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Your Body, Your Beauty, Your Booty – Treasure it.
  • Jason Stadtlander

Your Body, Your Beauty, Your Booty – Treasure it
Your Body, Your Beauty, Your Booty – Treasure it 610 469 Jason Stadtlander

Continuing my “Positive” posts, today I’d like to focus today on our bodies.

I can remember being in middle school and other kids making fun of me for the size of my feet. At around age ten, my feet were the same size as my age. Size ten at age ten, size eleven by age eleven… all the way up to age thirteen. It was my first experience with body shaming. There was no denying, I had big feet. I was awkward, nerdy and I was going through a very difficult time in my life with my parents divorcing and a few close family members dying.

For many years I felt like I had a skinny, wimpy look and even after I started to work out in my late twenties, I continued to feel dismayed when I looked in the mirror. And then, one day – I didn’t feel dismayed. Several things dawned on me all at once about fifteen years back:

  1. This is my body, the only one I have. Why have I spent so many years being ashamed of it? When I look in the mirror, why do I choose to look at the bad points, instead of the good?
  2. What right does anyone have to criticize the way my body is shaped

I cannot change the body I was born into, any more than anyone can change the body they were born into. Sure, we can have plastic surgery or dye our hair. But that is not really us. It is not what your DNA was programmed to create, it’s a mask, a façade that one chooses to pull over themselves because a particular element doesn’t look right to them.

It all boils down to society’s constant need to find balance, symmetry, and beauty. It is in our nature to look for beauty in others (and often do not see it) because we often cannot find beauty in ourselves.

What do I mean by balance and symmetry? We are programmed (from birth) to look for symmetry. If you look at a face and one side does not look even with the other side, it feels off, like something needs to be corrected. Symmetry and beauty are so interlinked, we don’t even realize we are looking for it when we look for something we consider beautiful.

Balance in society simply means balance as a whole. If someone feels bad about the way they look or their appearance, they will most likely try to balance themselves by looking for flaws in others. The same applies on a much larger scale. The beauty industry rarely shows you photos or videos (male or female) of people that are overweight or have acne or have a misbalanced body in one way or another. They work hard to make sure that only the perfectly balanced are portrayed, but real life is anything but perfectly balanced. We cannot relate to that perfect model in the Victoria’s Secret ad or the dark and mysterious man with large arms and chest in the GQ magazine, but we want to be like them. We want to have that physique, that look. When we look in the mirror, we look for what we would want to change in ourselves to look like that. The reality is that model that you see in the magazine or online looks way different without their makeup or touchups and in another twenty years, they will not look like that. I am not body shaming the model in the magazine, I can guarantee you that they get body shamed all the time (believe me, I know what that industry is like). What I am trying to point out is that they are as human as you and I. They are just wearing their own mask for you.

Do not get me wrong, I am not saying that we should not try to take the best care of our bodies we can. As I said earlier, it is the only body we get, so it is critical that we take care of it. What I am saying is, internal image and external appearance are almost always two different things.

From a beauty perspective, it does not matter if you are skinny or fat, old or young, unsymmetrical or misproportioned. You are you, and that is the single greatest thing you have to offer this world. From a physical perspective, I encourage you to work out, even if it is only going for a walk each day. Your body (regardless of its size or shape) is the greatest instrument you have and at the end of the day. It is the only thing you have to live with forever until the day you die so take care of it as best you can. But never equate your physical self with your beautiful self, because you already are beautiful, you just need to see it.
  • Jason Stadtlander

Why Laughter Lines are More Important Than Worry Lines
Why Laughter Lines are More Important Than Worry Lines 2560 1805 Jason Stadtlander

Last Thursday marks my forty-seventh trip around the sun. I’m not normally one to fuss too much over birthdays, though I’ll admit that I like to be a little spoiled on my birthday. Ten years back I decided that I would never work another birthday and so far I have been able to hold true to that. As I see it, you only have so many birthdays in this life and I would prefer to remember those birthdays as days that I relaxed and spent time for myself. It is the one day a year that I think is appropriate to be selfish.

That being said, I started mine off with a morning Yoga with instructor Kristen, someone I had never taken a class with before. Unbeknownst to me, my son had conspired with our regular instructor Jennifer about my birthday and halfway in, Kristen said “It’s time to do some birthday planks.” I couldn’t help but laugh, and it was exactly what I needed (the planks and the laughter). There is something to be said about the practice of yoga. Many people do not understand that it is much more than just poses that make you look like a contortionist. It is a mindset. It is about focusing on the present and embracing the energy of life in that present. I know, I know, I too thought that was all a bunch of bull before I started doing it. But it is amazing what a difference taking a moment in our lives to just breathe and focusing on that breath can make.

