't shaking. I guess I wasn't letting myself think about what I was about to do. I still felt a bit detached from the whole idea. It started to become more real to me when he dropped down and out of sight. Before he dropped over the edge we practiced hooking and unhooking my rope gadget one more time. As he disappeared, he said, "You are on your own now." That didn't help me feel any better.

It took him about two minutes to get down. Then I heard him yell that "Off rope," which meant it was my turn. I still couldn't see him. At this point by the way, we had both dropped a few feet down onto a little ledge to prepare for the finally drop. I was standing on slippery rocks about two feet from the edge, with water sprinkling on my head and nothing to hold onto except the rope. I put the rope into the gadget (It has some fancy French name which I forget) and tested it to make sure it was holding my weight before I slipped over the edge. I am laughing now at the thought of really doing this! (That was when I first wrote the draft of the story- now I am doing some editing of it and I am not laughing anymore. I am feeling tense at the thought of what I actually was about to do.)

I got down on my knees and very, very slowly lowered myself over the edge. The rocks were smooth and slippery with moss. My knees slid over the edge and I lowered myself further down as the rocks scraped and cut my knees. I wanted to get the rope in a certain spot to keep me out from under the full force of the water flow. I saw that Glen had slipped over to one side of a large rock and more into the path of the waterfall, so I was trying very hard to not do the same. I was going down very slowly because I was afraid the rope would slip to the left of a pointed rock and swing me right into the waterfall. My concentration on trying to keep the rope where I wanted it was causing more stress than the thought of falling. My knees were getting skinned up, but there was nothing else I could do. Soon I got past the edge of the first overhang and I was just pretty much hanging there in the air. I thought I might as well get this over with, and started to let the rope slide faster.

It didn't take long once I did that. Seemingly instantly my feet were in the water. I heard Glen and I looked over to see him standing on the other side of a long pool. Longer than the distance he had promised me about when we were back at the hostel. He told me to just keep on dropping into the water. By now the water from the waterfall was pounding my head. I was afraid my contacts would come out, so I was trying to keep my eyes closed. He was swimming over to help me. I got unhooked, but it was tricky and stressful. He had warned me not to drop the gadget into the water because we would never see it again, so I was afraid of doing just that. The damn things should float so you don't have to worry about them sinking in situation like that!

I wanted to hand it to him to get rid of it, but he told me to clip it back onto my belt harness thing. I don't know how I did this while trying to stay afloat and with the water pounding my head, but somehow I guess I did. My leather shoes were filled with water and felt like bricks on my feet. He said something like, "Isn't this fun?" I just shook my head, "No."

I really was getting scared at this point, not having any idea what to do and constantly being battered by the water. It is amazing how hard it hits you when it falls that far. And it just keeps coming. He told me there was a place to stand on the other side of the pool. I managed to get over there, again I am not sure how, where I waited while he pulled down the rope. This was not a fun time. The water was just about up to my chin and freezing cold. But the worst was the constant pounding and the fear of losing my contacts and everything being a big blur even with them in.

When Glen pulled the rope down completely he swam across the pool to a spot where he could lay it down. Then he swam back to help me, which I very much appreciated. I asked if he could take my pack and he said sure. I think he was planning on doing just that. I felt scared, but protected by him. I knew I wanted to take my shoes off. I really was a little afraid of drowning if I left them on, and maybe even without them. There wasn't really time to verbalize my fear, even to myself, but I certainly felt it.

I handed him my pack and then said I want to put my shoes inside. He said okay, but thought I already had done it. So he started to put the pack on. Then he saw that I had a shoe in my hand so he opened up the pack and we somehow managed to get my shoes inside and zipped back up again. There wasn't much room on the ledge we were standing on. We were right up against the side of the pool wall. The pack wouldn't fit on Glen, and as he tried to get it on I was afraid the straps would rip off. I could see it stretching and him struggling to get his arms in. Luckily, he caught on pretty fast and stopped fighting it. He took it off and we loosened the straps. All of this while still being tortured by the water from above and below.

Glen told me to go first and he would follow. Then calmly he said as he reached out, "Wait a minute, you have a leech on you." "Great," I thought. I wondered how he could sound so non-chalant about it! He flicked it off and said, "No, it was just a leaf." I felt relieved by still frightened by the thought of a leech being on my cheek.

Once I started swimming I felt better, but it was still a tense few moments till I touched ground again. It took longer to touch bottom than I thought it would. But I didn't swallow any water and didn't run out of breath, and I was out of the frigging waterfall, so I was beginning to believe I might just survive this "little adventure."

