Tribute to Robin Williams and Response to Rush Limbaugh's BS About the Liberal "Attitude"

 As one of millions of Robin Williams fans, I am deeply saddened by the entertainer's death. Even moreso because it was by his own hand, and especially because his suicide has sparked a stream of not only tributes, but ugly and wrong-headed sentiments in the media. One such sentiment comes from blowhard Rush Limbaugh, who said of Williams: 

He had everything, everything that you would think would make you happy. But it didn’t. Now, what’s the left’s worldview in general? What is it? If you had to attach not a philosophy but an attitude to a leftist’s worldview, it’s one of pessimism and darkness, sadness. They’re never happy are they? They’re always angry about something. Not matter what they get, they’re always angry. 

Okay, like most of what Rush Limbaugh says, that's pretty infuriating, so I'm taking a moment to calm down and ponder.

Nevermind that speculating about the death of someone only known to Rush through his celebrity is crass and hurtful to those who personally knew Williams (Note Lewis Black's response below. As a side note, Black wrote a thoughtful tribute for Williams for Time.)

Nevermind that depression has been well-established as a health issue, and one that is difficult to treat, opposed to a mere matter of toxic attitude.

What about this business about the Left (presumably Limbaugh means politically-engaged secular humanist liberals) having such a bleak attitude about life? We're pessimistic, dark, and sad compared to what? The theological concept that most people are destined to spend eternity in Hell? Has he never noticed that the main symbol of Christianity is an instrument of torture and execution? Never heard of valle lacrimarum, otherwise known as the Vale of Tears?

For anyone who hasn't noticed, there is a great deal of suffering in the world. Here's just one example: Over one billion people on earth live in "extreme poverty," which is defined by the UN as earning less than $1.25 a day. Extreme poverty can mean insufficient food and drinking water, poor sanitation, inadequate shelter from the elements, little to no access to proper health care, education, and opportunities to escape from the conditions of extreme poverty. Over a billion people suffering from that in the world right now. But according to Rush Limbaugh, Robin Williams was supposed to be happy because "He had everything." I guess in the world according to Rush Limbaugh, if you've got yours, there's no good reason to give a damn about anyone else.

It is clear that Robin Williams, in addition to being an talented comedian and actor, stayed informed and engaged in current issues, devoting a great deal of his time and efforts to charity work. He cared about people. It isn't hard to imagine that his concern for the homeless, soldiers on the battlefield, and victims of natural disasters might have put a damper on his enjoyment of personal fortune.

The playwright Jean Racine famously said, “Life is a comedy to those who think, a tragedy to those who feel.” Of course all people do both, and so at times we can laugh at the pain and absurdity in life, but not always. 

Sometimes those who laugh the most also cry the most, because that which allows them to so cleverly tap into what is humorous also forces them to more intensely face the darkest aspects of the human condition. Today I read a joke on this theme:  

Man goes to doctor. Says he's depressed. Says his life is harsh and cruel. Say he feels all alone in a threatening world.

Doctor says, "Treatment is simple. The great clown Pagliacci is in town tonight. Go see him. That should pick you up.

Man bursts into tears. "But doctor.....I am Pagliacci"

When interviewed on Inside the Actor's Studio, James Lipton asked Robin Williams if heaven exists, what would he like to hear when he gets there (watch the video below.) Williams concluded his witty response by saying that it would just be nice to know there's laughter in heaven.

I don't know about heaven (or hell for that matter), but there's certainly a lot of laughter to be found in this life, not least because of the gifts of one comedic genius.

Thank you, Robin Williams, for all the light you brought to the world with your spark of madness.

Lesbian Moms Normalized on the Disney Channel

Sunday, television history was made as a gay couple appeared for the first time on a network that targets children viewers. The Disney Channel's sitcom Good Luck Charlie introduced a lesbian couple as the parents of one of toddler Charlie's playmates.

Except for the bit of history it makes, the scene was completely unremarkable.  Charlie's parents disagree over what is the name of "Taylor's mom", and this confusion is worked out when Taylor shows up with two moms.

And that's it. No awkwardness over the fact that they are a lesbian couple. No jokes that expose underlying prejudice or ignorance. Just, "Ohhh, Taylor has two moms," and life goes on. It is refreshing and wonderful in its normalcy.