This year has shown us all the strengths and weaknesses of the human spirit. Much of our [created] world is a toxic environment for the human soul and spirit. Everywhere we turn there is negativity in the news, negativity in politics, negativity in finances, mass shootings, and atrocities too horrendous to look at.

I have never been one that was big on inspirational speaking, writing, or thinking. Nor have I listened to much in the way of motivational content. My father was always very big on being positive, listening to speakers like Zig Ziggler, and even to this day he responds to “How are you doing?” with “I’m great, but I’ll get better.” I always felt it was a bunch of fluffy nonsense and I really wanted to have no part of it. Yeah, I know – Mr. Negativity. Not really though, I wasn’t being negative, I just didn’t feel the need to be “falsely positive”, it felt fake and I didn’t like being fake. But the reality is, if I allow myself to only show how I truly feel (while being inundated with all the negativity of the world), it’s much easier to be down, despondent, or negative. So I am going to focus the next several posts on the positive in the world.

 

I have vowed this birthday, to focus on the positive. This isn’t about ignoring the negative and turning a blind eye to the horrible things around us. I’m not going to be fake about it, I’m not going to “put on a happy face” when I am having a horrible day. But I will choose to listen to the news less (unless they magically decide to start focusing on the positive in the world). I’m going to surround myself with those who love me and who I love in return. I’m going to see the brightness of the day rather than the shadows. I will see the good things my children are doing and focus less on things that they are not doing. I will reach out to my family and friends and talk to them and be there for them when they need me. I will try to be less judgmental and more open-minded. I will embrace the positive changes in the world… things that can affect not only myself but the world my children live in long after I’m gone.

Because the reality of all this is, we need to laugh. We need to love. And laughter lines are truly better than worry lines, not for the looks, but for the experiences that create them.

beyond-existence
  • Jason Stadtlander

Beyond the Existence
Beyond the Existence 1920 1080 Jason Stadtlander

One cold and bitter day, as the skies choked with clouds high above in a blanket so thick barely light could penetrate it, a small Neusahofu emerged from its shiny rainbow chrysalis. A tiny sliver of light broke through the thick clouds above the little cocoon and shined a pinpoint of light on the small creature. Although it had no idea, it was one of the most beautiful creatures in all the universe, pure of heart and shimmering with a pale violet skin that luminesced. It smelled fresh and clean, like a spring day unwrapping from the frigid, pale fingers of winter. Arms, opening to a soft glow that encompassed anyone that came within close proximity to it. But, there was no one to come close to it. In fact, there was no one at all… The Neusahofu was a female and the first of its kind, singular in beauty and mind – the embodiment of peace and the mortal form of radiance. She had perfect proportionate legs, arms, and torso, ultimate beauty in flawless symmetry. The female had no hair, but had two eyes and a perfect nose, with a head that pointed upward in the back to a nicely rounded cone.

She stretched her tiny arms out wide and looked all around her, basking in the singular ray of sunshine that had broken through the clouds. The Neusahofu looked high into the sky and saw the tormenting clouds that went as far as the eye could see, all the way to the red mountains in the distance. She looked down at the cold, frost-covered ground and at her colorful chrysalis that remained, splay open, having provided its one purpose in existence, that of a private home for this beautiful creature while she was nurtured. Her heart was pure beyond anything that had ever existed, it knew only love and peace. She looked down at her small hands, five fingers on each, and the light that flowed through her skin ebbed with her heartbeat, carrying small filaments of radiance out to the tips of her fingers where they dissipated.

The Neusahofu bent down, looking at the frost-covered ground and gently touched the frost then pulled her hand away when a spark flew from her hand to the ground. The ground itself illuminated in a small radius around her and the frost quickly melted. The ground came alive with a beautiful yellow-green grass that grew rapidly before her eyes all around her until it was an inch and a half tall. She touched it gently and felt as if a hundred small fingers touched her in return, soft and subtle. She gently petted it and felt the warmth of the tiny plants beneath her hand.

Standing up, she walked over to a stone surrounded by frosty ground, bending down she touched it gently and looked on as it illuminated from the inside out. The light flowed outward from the stone, lighting the ground as it had lit where she touched the ground before. The stone cracked with an audible ‘pop’ and broke open to show another rainbow shimmering chrysalis that resembled the one she had emerged from. Stepping back she cocked her head to the side, staring at it, curious as the light pulsated and the chrysalis beat as if a heart were contained within it. The Neusahofu moved up closer, knelt down, and gently touched it with her long delicate fingers, and felt the beating cocoon, it was warm to the touch. She sat cross-legged in front of it and began to hum sweetly until the cocoon finally stopped beating and instead began to push outward in jagged points as if something were pushing from the inside. Again, she cocked her head to the side and this time made a quiet chittering sound, petting the chrysalis to soothe it.

