Keeping It Classy, Iowa

Iowa does not automatically mean "hick", regardless of what kind of BuzzFeed article you have read.

I feel like after the wrap up of this season's The Bachelor, we may have gotten a bit of a bad rap.  Yes, there is a tremendous amount of wide, open space, that fills slowly with growing crops.  You can enjoy the aroma of money in spring while passing by fields freshly sprayed with manure.  You will also frequently pass by a large steel building located in the middle of nowhere, and wonder what the stench wafting in your windows is.  (For the non-Iowan, that's called a hog confinement.)

Contrary to what you may have viewed on the whoring yourself out for money show, Iowan's DO know how to form a complete sentence.  There are also some of us who can sing.  We even find things to do other than go to bars for pizza, and visit Post Offices.  Not every major event in our lives takes place in a barn.

That being said, I feel I must admit to a few small things about living in rural Iowa.

During Lent, the aroma of dirty grease fryers fills the air.  Every bar and tavern within three miles of a cornfield is frying up fish that will lube up your intestines better than a box of Ex Lax.  If you should happen to live next to one of these grease pits (as I do), the warm spring day will seem like a curse as you open a window and realize your entire house now smells like a vat of rancid lard.  You will also race home after work, hoping against all hope that the endless constipated people needing to take a shit after eating grease soaked fish have not parked in your yard.  You will then remember the piles of mud that have appeared after a quick thaw of snow, and keep your fingers crossed it will work as a moat and keep people from parking near your home.  However, that does not solve the problem of the people parking at the mud free curb in front of your house, where you will spend the following morning picking up beer cans left behind by tee totalling fish revelers.  Typically, it's a Busch Light can, occasionally, a to go cup with the remnants of liquor, and every once in a while, a dirty diaper.  Just because they are Catholic does not mean they aren't swine.

Holidays such as St. Patrick's Day are celebrated with a parade.  But what that really means is we will put on a parade to make it look like we're keeping a holiday family friendly, but once the sun goes down, that parade is forgotten and it's bar time.  If you have no wish to dance on a table or throw up in a dirty bathroom, it's just common knowledge that you don't enter that particular town on St. Patrick's Day.  But hey, there's a parade.

When the weather begins to warm (and here in Iowa, that means anything above 45 degrees), it's time to get out the motorcycle.  And put your small child on the back.  Without a helmet.  You also open all your car windows and turn the cassette player up really really loud.  Usually playing  Iron Maiden.  Because the entire downtown wants to hear it through your home stereo-turned-subwoofer in your trunk.  Which usually means muffled music heard through trunk rattling.

When warm weather arrives, people start complaining about it being cold.  While wearing no jackets.  They are the same people who whined through the entire winter.  Because living in Iowa your entire life does not prepare you for the normal winter weather we have every year, apparently.  These same people will complain, once again, when summer arrives, but will instantly move on to saying it's too hot.  While wearing their jackets.

As a rural Iowan, you can also peruse the pages of your local shopper for jobs, things for sale, and entertainment in the area.  Basically, a paper of nothing but advertisements and announcements.  Along with finding out where all your greasy fish is being cooked, you can decide whether or not you want to attend the male strip show at the county fairgrounds, or better yet, the 1st annual Testicle Festival.  Don't ask me what is actually happening at a Testicle Festival, but being from rural Iowa, I can guarantee it includes the deep frying of some sort of animal balls.  Typically, the standard fried nut comes from a pig, but hey, it's a festival, so who knows what kind of testicle buffet they will have going on.  Perhaps they will even have games and a testicle parade for the kiddos.

That being said, rural Iowa IS a fantastic place to live.  Once you get used to the various aromas of the land, you can send your kids off to play in the local creek all day, build a huge bonfire in your yard, engage in a little target practice in a field, and shoot off fireworks without worrying about a trip to jail.  Even when you tend to keep to yourself as I do, there is a sense of community and coming together when emergency or tragedy strikes. 

You just have to acquire a "taste" for it.  Remember, though there may be the aroma of pig shit, the frying of pig nuts, there's also an endless supply of bacon.  And that's enough right there.

How to Exterminate Roach People

I look at our weather forecast and nearly weep.  A big, snot running, ugly cry.  And not because I cringed in horror, but big, dripping tears of joy.

Warmth.

Sun.

Numbers starting with a 5...even some starting with a 6.

Dear lawd sweet baby cheezits can I get an amen?

Now, that being said, I must purge these horrid thoughts, because when weather begins to warm, the freaks thaw out and start scurrying through my life like cockroaches.

First it was the women bundled up in winter coats and hats on a 57 degree day grumbling that it was too chilly.