When I got out I was sooo cold! All I could think about was how to warm up. As Mayer and Salovey say, your feelings direct your attention to what is important! I quickly started climbing around on the dry boulders and headed for sunlight. I was relieved to realize we were at the very bottom of the canyon and there was a nice peaceful creek running through it that the waterfall opened into. The sun was behind the clouds but the rocks still retained the heat from earlier in the day and they warmed my barefeet. The smooth, dry, warm rocks felt sooo good! I jumped around, still feeling a little shakey, but happy to be alive and on solid ground again. I could feel my confidence coming back as I lept from one boulder to the next over the wide, shallow stream know as "Bundy Creek."

At the creek we met some other people from the hostel who had come in from the other side, following a foot trail. While Glen talked to them, I decided to try to climp up the side of the canyon. It was trickier than I thought so the higher I went the more satisfied I felt. I was a little worried about slipping off a couple of times, not to mention about how I would get back down. As anyone knows who has climbed on rocks barehanded (and barefooted, in this case) it is easier to go up than come down. I guess cats who get stuck in trees know this too!

I made it about two thirds of the way up to the point we had just jumped from when I heard Glen yelling my name looking for me. I yelled back to let him know I was okay. Then started to hurry back. Since he couldn't see me he yelled again, "Where are you??" I shouted, "Over here. On the left side of the waterfall!"

When I could see him, I waved my arms and shouted again. He looked very small! He said, "What are you doing up there???" I shouted back, "I thought it would be fun to see if I could get up here." I couldn't see his face, but I suppose he was shaking his head and smiling, saying to himself that I am just like his ten-year old son.

When I climbed down Glen was no where to be seen! I thought, "surely, he didn't head back without me.-- Did he?? Did he get impatient and fed up with my antics?" I decided he probably was just ahead of me on behind some boulders, so I went around them in the direction I thought I last saw him heading. But he wasn't there. I didn't want to let him know I was scared so I didn't yell out, "Glen, where are you?!" Also, I was afraid he was annoyed by me, so I figured I better keep quiet. But in a minute I was even more afraid I had somehow lost him or he had left me, so I said loudly, though not shouting, "Glen...? Where'd you go?"

To my relief his voice was very close by when he replied. He was just ahead of me and in a few seconds I saw him standing on a boulder. It sort of looked like he was "watering the rocks" to borrow from a phrase I heard in Canada this summer, so I kept back and turned away for a minute. When I climbed up to where he was I saw that he had been holding the extra rope in his hand, not holding what I thought he had been holding!

We walked on together and then we went for a swim when we both had warmed up. I went skinny dipping after checking to see if he would object to the idea. Later he yelled out, "Steve, put your clothes on. We've got company." And sure enough I looked up to see the two guys and one female from the hostel (the Pommies, as the Ozzies call the Brits).

One of them had lost a ring in the water earlier in the day. Trying to show my empathy and give him a chance to talk about it, I asked if it had any special sentimental value you. He said that it did. Someone had made it for him from a mold which later fell apart. It was in the shape of a Muslim symbol for world peace. Later at the hostel he drew the shape of it for me. Though I had been trying to dry my shorts off, I got in the water again and looked for about ten minutes. He seemed very appreciative of my efforts. I never found the ring, but I figured if I couldn't offer him a found ring, I could at least offer him some compassion and help. I told him to leave his address at the hostel in case I or Glen's son came back and happened to find it. He really appreciated that idea too. I knew there wasn't much chance of it, but I wanted to offer him some encouragement. The more he talked the more I could tell the ring meant a lot to him. I feel bad for him now, facing the reality that it is not likely he will ever see it again.

After that it was a fairly sane, but rigorous climb back up a little trail. Once we went past a termite mound. I had never seen anything like it before in my life. It looked like a small teepee! I started to poke away at it, afraid Glen would tell me to leave it alone. But he didn't say anything except, "There might be a hole around the bottom somewhere." After poking for two or three minutes I gave up. It was incredibly hard. Glen told me the termites mix some kind of secretion with sand to give it the same effect as cement. He said people used to wet down termite mounds and use them for mortar till they realized the termites were an important part of the ecosystem.

Along the way, I did a little more climbing than they did just for fun. At Fairy Bower Falls, I climbed up the side of a small cliff to reach the next higher level of the falls. When I got up the side and was able to walk again, Glen yelled out my name and I looked back to seem him pounding his chest, I guess to tell me he thought I was probably proud of myself Tarzan! I felt a little mocked and afraid he would think I was just "showing off," as I was so often accused of doing, usually when I was just doing exactly what I would have done all alone. I remember now a parent in New Zealand who told her son to "stop showing off" when I smiled at him as he hung on a bunk bed with one arm and beat his chest like a monkey for me when I walked past his room. I thought, "it is funny how a parent who doesn't give her child enough attention then scolds him for trying to fill his natural need for it as soon as someone comes along and smiles to him." I feel so sad for that child now as I remember how she yelled at him constantly the next morning as he was being forced to go to school.