The surface broke on the thin rainbow membrane and an arm similar to hers poked through, then a hand grabbed the edges within and the creature inside forced its way out. It slowly opened its eyes and blinked with bright blue shinning orbs at the girl. She blinked back, chittered, and smiled. The other Neusahofu smiled back and stood, tall, nearly three inches taller than her, it was clearly male and had a strong body. It stepped out of the cocoon and held out its hand to which the girl took. The two chittered back and forth for a moment then stopped. She looked at him, knew him. She had in fact known him for a very long time. Then thought to herself, “Where have you been? How do I know you? Where are we?”

She then heard his voice in her mind, “Do you not remember? Can’t you recall what happened before we were here?”

She looked down, probed her memories hard but couldn’t remember. Then looking up she shook her head gently.

“It’s me, my love. We knew each other on Earth. We have been with each other all our lives… Soul mates. I held your hand when you were young, told you I would care for you as we grew old together and in the end, you held my hand as I passed on.”

As he spoke those words, a flood of memories came back to her. She saw the two of them playing as children, chasing a balloon and later standing at an alter before all of their friends and family. She saw herself sitting in an Adirondack chair sitting on his lap as children played down by the pond in the early morning, and later holding a grandchild on her lap. She saw him helping her when she dropped her blanket on the floor in the den by the fire and saw herself sitting on the hospital bed where he lay dying. She remembered curling up next to him as his life seeped out of him but could not remember anything after that. “I remember…” she said.

“I remember it all, but the end.” She replied, a bit confused.

“In the end my love, you died as well. We have been so connected for so long, one half can’t live without the other.”

“Where are we now then?”

They looked around them. The skies had broken to reveal a new violet sky with crimson clouds. A huge dark grey moon lay just behind the clouds with a white sun on the other side of the sky. Giant birds swept the sky with tails so long they flowed on winds. The air flowed over the landscape causing a faint hum as it whistled over the eroded plains and the clouds blew by in a fury, yet the air around the two Neusahofus remained still. “I don’t know.” He replied, “I suppose this is what lies beyond our existence.”

They had no way of knowing that they had been chosen by a higher power to usher in a new life on a planet far from where they came. No way of knowing that their souls are like all other souls in the universe. Part of a compendium of life that exists on a plane of existence that connects everyone in every far and distant reach of the universe. A singular dimension of life that is linked, forever part of one another yet apart, taking in everything they learn, feel, and experience to be part of the greater whole.

For beyond the truth of existence are those connected through emotions that cannot be defined with words. Soul-mates.

The Homeless Angel
  • Jason Stadtlander

The Homeless Angel
The Homeless Angel 2121 1414 Jason Stadtlander

The Homeless AngelThe cold, rainy day penetrated deeply into the body and soul of all Bostonians who endured it. Like so many others, the man walked, umbrella in hand through the courthouse plaza. His Aldo shoes traipsed through the small puddles that coalesced in the cracks of the pavers and mortar. He had his backpack which contained his laptop and a few journals slung over one shoulder, his coffee cup was in the other hand. Walking briskly he glanced over, didn’t want to, but glanced over nonetheless at the weathered woman that lay against the granite wall, covered in a recycled wool blanket, huddled against the cold. Something moved beneath the blanket and the man wondered if it were a dog or a child. Given the age of the woman, the man believed it to be a dog. For a moment as brief as a breath, he wondered how she had come to sleep along the building. Curious about how someone goes down a road that their entire life is now that of a homeless woman, simply existing. Beside her was a flask of some type in a paper bag. The man scoffed and rolled his eyes. It was clear to him that no one cared to help the woman or felt they could, and as sad as it was, it was reality.

No sooner had the thought entered his mind, it was gone again. The man’s phone vibrated on his hip, he holstered his coffee cup in a compartment on his backpack and pulled out his phone. It was a text message from his wife, “Next time you get the children ready for school, make sure you give them mittens. Be a father.”

Their relations had been tenuous for the past year and his blood boiled at the statement his wife had just texted. He began texting her back an appropriate response as he stepped onto a crosswalk at New Chardon Street. Halfway through “How dare you accu…” he heard a sliding sound and a sharp pain hit him in the left leg. Looking up at the bumper that had just collided with him, his iPhone went flying into the air as the rest of his body hit the hood of the car with full force. The entire event took place in a second, but all seemed to move in slow motion. The man saw his backpack flying into the air and falling toward the passenger side of the car as his own body rolled off the hood and in front of the car. He stared up at the pointed roof of the courthouse as it loomed over him and raindrops magnified like saucers, hit his eyeball. The man couldn’t breathe, couldn’t scream. He lost consciousness.

 

All was black.