Then, it was the grocery cashier regaling every person within earshot about her memories of the blizzard of '73.  With a friendly reminder to not get too happy about a beautiful sunny day.  I nearly slammed her, face first, into my pork shoulder roast.  The thought of grinding her nose into raw meat gave me even more pleasure than having the first window open in my house since early October.

And that was yesterday.  Today, the cockroach scurrying multiplied like any good vermin infestation tends to.

Though there were very few people who were able to actually voice a complaint about the weather, the freakfest did not stop coming through the doors. 

Obviously, people have been cooped up in the house way too long, and no longer know how to behave in public. 

Why should I be the one feeling like a fool when I respond to the endless mumbling going on throughout the store?  I was responding, attempting to help the person who appeared to be speaking every time I was within earshot, but it soon became clear she was having a very lengthy conversation with the other personality residing in her brain.

It also felt like a warm summer day when I had to reach for the large bottle of sea salt spray, making a round through the store, squirting as I went.  How can one person smell so bad that they leave a wave of putrescence wherever they have stepped?

Why do three young adults need to stop and rest while walking down the street?  They're young and healthy, but apparently so tired that they need to take a small siesta on the doorstep of an attorney's office before venturing across the street to our store.  And once inside our store, one was so obviously exhausted that the toddler sized chair was the only place he could muster enough energy to check his phone.  Yes, yes, tweeting is tiresome work, I know.

But all was not lost, as a truckload of designer clothing made its way into our store.  By the time it was unloaded, I had a counter and floor completely covered in piles and boxes.  As I began to neatly pack it away for future pricing, I got the joy of all joys in my life...the Curious George's.   It's not enough that we have an entire store packed with beautiful things hanging on racks, displayed on shelves, and at fingertip reach everywhere you look. 

No.

They all wanted to see what was in the boxes.

Touch touch touch.

Pick up.

Admire.

Exclaim "what is this?!!!"

Exclaiming over items I have not even looked at yet.  I, who works there, has not touched, folded, viewed, or inspected them.  But please, Nosy Rosy, Curious George, by all means, reach your grubby little paws into my boxes of merchandise and help yourself.

GET YOUR FILTHY FUCKING HANDS OFF THAT SHIT.

Though I was mentally screaming each and every time, I politely said, OVER AND OVER, "Please, I can not have you touching merchandise that has just arrived in the store."

In which I got the ever-so-famous response of "I"m just looooooooooking".  Yes, in the whiniest tone imaginable.

MENTAL SIGH.  "I haven't even looked at it, and I'M an employee, so again, I need you to not be looking through those boxes, please."

And then, of course, the slightly miffed, nose out of joint, haughty sniff, walk away like I've just asked them to lick me where I pee.

HOWEVER....

Regardless of the cockroach shenanigans, it was a GLORIOUS day.  I may have worked under the harsh lights of buzzing fluorescents, but that sun was shining into my dark little soul.  I washed my filth-mobile with no worries of doors freezing shut.  I opened my sunroof for the drive home.  I soaked up that blazing sun like a cat in a window.  Scurrying little cockroaches be damned.

When the cockroaches invade, shut your eyes, turn your face to the sky, and soak it in.  Life's prescription for joy...spring.

I'm Listening

I've written about the need to shut the fuck up and just listen before.  At that particular purging of thoughts, I was railing about the incessant need to be right, which then leads to people not truly listening to what others have to say.

However, now I delve into a far more serious aspect of listening. 

The voices of our young adults.

Yeah, yeah, there's thousand of memes, posts, and blogging rants out there about the trials and tribulations of raising teenagers.  As adults, we love to roll our eyes, and commiserate over having teens in the house.  It is a solidarity of parents when we make wisecracks about the survival of the teen years.

However, I'm going to drop the facade of being surrounded by teen angst, and hopefully get a message out to those young adults.  It is a message I feel is very important, and it must be purged from my brain before I explode in a litany of expletives like no other.

Just one week ago, I sat in a library meeting room discussing our monthly book club's choice of Catcher In The Rye.  It's a love or hate book.  There really is no middle ground, and you will either find it an absolute waste of time, or have it tug at your heart and brain.  I was the latter, finding that though Holden Caufield may come across initially as a whiny, spoiled little rich kid, I was also delving into the mind of a very depressed 16 year old young man.  It reminded my adult brain that as we grow and mature, it is very easy to expect the world around us to grow and mature right along with is.  It becomes too easy to lose touch with the teenage brain, because quite frankly, no matter what kind of teenage years we personally each have survived, I do not know a single one of us that would love to repeat them again.  I so clearly remember saying, with every amount of determination I could muster, "I so hope that I would pick up on the signs of such clear depression and be able to help."