But back to my story. Very carefully, but as quickly as I could with my bare feet on the sharp, slippery rocks, I crossed under the waterfall and over to the path on the other side of the creek. That was a tricky "bit" (as they say here - they like to use the word "bit" to mean a variety of things). There weren't many dry rocks anywhere to be found and they all seemed to be covered with a thin layer of moss. But that was the end of my climbing for the day. Well, almost the end. A few minutes later I did have the idea to climb right up the creek a few feet then cut over to the trail and then go up to the overlook where the others had stopped. I changed my mind though and turned around. As I started to stand up and walk back I hit my head on a sharp overhanging rock. That was a surprise! Funny, after all the dangerous things I had been doing, I cut myself on while simply trying to stand up! I didn't want to tell the others, and thankfully, the cut was just above my forehead and hidden by my hair wet, matted hair.

While we were climbing back Lynn was looking physically and psychologically exhausted. She kept wanting to stop and telling us to go ahead. Her "mate" wasn't much help. He was in a good mood and kept laughing and invalidating her. He wasn't exactly mocking her, but almost. Once he said, "You can always stop here and we can get a helicopter and airlift you out." She didn't find this comment amusing. Another time he said, trying to sound encouraging, but with a definite trace of impatience and annoyance, "Come on, we are half way there." That didn't help her feel any better either. At another point, she was afraid to jump across two rocks over some water. Neither one of the two male pommies were any help. They just shouted instructions at her as she stood there looking defeated and drained. I offered her my hand and tried hard to think of something compassionate to say or do, but in what I dare to say is typical British fashion, she didn't want to accept any help. So she walked into the water, soaking her shoes and pants legs-- which certainly didn't make the rest of the walk more comfortable.

A couple of times I was tempted to say something about the white, or erstwhile white, pants she had chosen to wear for the little expedition. Wisely though I decided she wouldn't see much humor in anything I said. Later I asked the guy who wasn't her partner how long the two of them had been together. He said about a month. I asked if he thought they would still be together after today and he laughed and said, "Well, in ten days of traveling with them I have already heard her say twice that she wanted to go home."

When we got back to the car, it became evident we would not all fit in. So Lynn's partner offered to wait till Glen took me and their friend back to the hostel. He said, "We will just start walking." Something didn't seem quite right about this. But I was in the car and we were driving off before I knew it. At the park entrance, I finally suggested to Glen that he drop us off and go back and get them since Lynn didn't look too good as we left. I wondered if her partner had asked her before he happily volunteered them to start walking. My strong suspicion was that he hadn't. He seemed to be trying hard to please her, but he didn't seem to have a clue as to how she was feeling or what to say or do. He was a nice enough guy- the one who lost the ring, by the way, but just really wasn't helping at all. Anyhow, Glen agreed that she didn't look so perky and he took suggestion and dropped Mark and I off.

He then turned around and drove the long way, the "right" way back into the park. I told Mark, "I wouldn't have done that. I'd have gone right back in there where it says 'No entry' -- It is a lot shorter! With that little car he could just pull over to the side if any one came, which is unlikely anyhow." Mark agreed and couldn't believe Glen had taken the long way either.

We then talked about how Ozzies seem to follow rules without a lot of police around to enforce them. I asked if he noticed that there weren't many police in Australia compared to England. He assured me there was indeed a big difference, that it was much more relaxed here, and that people didn't hassle him constantly as they did in England. We continued to share our wonder at the marvels of Australia in comparison to our own countries as we valiantly made our way back to the hostel. Not only had we survived a day of Australian bush country, but we had come to the aid of a damsel in distress. What more can a man want out of one single day?

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Notes from an afternoon with Jerry Bump

November 23, 1999

I am on the way back from Professor Jerry (Jerome) Bump's house.

I woke up about 5:30 in the morning, worked on my web pages for a couple of hours, then went back to sleep. When I woke up it was 11:30 and I had told him I would see him around 11. So I called him to let him know I was running late.

Driving to his place I went out 2222 for a while. A road that reminds me of Karen for several reasons which I will just mention in passing: Robyn wanting me to drive faster; the time by the creekbed where I promised Karen I would never tell Ann about us; and going over to her mother's boyfriend's house, who lives in a expensive home in the hills which he bought with insurance money from the death of his son; and the time I met Karen after spending the night with Marine in Venezuela. And being near highway 183 rmo Glen and Lorraine Palmer's house, two friends of Ann.

Btw, it is 4:00 now and traffic is already stopped up. As I drove through the hills out side of Austin, what Texans call the hill country, I felt saddened by the number of trees that were being cut down to make room for more and more housing developments. I thought of my friend Brad who is developing land and how he might unknowingly be contributing to the death of what made Austin such a special place.