 

His lungs were forced full of air and the air escaped. Again, his lungs forced themselves to expand and exhaled. His chest hurt with each forced breath. Vaguely he felt pressure on his chest as something pressed hard against him. A muffled woman’s voice yelled “Call 911!”

The man could hear another man say “I didn’t see him. Oh, God! Why didn’t he see me?”

More pressure on his chest, it hurt. All was still black. Fingers against his throat, he coughed and breathed a little on his own. “Shhh, stay still.” the woman said softly into his ear, “It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

The man felt his head lifted a little and something soft was laid beneath it. My coat? “Can you hear me? What is your name?” she asked.

“Alan.” he said weakly, his vision still black.

“I’m Ally. I’ll stay right here with you.” Despite the fact that Alan couldn’t feel anything but pain in most of his body, he could make out the warm hand holding his. The darkness consumed him and he was unconscious again.

His vision still black, a voice faded back in, “Alan, you have to stay with me. The paramedics will be here in a moment.” Now he could smell something. Rubbing alcohol? Vodka? People were talking all around him but he saw no faces, only heard Ally clearly. Time was fragmented. Suddenly he was on a gurney in an ambulance. His vision faded in and a man was administering an IV into his hand.

“Stay still, we’re on our way to MGH.”

Alan blacked out again.

Opening his eyes, bright, blurry light pierced his vision and he closed his eyes again. “…severe concussion. The damage to his leg is severe. We need to get him in for surgery as soon…” someone said and once again he faded into the unconscious depths of the dead ocean.

Much later, Alan awoke in a hospital room, his head pounding and his chest and leg on fire. He slowly looked to the right and left and saw his wife on an iPad next to his bed. It was dark outside his window. “What happened?” he asked weakly.

She looked up, mild concern on her face. “A car hit you as you crossed the street. You need to pay attention.”

“Where’s Ally?”

“Who’s Ally?”

“I don’t know. Someone that helped me at the accident.”

“I have no idea.” she replied “I’m going to go get Stephen and Cindy. They’re in the waiting room.”

She got up and left. A moment later Alan saw an unkempt old woman in a worn grey sweatshirt come into the room. She seemed vaguely familiar. It took a moment, but Alan finally recognized her, the homeless woman in the blankets by the courthouse. “How are you feeling?” she asked in the same soft voice he had heard at the accident.

He knew her right away by her voice. “Ally?” he asked.

She nodded.

“You, you helped me,” Alan said as a doctor walked into the room.

“Actually, she saved you.” the doctor said. “Ally here gave you CPR until the paramedics arrived.”

A tear rolled down Alan’s face. “I don’t know what to say.” he stammered.

She walked over to his bed and patted his hand. “Just take care of your family. That’s thanks enough.” the woman turned and walked toward the door. At the door, she paused, turned back for a moment “and for God’s sake, stay off your phone when you’re walking.”

Weeks later, Alan was again, walking through the courthouse, this time with a cane. He saw Ally sitting, huddled in the cold and he stopped. He walked over to her and sat down beside her. Half asleep, she awoke and looked at him and smiled “Alan.”

He placed a hand on her shoulder and handed her his fresh cup of coffee. “Can I help you find someplace warm to stay?”

“No. Thank you. Jack isn’t allowed in a shelter and I won’t part with him.” She lifted the wool blanket to show a scruffy mutt underneath.

Alan smiled and said “Okay.” He looked around at all the people going back and forth, doing their ‘busy’ work. A few people glanced at him and Ally on the side of the courthouse, but no one looked for long. “Ally, with all these people going about, when I got hurt, it was you who came to help me. Why?”

“You needed me, and I was here.” she smiled.

Alan slowly nodded. “Yes, you were. I promise to stop and talk to you every day from now on. If you ever need a meal or something to drink, let me know.” and he hugged her.

 

If you know someone that is homeless or to help the homeless in Boston, go to: http://mahomeless.org/get-help

For homeless assistance in other areas of the United States, go to: http://nationalhomeless.org/
  • Jason Stadtlander

Twisted Tuesday – Blonde Banter… a Coffee Experience
Twisted Tuesday – Blonde Banter… a Coffee Experience 2560 1432 Jason Stadtlander

The following is a conversation that occurred between a long-time friend (who’s blonde) and myself while getting coffee at a Starbucks few months back:

Clerk: “What can I get you?”

Me: “I’ll have a Grande Skinny Mocha with whipped cream.”

Clerk: “If you get a Skinny Mocha with whipped cream, then it’s a non-fat mocha with whipped cream.”

Me: “Right, that’s what I said; a skinny mocha with whipped cream.”

Clerk: “No, a skinny has no whipped cream.”

Me: “Yes, exactly.”

The clerk looks at my friend. “What would you like?”

Her: “I’ll have a Skinny Mocha with soy milk, no actually make that skim milk.”