How ironic, now that I look back on it.

Just two short days later, a friend of my son's died.

Cause of death has not been formally confirmed.  As a parent, there is a part of me that completely understands wanting to maintain privacy during such a tragedy.  But also, as a parent, I find myself at a loss as to how to help my son work through his grief without knowing what has happened, other than his friend being gone.  We went through the immediate notifications from the school, with counselors being available to students and parents for a few hours on the weekend.  I did not know what to expect sending my son back to school on Monday, only knowing it would be a difficult day as the reality of his friend being gone set in.

My disappointment in our school system has slowly built throughout this week.  Once school was back in session on Monday, not a word has been said by administration and nearly all staff in regards to the loss of one of their students.  My son has attended classes in which it seemed as if nothing has happened and it's business as usual. 

Now, that being said, I need to give credit to the handful of staff who have addressed the death of a classmate head on.  Their show of emotion and their own grief was absolutely what their students needed to see this week.  It allowed them to know that their loss is palpable, and it is completely within their rights as human beings to NOT be OK.  By showing their own feelings, they are telling their students that it is not just another normal day, and most importantly, they are listening.

Residing in a rural community often means that even when privacy is requested, it just is not going to happen.  People have scanners, and they love their gossip.  I abhor gossip, but working with the public means I cannot avoid it.  That being said, the word "suicide" has been said repeatedly, not only amongst the general public, but amongst the students as well.

Even without the cause of death being made public, I think it is important that any time suicide is so widely discussed, it is an opportunity to get a message across to our young adults.  The Suicide Prevention Resource Center says "If the family refuses to permit disclosure, schools can state, 'The family has requested that information about the cause of death not be shared at this time.' and can nevertheless use the opportunity to talk with students about the phenomenon of suicide:  We know there has been alot of talk about whether this was a suicide death.  Since the subject of suicide has been raised, we want to take this opportunity to give you accurate information about suicide in general, ways to prevent it, and how to get help if you or someone you know is feeling depressed or may be suicidal. "

Remaining silent is not OK.

Let me repeat.

Silence is NOT OK.

I know there is the fear of "suicide contagion".   According to the SPRC, contagion is the process by which one suicide may contribute to another.  However, contagion is relatively rare, accounting for 1-5% of all suicides annually.  In addition, it is recommended that if there is a fear of contagion, administrators should take ADDITIONAL steps beyond a basic crisis response, NOT a complete lack of any response at all.

Remaining silent is damaging and heartbreaking in so many ways.  It projects an attitude of "just forget about it" at a time when it is going to be the foremost thought in their heads.  It dismisses their feelings about their grief, about their friendships that they value, and about the helplessness they may be feeling.  Gossip runs rampant about the "why", when in fact, the why does not matter.  What matters is that when a person is in emotional distress, we need to make sure as adults that will will always listen.  Not only when they are in emotional distress over the loss of a friend, but the depression and mental illness that can affect so many of our young adults.

Our young adults need to know that WE ARE LISTENING.  Their thoughts, emotions, sadness, and trials are worth listening to.  We've all been there...we were all teenagers once.  I so clearly remember hopping off the bus with my best friend in high school, and screaming a feral yell at the top of our lungs just prior to opening those high school doors and entering for the day.  We did it frequently, because it was the best way we knew how to release that pent up frustration or anger building in our brains.  Being a teenager is not easy, especially now with all the expectations of perfection and achievement that reflects upon a parent in a society that is so open to broadcasting and sharing our daily lives.

When we remain silent, when we do not discuss a tragedy or a great loss, we send a message that we are not willing to listen.  Whether that is our intent or not, that is what our youth are learning.  And what a terrible feeling that must be to those who are grieving.

So, dear teenagers, I am listening.  Your thoughts matter.  YOU MATTER.   The teenage years suck.  They SUCK BAD.  Alot of it is just plain old survival...but most importantly, above all else, you need to survive.  Because there is a future out there full of joys, happiness, and experiences you can not yet imagine.  And there is nothing more exciting to a parent than seeing their child step off that cliff of the teenage years and SOAR AND FLY. 

Let your frustrations out.  Expel the anger and the disappointments.  Just as screaming in front of a high school door released a little bit of angst each day, reaching out and saying "help" will release that heavy burden on your shoulders.  Cry.  Yell.  There ARE people listening, regardless of the message you have been receiving.  Do not EVER forget that.

There is darkness, but there is also light.  It is OK to need some help to find it.  It's human to not be OK, and it is also our job as human beings in this beautiful world to tell you that WE ARE LISTENING.