As I got closer to Dr. Bump's house, I saw more clearly the contrast between the old Texas and the new Texas. The old Texas had ranch and pasture land, with a few local barbecue stands along the way. The new Texas is housing communities, McDonalds, lakeview mansions, traffic jams and golf courses. When I turned down Jerry's road I felt a little envious that he was able to get 23 acres of land where he did. Then I realized it was too late for this area. There were too many people moving in too quickly. It reminded me of my desire to buy land in Quebec or New Zealand, or maybe Australia.

(I see a Don Pablo's restaurant and I wonder if that is the name of the place where I complained about the chairs once with Karen. Then I drive by a huge new church.)

When I got to his house I was greeted by two barking dogs. I was hoping he would come to the door before I would have to decide whether to open the fence gate. When I didn't see him, I made my decision. The dogs seemed safe enough so I reached out hesitantly to see what they would do. The were sniffing my hand just ad he opened the door. Partly to show him I wasn't afraid, I opened the gate and started in, my fear now focussing on whether the dogs would run out the gate as I came in. My fears quickly passed and I shook hands with Jerry and went inside the house where he showed me that his wife has set plates for lunch. I felt a little bad for being an hour and a half late, and then worse when he said his wife couldn't stay to meet me.

We sat and talked for a bit, then he invited me outside to walk around the property. We saw his horse, Pied Beauty, and then we walked over to his cemetery where his former horse and pets of were buried. Then we found his longhorn cow which at about 800 pounds was huge to me, but which Jerry said was only about 1/3 the weight of some other cattle he had before.

Here now are my notes that I made on my cassette, with his later corrections and additions, as I drove away after our time together. (Shared with his permission)

-- He went to a Catholic school; was raped by a man at age 4.

-- His mother got pregnant at age twenty, he got a woman pregnant at age 20, and his daughter got pregnant at age twenty.

-- He said he believes in "familial karma" in the sense that problems get passed down to the next generation if no one solves the problem and puts a finish and closure on it. He said he believes when his daughter offered her baby up for adoption in a beautiful, emotional and open ceremony she put an end to this family issue.

-- He has his college students sit in the middle of campus and focus on a tree or something from nature as everyone else rushes by. He said he asks them to just focus on the unity and oneness of nature, which is safe in the sense that he can't get in trouble for doing anything religious or threatening to the psychology professors. He told me it is amazing what one hour of that will do for the students.

-- He once corrected someone's grammar while working at a construction job and the guy punched him in the face. As Jerry said, "There was some non-verbal communication of feelings!"

-- He tried to create a new course which included feelings and emotions in one of his English classes and the university
administration killed the class. He said he found out when he received a letter from the assistant dean saying the
class was canceled. Then a psychology professor on the Dean's committee wrote a "four page, single spaced attack" on the course proposal.
When he asked to read the letter so he could reply, they refused to allow him to even see it. He has written an
article about this experience which is currently in press:

"Teaching Emotional Literacy." In Writing and Healing: Toward an Informed Practice. Ed. C. Anderson and M. MacCurdy. Urbana: National Council of Teachers  of  English, 1999, 28 MS pages.

-- He said the publisher decided to print the article because they believed it was important for others to see what they might face when they try to address a hot topic like personal feelings. He added that it was important for others to know they are not alone, because that is what your opponents want: for you to feel alone and as if you are the only one who is not being a team player. Shortly before this happened he won a teaching award, the only teaching award given out by students rather than faculty.

-- He said although he is a mile from the lake he can still hear the powerboats with 800 horsepower motors designed for oceans, not lakes. He said people come out, "get tanked up, go boating and kill each other." He told me of the story of some sorority girls who got drunk and were on a boat run by someone who was high on drugs and alcohol. He came to close to the shore, hit a rock and one of the girls was thrown into the mountainside, instantly killing her.

-- He said Sydney, Australia was one of the most beautiful cities in the world and New Zealand was one of the most beautiful countries.

-- He said he started learning about feelings when he took his daughter to therapy at age 15 for alcoholism and the therapist wanted the whole family to come in. He said the first question they asked was to name your feelings. Before then he had become a "loyal member of the church of reason" so this was hard for him initially, and that he found in group exercises some intellectuals were never able to do it. Some very intelligent people would talk on and on about their thoughts and opinions and beliefs, but couldn't name their feelings. -- He told me about an exercise he has used where people practice sending love and positive feelings to someone else, through a third person whose back is turned towards the group. He said participants are often convinced there is some kind of force in emotion, some kind of actual energy, regardless of where we want to say it comes from. He said some people were not able to receive the love from others.

-- We talked about Jerry Jampolski's book, "Teach Only Love," in which the author says we have just two emotions: love and fear. While Dr. Bump thinks now this is a bit simplistic, he still got a lot out of the concept and even took a course based on Jampolski's ideas ten times because he got so much out of it.