Clerk: “Skinny’s always have skim milk. If you get soy, then it will be a soy mocha.”

Her: “Yep, a Skinny with soy, but I changed it to skim.”

Clerk (shaking his head): “So you want a Skinny Mocha?”

Her: “Yes, but change the soy to skim.”

(his eyes getting wide with frustration and both of us with a blank look on our face.)

Clerk: “So, two Skinny Mochas and one with whipped cream.”

Me: “Yes, but mine with whipped cream and skim milk.”

Her: “…and mine, don’t do soy milk, do skim instead.”

Clerk: “Uh huh. Okay.”

(we stand waiting for our drinks.)

Me: “Did you read my book yet?”

Her: “Yes, do you think children will like it?”

Me: “No, it’s a thriller.”

Her: “Kids like thrillers.”

Me: “No, predators like kids.”

Her: “Yes, but predators get a thrill out of kids.”

Me (sighing with a sad face): “Yes, that’s what worries me. That’s why I wrote the children’s book.”

Clerk: “Here you go, two blonde roasts with whipped cream.”

Me and Her (cheerfully): “Thank you! Have a great day!”

 

 
  • Jason Stadtlander

Give Me a Reason to be Here
Give Me a Reason to be Here 1200 630 Jason Stadtlander

We all go through our daily struggles. For some, it’s a ritual, something they enjoy and count on the unaltered solidity of the habits they’ve formed. While for others it’s a routine, a cycle that they have been thrown into by the circumstances of life, a pattern they are displeased with but stuck in none-the-less, cognoscente that a lot of other people have it worse than they do. Some of us have a complete lack of routine, be it by choice or simply because our daily life or job doesn’t allow for a regular routine.

Regardless of how your daily routine normally goes, you do it because it gives you a purpose, a reason to get up every morning and continue to be a part of society or simply be a part of someone’s life. It is the naked truth of humanity and one of our defining characteristics; we need a reason to be here. Sadly, it is when someone either feels they have outgrown their reason or their “reason to be” does not fit the purpose they feel that they were put here for, that drives people into depression, hopelessness, or worse.

So many times, I have sat the train here in the Boston area and I could not help but look around at all my fellow Bostonians, making their way here and there. Some of them have a light in their eye and a clear reason for their daily grind. A man reading the Wall Street Journal preparing for his day at his investment company, a woman working on her presentation that she needs to give later today and a slew of people trying to find a way to relax – reading a book, a newspaper, or playing a game on their phone, iPad or kindle.

Once in a while you see someone with that empty look, the look of someone who has reached the end of what they feel is their purpose, especially in much of the elderly. Or walking along the street, you see a man or woman huddled up in one of those recycled blankets along the side of a building with a used coffee cup sitting in front of them. The look of hope gone, no longer even living, simply – existing, consuming air, water, and sometimes food. I look at them and I want to comfort them, give them a purpose and a reason to keep going. Unfortunately, it is something that cannot easily be done.

A Purpose for our older family members and friends

In many cultures the older family members are still a strong part of home life, however – here in America, when it comes to our older adults I think we are missing a critical piece of our societal puzzle. So many older adults are dismissed, thrown into a home, or ignored.  Historically, the older adults always lived in the family home and took care of the kids while the middle-aged children worked. They told stories and passed on the history of the family. With the division of families and people being spread over great distances it has made it much harder for them to offer their traditional contribution. What some people might not consider though is that the internet provides a means for the elderly to maintain this glue, they just need to be taught how to do so. How to do something as simple as writing an email or passing on pictures.

Connecting in COVID times

Take this a step further and we can see how easy it is to dismiss one another or feel even more disconnected in a time when most of us are required to stay at home, social distance, or telework. Don’t forget that our aging family members are all still out there, desperately wanting to connect with us and often living by themselves or with no other companionship than their pet. It is critical, now more than ever before to connect – Zoom, call, and visit safely when possible. Some day, you will be the one sitting around, hoping that someone comes and spends time with you. You’ll have stories to tell and life experiences to dispense and you will be yearning for someone, anyone, to just listen to you and spend time with you.

Show those in your life how much they count and reach out to those that might not have anyone else in their lives. Because they may be going through something and need you and you won’t even know until it’s too late unless you talk to them now.

The Resolute Desk
  • Jason Stadtlander

NPR’s Three Minute Fiction – “The Desk”
NPR’s Three Minute Fiction – “The Desk” 997 1000 Jason Stadtlander

In September I submitted a story for NPR’s “Three Minute Fiction” series titled “The Desk”, which sadly did not win.

I actually wrote two stories; The Desk and The Oath, but chose “The Desk” as I felt it had a thread that ran through three different presidents

So, I thought I would post The Desk for your enjoyment anyway.