Jerry later supplied me with this information: The course is called "The Foundations Course" at Centers for Attitudinal Healing across the country. It is part of their volunteer training. The course was very important to him because it focused on love and other positive emotions rarely dealt with in therapy and because it was all 'experiential' exercises: not just talking about but doing. The person who usually teaches the course in Austin is Carolyn Blankenship, of Austin (Wife of Monty Northrup). The person who oversaw the experiential exercises for dealing with the so-called negative emotions in his life was Mary Jo Bjornistal, also of Austin (Her company was called Options). Another source for experiential exercises of this type would be the chief therapists at In-patient Centers for Chemical Dependence.

-- He has a pile of rocks behind his house and sometimes he will throw them to burn off anger. He also releases tension by chopping wood with a hatchet while he shouts out whatever comes to mind. He had me squeeze his two fingers together, telling me to squeeze as hard I as could, to show that you could release energy directly towards someone without hurting them. I tried this later on my own two fingers, squeezing a little harder than I did with him, and I found out it does hurt a little, so I would suggest just squeezing one (by making a fist around it and leaving your thumb on the outside of your fingers.)

-- He said it was alright to weblish details about his personal life, in fact he had gone on TV to tell about being raped when he was a child. He believes that each time we tell our story it has a healing affect on us and it releases the unhealthy energy we have been holding inside.

-- He said Goleman's book brought legitimacy to the work that he was already doing with the students and their emotions.

-- He told me of a study done with rats where they are raised on crushed glass which hurts their feet. When they had an option to go over to a cage with a normal they returned to the cage they were used to. And he told me of another story of a polar bear that was transferred to the Denver zoo before they had a place ready for it, so they put it into a small cage where it paced back and forth. When later they gave it much more space of its own, it continued to pace back and forth as if still in the small cage. We then talked about the story of a man who put a pumpkin seed in a glass bottle and how the pumpkin grew to fit the shape of the bottle. Then Jerry said, but with a family system, the child takes on the psychological shape of the parent's glass bottle. In other words, metaphorically, this would mean the next generation would grow to be the shape of the bottle, without actually being inside any bottle at all, or even knowing the parent pumpkin was ever in a bottle, or that there was anything abnormal about this.

-- So that ends the notes from our conversation. We talked about many more things, but that is a bit of a sample. I felt inspired, encouraged and stimulated when the afternoon was over. Oh, yes, he also told me that when he was in college, in 1963, he was kicked out of Amherst for having a girl in his room! Another student reported him and the police unlocked his door and walked in without knocking around 1 in the morning and he was given 24 hours to leave the school.

Visit Jerry's Web Site

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Bundanoon Hostel

New South Wales, Australia --June 2000

The first time I went to Bundanoon I was searching for someplace quiet, away from the big cities like Sydney and the tourist attractions like the coastal towns and the Blue Mountains. I wanted to do some reading, writing and thinking. Like many travelers I often use my travelling time to reflect on my life, my dreams and my plans.

In the busy hostels I was constantly distracted by televisions, videos and head banging music. Before finding Bundanoon, I stayed in one place where the both the kitchen and dorm were so small I kept feeling crowded with no sense of personal space. Besides that, I was a little disgusted by the dirty dishes inside and the soggy cigarette butts floating in ashtrays filled with dirty yellow water outside. In other hostels I felt surrounded by posters beckoning me to spend money on adventure trips, abseiling, cave tours, phone cards, discount coupon books, party bus trips and seemingly everything else.

I was also distracted by the number of short, shallow conversations which I tried, but usually failed, to avoid getting drawn into. I longed for some peace and quiet, so for three nights I traveled aimlessly, sleeping in my van. Christmas was coming up and I wanted to get as far away as I could from the inundation of Christmas music, lights and commercialism as I could. Then I realized I felt too alone and I needed some balance between the masses of thrill-seekers and the solitary confines of my van.

I flipped through my YHA guidebook and saw the picture of Bundanoon. It looked inviting. A large front porch, or veranda, as they say here, a large front lawn and stately trees. I saw that it was in a small town not far from where I was that day. So I pointed my van in the direction of Bundanoon, New South Wales.

When I arrived, I was pleasantly surprised to see that everything was even bigger than the picture showed. There was a long, circular driveway which curved under the branches of the huge gum trees in the spacious front yard. The hostel looked more like a mansion to me. I found out later it actually was a guesthouse in former times.

When I checked in I found out that I could stay in my van, but still use all the inside facilities for the price of camping, just 8 dollars. This is a very nice option which not all hostels offer, so my spirits continued to be lifted. Another little thing I realize, upon reflection, is that I was checked in by the owner/manager of the hostel, rather than a part-time employee who is working there in exchange for accommodation as you find in the larger hostels. He introduced himself as Glen and said the he and his wife, Lee, run the hostel.