Let me know what you think:

“The Desk”
by Jason Stadtlander

The Oval OfficeJared remembered the trip with his fifth grade class from Philadelphia to Washington D.C. His mother had told him about it two weeks prior, and he began marking off the days leading up to the trip on his calendar before bed each night. Jared’s presentiment of seeing the famous buildings from his history books was overwhelming. The Pentagon, Capitol Building, Lincoln Memorial, and White House were swimming in his mind.

The tour of the White House had been magical, the spirits of famous men and important decisions made within those walls creating a buzz of excitement in Jared’s brain. The tour guide led his class down the halls where presidents had walked, passing through various rooms and finally stopping at the Map Room and Oval Office.

The historic room looked different than expected. The only real view Jared had seen as a television viewer was the desk with the window behind it. Five classmates walked about the periphery looking at paintings on the wall while he stood separately on the red-orange sunbeam carpet emblazoned with the presidential seal. Jared remained staring at the impressive wooden desk and could feel the history.

Two secret servicemen walked through the door followed by President Reagan. “Hello,” said the president, walking straight to Jared. “What’s your name?” His natural smile illuminated his face as he held out his hand.

“Jared. Jared Reddington, sir.”

“Well, Jared, would you like to see something special?”

Jared nodded bashfully. The president placed his hand on Jared’s shoulder, guiding him toward the back of the large desk. As they stood together, the president pointed to a cubbyhole beneath. “Do you see under there?”

Jared looked down at the space under the desk and back up at the president. “Yes.”

“Does it look like it would be fun to play there?” President Reagan asked with a mischievous smile.

Jared smiled. “Yes.”

“I know a child who played down there. His name was John F. Kennedy Junior. He played there while his daddy sat here working.”

Jared was amazed that a president had children. “Did your son ever play under there?”

President Reagan laughed. “No. My son was grown by the time I was elected. Do you know what else?”

“What?” the boy asked inquisitively.

The president bent down to Jared’s height. Smiling, he whispered, “Your children could play under this desk. All you have to do is become president.”

~

Jared now stood on the presidential seal of the United States looking down at a similar but not identical carpet to the one he had seen as a boy. His gaze shifted to the desk he had first set eyes on thirty-six years earlier, and President Reagan’s words echoed in his memory. All you have to do is become president.

Once again, Jared stepped around behind the impressive piece of furniture. Grabbing the chair, he pulled it back and sat down at the desk that was now his. Space beneath appeared much smaller now. He smiled just as his five-year-old, Stephen, yelled from down the hall.

“Daddy! There’s a statue of an old man in the . . . ” the boy stopped abruptly at the entrance to the Oval Office. “What’s wrong, Daddy?”

“Come here, Stephen,” Jared said.

Walking over to the desk, Stephen stopped and stood next to his father. “You see under there?”  asked Jared, pointing.

“Yes.”

“Looks like a fun place to play, huh?”

Stephen looked up at his father and smiled in eager anticipation. “Yes.”

The President tossed his son’s hair. “Go on then,” he said laughing, “play!”
  • Jason Stadtlander

I Am White, You Are Black, And I Can See The Color
I Am White, You Are Black, And I Can See The Color 1200 675 Jason Stadtlander

I did not grow up in what I would call “White privilege.” I grew up in Columbus, Ohio in an ‘average’ low to a middle-class White neighborhood. I was bussed to inner-city schools in predominantly Black communities as part of the desegregation programs, and fellow Black children were bused to schools in my home area. Later I would go to high school with most of those children along with many of the children I went to school with.

As I started off – I did not grow up in what I would call “White privilege”. But here is the problem. What I consider White privilege and what my fellow Black classmates would consider White privilege most likely are two very different things. I never understood that until recently. It took me forty years to understand this because I wear my White privilege on my body. I was born with it. I can do nothing to remove it, and because of this, I have been blind to it.

As a White person, growing up I was taught to see no color, to blur the lines between black and white, that there is no race. This is known as ‘non-racist’. We, as white kids, embraced our Air Jordan’s, Rap music, and Thug Life but this isn’t understanding what it means to be Black, it’s simply appropriating some of Black culture to seem cool. The moment it is no longer cool, we discard it. But what we (as Whites) have been unable or unwilling to accept up until recently is that we cannot understand what it means to be Black unless we have lived in the shoes of a Black man.

Unless we have walked down the street and been looked at differently merely because of our skin. Unless we have been stopped for a routine traffic stop and gone through the heart-shattering panic of how that traffic stop might go down. Or until we have been automatically assumed guilty simply because of the color of our skin. We, as White people, can never understand what it means to be Black and we must accept this.

What we must do is make changes. In ourselves, and in others. White privilege is a real thing. But it is incumbent on us, as White people, to do something with that privilege that doesn’t serve just ourselves.