Next to the reception desk was a blackboard where they welcome all the guests by name and give them their room numbers so they can enter their rooms even if they arrive while the front desk is closed during the day. It is a nice feeling to walk in and see your name on the board, and it is another one of the little touches which makes Bundanoon a special place.

I continued to be pleasantly surprised as I walked into the large, spotless, very well equipped kitchen and heard classical music playing from the radio. Then I walked into the lounge and found an antique piano, a large old-fashioned fireplace, and some of the largest, cleanest and most comfortable lounge chairs I have seen in any hostel anywhere. The whole place reminded me more of an expensive bed and breakfast in an historic building.

The next day I met two people from Sydney who also wanted to get away from the Christmas madness. One was from China and the other had been an organizer of the Young Communists in Australia so we had some interesting political discussions over dinner at the local pub, where, being in small town, we were able to get seats without waiting even though it was Christmas eve.

Next I went on a moonlit walk to see what these things called glowworms were. The combination of the full moon, the stars, the small dark path through the woods, the occasional frightening sounds of nature and the companionship of an intelligent, attractive female had already created a memorable evening. But seeing the tiny glowworms all lit up like distant stars was a unique treat. I had never seen anything like it before in my life. I won't try to describe it, because it is better if you just arrive with no expectations. I will just say that I found it delightful, fascinating and well worth the twenty minute walk back up the hill into town. Though it was the middle of the holiday season, we were the only two people there; and the lights made naturally by the glowworms were more beautiful to me than any cheap, or expensive, Christmas displays.

Later, as we sat around the fireplace, I talked to an environmentalist and his friends till three in the morning about everything from ecology and evolution to religion and the influence of the United States on Australia. Again it was a truly interesting and stimulating conversation, much unlike the kind which leave me feeling so empty and wasteful when they are through.

Since then I have been back to Bundanoon several times. I have continued to enjoy myself and the company of the hostel managers and guests. There is plenty of space to be alone, but there are still opportunities to socialize with other international travelers as well as visitors from Sydney who come down by car or train for a brief escape from the city.

I don't know just what it is about Bundanoon, whether it is the glowworms, the waterfalls and sheer cliffs of the nearby national park, the hospitality of Lee and Glen, the spacious lounge, the clean ample kitchen, the soft chairs, the ancient gum trees, the pristine rooms, the lack of a television, the people who sit and read quietly by the fireplace, or the candles which cast a flickering glow on the veranda while people talk quietly late into the night, but there is something special about Bundanoon, and now that I have found it, I am sure I'll be back.

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A Woman and a Boy on the Beach

July 1996

I was laying on the beach in Tarpon Springs, Florida when I heard a child screaming.

I looked up and saw a woman carrying like a sack of potatoes thrown over her arm.

She seemed to be completely ignoring him, pretending that nothing was wrong as everyone else on the beach turned to watch.

Then she put him down and he started to run back towards the parking lot. She kept on walking towards the water, still ignoring him. The look on her face was as if she truly did not care, as if he weren't even there. She didn't seem upset, she simply showed no emotion at all.

She looked back and shouted "Bye Christopher." He stopped and looked confused. He looked at her, then he looked towards away from her, towards freedom. I said to myself, "Run, run as fast as you can. And never look back!"

He kept running. His little legs did not take him far in the sand. The woman started setting up her chair and umbrella. Again she said to him "Bye." She seemed to think it was funny.

As he got closer to the parking lot, I became frightened for him. Afraid that he would run out from between the parked cars and get hit. An elderly couple near the edge of the parking lot sensed the same fear and the stopped him to talk to him.

By this point the woman apparently started to feel embarrassed, guilty and irresponsible. She came after the boy. Confused and afraid, he allowed himself to be captured by her. And she once again carried him, though less roughly. He continued to scream however and she showed very little compassion for him.

As I looked at the woman, she appeared to be relatively well-off. She looked like a young suburban mother. A young professional. She had a female friend with her who looked like the type to be heavily involved in church activities.

Watching the way she treated that child was more than I could take. The worst, I think was the cold way she ignored him, talking to her friend as if they were walking alone, on the way to a party.

I decided I must do something.

I wrote out a note which went something like this, though I am sure the language was sharper:

The way you ignored your child while he screamed, and then used the fear of abandonment to try to get him to return is extremely damaging to his self-esteem. It will have lasting effects.

I walked up to her as she was standing in the water and said "If you care about your child, please read this."

My heart was pounding. I don't know what I was afraid of, I guess just conflict in general. As I walked back to my towel and book, I felt defiant, I suppose, and thought everyone was watching me. I felt very self-conscious and nearly petrified, but I tried to resume my reading as non-chalantly as I could.

A minute or so later, her friend came up to me and said angrily, "Are you a child psychologist."

I said, "Yes."

She then said, "You have no idea what was going on."

The our dialogue went as follows:

No, but I'd be happy to listen.

Do you work for the HRS? (Human Resource Services - the people who take kids away from abusive parents)

No.

You have no idea...

I know what I saw. But I would be happy to listen.

No, because it is none of your business!

As she stomped away, I said "It is my business because it affects me when people around me grow up to have low self-esteem."

I wondered after whether I had actually helped the kid or just made his mother or whoever it was even more defensive. Would she take her negative feelings out on him, or would she be a bit more self- aware? Would she just try harder to manage her public appearances while behaving worse in reality and in private?

I suppose it wasn't the most subtle or non-threatening approach. I feel proud of doing something, I just don't know if it was the best thing or even if it made things worse.

Looking back, maybe compassion and a bit of humor would have been easier on everyone. I guess I wasn't feeling compassionate though. I was feeling protective and I felt an identity with the boy. So I felt personally offended, I suppose.

I believe we must say or do something. To silently witness abuse is to condone it. I made somewhat of a pledge to myself a few years ago to never stand silently by when I see abuse. It is hard for me to contain my strong feelings. I think of the anti-slave activist who said "You tell me to be more moderate, but I can not! Can I act in moderation when my house is on fire? Can I moderately go to rescue my wife and children who are inside!?" (I think his name was Garrison)

I am kind of curious just what was going on, why they knew so much about HRS,for example. Maybe they were do-gooders from a social agency or a church or something. Maybe the child was adopted or who knows what. (Sorry for the label, but it is what came to mind.)

Anyhow, that is how it happened, as best as I remember

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Laurie

11/6/98

Met Laurie yesterday. She was walking on the causeway. I noticed her as I drove back from the post office. She looked depressed. Was walking slowly, staring at an open book. She had strawberry blonde hair, my favorite. And a trim figure. Like most days, I wasn't doing anything in particular. So I decided to park my car at the other end of the causeway and read, just in case she walked past and wanted to talk.

After about fifteen minutes I looked down and saw another female walking towards me. She dropped her sweater, then picked it up awkwardly. She was of slightly better than average looks, so I decided I would say something to her when she got closer. I reminded myself of the truism I had developed years ago when I was newly single in Dallas: "If a female wants to talk to you, it doesn't matter what you say to start the conversation." Likewise, if she doesn't want to talk to you, there is little you can do to change her mind. I'd guess this has proven true in over 90% of the cases.

As the walker approached I tried to think of some open-ended question to ask. I don't remember what I decided upon, and I am not sure I used my prepared line, for just about then she dropped her sweater again. She looked very uneasy, unsettled, disoriented even. Whatever I said didn't cause her to stop walking, so I went back to reading my book.

Soon, the redhead arrived. I said something and she stopped. I kept the conversation going for awhile. I asked her where she was going, why she was so dressed up. She answered all my questions, but didn't give long answers. I commented on her glasses which were missing one of the pieces that hooks over your ear. She said her daughter broke them. So we talked about her daughter a little. A nine year old. Eventually, she sat down next to me on the bench. As we talked she slowly revealed that she had just walked off a job at the Holiday Inn on the beach. They had told her before lunch that she didn't have enough computer skills. So when she went for lunch she just didn't go back. Instead she started walking home. Later I found out that she was at least 5 miles from home and didn't even know the area. She was just walking and thinking.

When I first saw her I could tell she was troubled. Slowly I learned what those troubles were. She had come down to Florida on the bus from Georgia after her husband flew over to Germany with the Army. All of her furniture and possessions were locked up in the military storage in Georgia. She couldn't get them out without his permission. Her mother was kicking her out of her apartment. First she said it was because they have a no children rule there. Later she added that her mother was tired of having her and her daughter there.

She said her husband wrote to her two weeks earlier to say he wanted a divorce. They had been married for about two years. He had been abusive to her, like her first husband and her father. Her father was also in the military. We went to a pizza place, where I offered to buy her lunch. She declined. Instead she picked out a Frutopia and was going to pay for it herself. I insisted that I pay and she thanked me.

As we talked over the table, I kept thinking how attractive she was. Redhair, blue eyes, unwrinkled skin. She looked innocent, kind. The only thing that marred her appearance and gave a hint as to her troubled life were her uneven and slightly stained teeth. Listening to her, I noticed that she constantly put herself down. She wouldn't blame anyone else for her problems. She was reluctant to accept any kind of help. It was clear that she was taught to be "strong" and self-reliant. To a fault.