I was raised to be non-racist, and I understand now that this is the wrong perspective. Do not be non-racist. Be anti-racist.

  • Non-racist is passive, to say that you don’t see race. To say that we are all equal and skin color doesn’t matter. I’m not saying that non-racism is a bad thing. It is not a bad thing and ultimately that is something we should move to achieve. But right now, we need anti-racism.
  • Anti-racism is active, to choose to take action against wrongs that are being done currently. To help to change the perspectives of those around us. It is also a much harder thing to do. Changing laws, changing views, changing people. Change doesn’t come easy, but if we work together we can make a difference.

As White people, we are in a unique place. We can stand beside our brothers and sisters and ensure that they are treated with the respect and dignity they so rightly deserve. That they have earned. They have fought for centuries through the crap and through the glory that has made this country, and we need to stand along-side them. Not as hate-filled bigots, but as Whites and Blacks that will stand for no more racism. Angry, yes, but not hate-filled. We need to ensure that Blacks are treated equally to Whites and will help ALL our children, Black and White, to know a world where there is harmony and unity for all races. Where all children can be pulled over for speeding and not be afraid to talk to the police. Where our cultural differences unite us, not divide us. Where we can see the beauty and pride of being Black, White, Hispanic, and Asian, and be proud of our differences, not ashamed or afraid. There are of course many of us Black and White that have great chasms to bridge and sadly it may mean the end of entire generations before we will truly see the monumental changes we are hoping for. But it all starts somewhere. Right here. Right now. With us.

We as Whites need to make sure that we are not just ‘spewing words’ (me included).

  • Talk to your local government.
    • Make sure that there is training put in place to ensure that law enforcement has anti-racism training.
    • Check your local laws (all of them) and help to make changes that do not discriminate based on race.
    • Be aware of mistreatment based on race, if you see it happening, do not stand idle. Speak out.
  • Truth begins around the dinner table. Talk to your kids, teach them that White privilege is a real thing and that it should not be self-serving.
  • Fear – Fear that everything we have been taught may be a lie. Always question everything. Ask yourself if it makes sense and if you would want to be treated the way that person is being treated.
  • Act – If someone is being mistreated. Don’t just stand by and watch. Say something. Do something. Record something. Post something. Help change something. Only if we make our voice heard will change move forward.

What opened my eyes?

For everyone, there is an eye-opening moment I suppose. Yes, I was appalled by George Floyd, but it didn’t hit home as maybe it should have. And there have been several other moments that maybe should have flipped my switch. For me, it was last night on my son’s fourteenth birthday. He asked me to watch “The Hate U Give”. I watched the trailer and thought, sure – why not. I watched it, and I was so moved, and it completely opened my eyes as to how blind I’ve been on multiple levels. There was a poignant moment when a ten-year-old stood defending his father and I was floored. I am intimately familiar with black culture, but I did not truly think about what it means to be black. I’m glad I do now. Let us change this, together.
  • Jason Stadtlander

The Oath – A New President
The Oath – A New President 1600 1063 Jason Stadtlander

A while back, I submitted a story for NPR’s “All Things Considered” Three Minute Fiction contest. The story had to relate to the President of the United States, it had to show a human element, and be under 600 words.

This is one of the two stories I wrote. I loved both stories, but this one just wasn’t quite as good as the one I sent in. It was written in my mental dream world of a time when being the “President of the United States” was truly an honor and a privilege and not a theatrical presentation as it has become in the last twenty – forty years. Perhaps it has always been a dramatic presentation, and it is just my perception that has changed? I pray that what is in this story will return to the office of the President of our country. I dream that our country will learn to appreciate, love, and respect the diversity for which it was founded upon. Only then can we claim that it is “great.” It has not yet reached that. So to claim that it can return to greatness is an illusion, in my opinion.

The Oath

The young man in a dark suit, wearing an earpiece stepped forward. “Senator Reddington, we’re ready for you.”

Jared Reddington hugged both his boys and his wife then proceeded around the corner and down the steps of the U.S. Capitol, family in tow. He looked over at his wife as she held his hand and for a brief moment, time froze. Gina, the girl he’d met twenty-three years earlier, the woman who had walked down the aisle with him fifteen years ago next month, looked more beautiful now than she had that day. For a fleeting moment, there was no crowd talking and cheering, no camera crews, no secret service lining the steps—only Jared and Gina Reddington and their two sons walking down the steps of the historic building in Washington, D.C., stepping into the pages of history.

Only hours before, Jared had attended a service with his family at the Foundry Methodist Church. The pastor had spoken afterwards to Jared explaining that God had helped the people of the United States to make the right choice and in doing so, had chosen him.