The most important thing in her life was her daughter. She said she didn't care about anything else in life and what she did was for her daugther. I asked her how she would feel if she got divorced and she basically said "indifferent." I asked how she felt about her mother kicking her out, I got a similar response. I wanted so badly to help her. I felt so much empathy for her. More than she felt for herself. Maybe I even felt some sympathy, though I try to avoid that feeling, because I think it does more harm than good.

I told her about my experience in crisis counseling, and about all the agencies that would offer help. I told her she was the kind of person they were there for. I asked if she would feel embarrased to go to one. She said yes, a little, but she might give them a try. I encouraged her to as much as I could. I knew she wasn't someone who would take advantage of the programs.

I asked if her first husband was paying child support. He wasn't and she didn't want it from him. I asked if he second one would if they got divorced. Same answer. I admired her for her self-reliance, but realized it was out of balance. She told me a couple of stories about her childhood which confirmed what was obvious. I have heard them enough times now that I have seen the pattern. I get frustrated, resentful when I think about how long these patterns have been going on.

I keep asking myself why I, who was a business major, should have to be discovering this information and trying to do something about it. Why haven't the psychologists and sociologists and politicians and lawmakers broken the cycle of abuse and low self-esteem? I would add the religious figureheads to the list, but I skeptically believe that they realize it serves their own interest to have a society full of people who don't believe in themselves. After all, if we believed in ourselves, why would we need to believe in fantasy beings? And without all the stories, why would we need the story tellers and interpreters? If I have figured out the cause-effect relationships on my own, with no formal training, then what have all the so-called experts been doing? I am started to feel "angry"- energized. But I don't want to feel this right now. So I will take a deep breath and finish the original story.

Laurie said she had to be out of the apartment by Sunday. It was Friday. She had no car and no money for a deposit on an apartment of her own. I asked what her options were. She said she could go to Germany. I asked how she could afford to fly there. She said the miliary would pay. How convenient. Just like the Scientologists. They find abused, needy people, they fill a few of their most basic security needs, then they create financially and psychologically dependents. Both the Scientologists and the Army will pay for transportation (the Sci Guys have a fleet of busses which is larger than most cities). Both will provide housing, food and "training." Now I remember that L. Ron Hubbard spent several years in the Navy, so he was a fast learner.

When I listened to Laurie I felt powerless. Completely powerless. I asked her how I could help and she said I already had helped, but I didn't feel helpful. After we ate I drove her towards her mother's. When we got close, she asked me to drop her off at a strip shopping center. I still am not sure why- whether she didn't want her mother to see me, or her, or whether she felt embarrassed about where she lived-it might have been a trailer park, or whether she didn't want me to know where she lived. I asked if I could call her, she said she would call me. I gave her my business card. I didn't expect to hear from her. And I haven't. I feel incomplete. Unfulfilled. There is an emptiness inside me from all of these unfinished stories. I want to see her again, to know how she made it through the next few days. I want to meet her daughter, to share what I have learned. But I don't even know her last name. I have no way to contact her.

Laurie didn't deserve this. Her daughter didn't deserve it. They didn't "earn" their situations. They didn't choose them. The process started long before they were born. The wheel started turning. The snowball started rolling down the hill. How far back does one want to go? I recently learned that Chritianity, Judaism and Islam were all based on a man named Abraham. He must have been one abused child. I wonder who abused his parents, and his grandparents? I feel confident that I have looked far enough back. I feel confident that I understand the cause-effect relationships. This knowledge helps me feel both powerful and powerless, encouraged and discouraged. Opptimistic and pessimistic. I ask myself, what good is it to know if you can't help. I sometimes feel tormented, burdened. I feel so much desire to help the Lauries, and their children. But I am met with so much opposition. So much ignorance and defensiveness.

I close my eyes and fall back on my bed. I bury my head in the pillow. I feel empty. Drained. Then I remember something else that encourages me. I asked Laurie is she spanked her daugher. She didn't. I asked if she had been spanked. "Oh, yeah!" I asked her to tell me about one of the times she remembered.

She said it was a Sunday morning. She was in her pajamas watching one of her favorite cartoons. Her mother came down and saw that she hadn't gotten dressed for church. She defied her mother and was beaten for it. I said "so did you get dressed and go to church?" "No," she said with a smile. "Good for you." Now I feel better, knowing she listened to her inner voice, not to the voice of authority. And I feel better remembering that she doesn't hit her own child. But at the same time, I know she has paid a high price for efforts for her independence. One measure of evolution might be the cost of freedom. Right now, most of us are still paying dearly for it. If not financially, then emotionally. I really wonder, is there less pain associated with freedom now than there was 10,000 years ago? A more helpful question might be: How can we lower the price of freedom for or children? One way is to stop controlling them with every move they make. And to stop judging them for every emotion they express.

So that is my writing for this morning, December 2, 1998.

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