Had chosen him. The words echoed through Jared’s mind even now as he walked down the steps. How can they know I will make the right choices? How can they be certain I will do the right thing when the most critical of times calls for it?

Five steps down toward the mezzanine level, Jared portrayed the solidity, confidence and self-assurance expected of someone chosen for the office. Time and again, however, he had second- guessed his own capabilities. He knew he was flawed, that he had baggage unknown to everyone but himself—he knew it all—but the country had spoken and elected him with an unprecedented 76.3% lead over his opponent.

An inner voice seeking to be heard urged Jared to stop and caution the crowd. “I am only human. Please just don’t forget—I’m human.” But the voice was silenced.

Jared looked over at his wife again, then back at his eldest son Devon.  At only ten years of age, his older boy looked so sure of himself, so solid. Jared knew this was an act, one his perceptive son had learned early on.

Stephen, his youngest, made no attempt to hide his emotions and looked outright scared to death. Jared reached around his younger son’s shoulders, easing him closer. Grasping Stephen’s nervous hand, he reassured him. “It’ll be okay, son.” As if on cue, Stephen pasted his best fake smile across his face and looked forward, saying nothing.

Lessons learned early by a senator’s son.

When the four stepped down onto the mezzanine level, the crowd cheered. Still clasping Stephen’s small hand in his own, Jared held up his free hand in response as a thank-you, drawing even more cheer. When the cheering subsided, Gina walked over and whispered in her husband’s ear. “I believe in you. We all believe in you. Now git ‘er done.”  That last tag had been a personal joke between them that had eased any tension and always brought a smile to his face.

So here Jared stood, facing John G. Roberts, Jr., repeating the words that many before him had spoken. “I, Jared Henry Reddington, do solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute the office of President of the United States and will, to the best of my ability, preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States.”

“ . . . to the best of my ability,” Jared continued in his head. “Please, don’t let me screw this up.”
  • Jason Stadtlander

The Ethological Study of Ella The Cat
The Ethological Study of Ella The Cat 2560 1920 Jason Stadtlander

Let’s face it, cats are really just glorified cuddly, walking stomachs with four legs and razor blades attached to the ends.

That being said, I’m not sure I could get through this pandemic without my Ella. She has been my companion since day one of the COVID19 pandemic and she continues to follow me around the house all day long, sits with me as I work all day, and wakes me up in the morning.

It is the waking up in the morning that I have begun to study and thought of particular interest. There’s a very specific pattern to this waking up and ‘getting the human to feed me’ element to it all. It is a very specific series of steps where there are a few adjustments that she has worked out just case I might be getting off track from her desired outcome.

Here are my findings (from Ella’s perspective):

  • Step 1 – Jason’s box next to his bed makes noise and he is no longer unconscious (alarm goes off). I must jump up on top of him and sit at the highest point on top of his body and look down upon him until he acknowledges my presence.
  • Step 2 – Once Jason acknowledges that I am here and begins to pet me, I can turn my lovely butt around so that he can see it. This will entice him to push me off and get up.
  • Step 3 – If I see Jason looking at his phone, I must jump back up on the bed and nudge under his arm to force him to see that I am what he should be focusing on.
  • Step 4 – For some reason at this point, he seems compelled to go to the room with all the water and I really don’t want to have any part of water, so I must remain at the threshold of the door frame and wait to ensure he does not forget his reason for getting up. Eventually, after being wet for a while and using something to dry off he once again goes back into his room.
  • Step 5 – I must constantly rub myself upon his ankles while he is putting on his fur and remind him again, why I have woken him. However, I must be careful not to trip him as he will step on my leg or tail because he’s clumsy.
  • Step 6 – I must lead him down the stairs and wait every few steps to make sure he is coming. If he gets distracted, then I need to go back and remind him to follow me.
  • Step 7 – I must stand by my dish as shown and wait for Jason to come to feed me.
    • Step 7a – Jason often becomes obsessed with the thing on the counter that makes dark liquid. So frequently must lead him to where my food can be found.
    • Step 7b – Jason often seems to think that he is in the kitchen to feed himself and starts taking items out of the big metal box to eat, but again, I must lead him back to where my food can be found.
Where’s ma food?

I will note that she has started a new step (Step 8) recently, which is the “fake cough/hairball” which she starts to do if she becomes significantly irritated that I am not getting to her food. She bends over and starts coughing and hacking. I know this to be fake because if I reach down and grab her dish, she instantly stops doing it – every single time.

The “Fake Cough”

So, what does all this show? As I see it shows one of two things. 1.) I have to much time on my hands and I’ve turned to study my cat’s behavior. 2.) I have come to the realization that I have never trained my cat but in fact, have been the one trained by my cat. Who’s the higher species now?

Copyright © Jason Stadtlander - All Rights Reserved

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