This scene is exactly what one would expect from writers who have been instructed to make the show inclusive to LGBT families without addressing any controversies. It is a fair, responsible, and probably overdue form of inclusion if we consider that millions of American kids have LGBT parents, and at least half a million are being raised by lesbian and gay couples. (Numbers based on the 2012 Census.)

My kids don't need to watch LGBT inclusive television because they've lived these sort of scenes. We have friends and relatives who are gay couples, so it's kind of impossible to hide from our kids (not that we would.) And just today, in my 2-year-old's Gymfoolery class, twins showed up with their two moms. Then again, I live in a neighborhood known for its diversity and inclusiveness.

Sadly, religious fundamentalism disguised as family values is still alive and well in America, and dissenters will continue to taint these small human rights victories. We see it in this statement released by One Million Moms, which states:

Disney should stick to entertaining instead of pushing an agenda. Disney decided to be politically correct versus providing family-friendly programming. Disney has a choice whether to produce a program with certain fictional characters; the storyline could be re-written or changed. Conservative families need to urge Disney to exclude confusing topics that children are far too young to comprehend.

First of all, the Disney Channel needs some kind of agenda because they are taking on a certain amount of responsibility in creating entertainment for children. The Disney Channel has opted for an agenda that is not only inclusive, but in line with current shifts in mainstream values.

Then there's the old line about kids being "too young" to learn that *gasp* gay people exist! It's too "confusing" a topic for them to understand.

I've encountered this sentiment a lot in real life and online. Even the comments under After Ellen's article about this story includes:

i am 100 percent against this and i hate that they did this without some type of warning to the parents

And how about this breathtaking piece of cognitive dissonance:

We have loved this show since it started! although i am not against same sex parents, I however am outraged that they introduced them to our children without some sort of parental warning. when i decide to explain the different family matrix to my 9 year old it will be on my time and not by "Good Luck Charlie". I am now glad that the finale is coming because in my opinion this show will need some....

Implicit in such statements are that gay people should be in the closet whenever they are around other peoples' children, which is just cruel and absurd.

People who want to shield their kids from gays on television don't care that the real-world equivalents of Taylor's moms often seek out gay-friendly neighborhoods so they can avoid their kids losing friends, being mercilessly teased, or even beaten if they accidentally refer to their "moms" or "dads" at school. To such families, this small gesture of inclusiveness from a giant in children's entertainment offers a bright view of how far we've come, and where we're headed as a society.

To all those Nimbies out there, who claim to be tolerant of social change, but only if it's happening nowhere near them, so sorry if making LGBT families feel normal means you have to have an awkward conversation with your kid. No, wait, I'm not sorry.

Explaining homosexuality to little kids isn't complicated unless you make it complicated. Just say this:

You know how a man and a woman such as (name ANY happily married straight couple the kid knows) can fall in love, get married, and have kids? Well sometimes that happens with two men or two women, too. 

See how simple that is? It's almost verbatim what I told my kids as soon as they could talk.

If saying that makes you too squeamish, you have your mind in the gutter. It's your problem, not the Disney Channel's. Grow up and be more decent to your fellow human beings, because one of these days your kid might make a friend with two moms.

Another Jolly, White-Bearded Old Man

I am one of those people who flew into a rage after seeing this holiday season's controversial Toys R Us commercial. The one where a busload of  kids are tricked into thinking they are going on a wilderness field trip to learn about trees (which they apparently find boring), and are then told that really they get to run around a toy store and take home free stuff (this revelation causes them to explode in a fervor of maniacal joy.) If you haven't seen it, you can watch it now.

For those who just watched it for the first time, if your mouth is hanging open with shock and disgust, then you have responded the same way I did. The horribleness of this ad is so painfully obvious, I'm not going to get into it. Suffice to say, it reflects badly on our society that commercials such as this get made.

Work by one of my Wagner students, a sculpture of an Aardvark placed in a diorama

As a secular humanist mom, nature and science education are hugely important to me. My kid knows the names of all the captive animals at two nature centers. We have pet millipedes because after holding a giant, African millipede at a bug show last summer, they wanted to have some of their own. We're members of the Academy of Natural Sciences and attend all the preview parties and special events.

This year I'm an artist-in-residence at the Wagner Free Institute for Science. I work with science teachers to design and teach curriculum that integrates our two disciplines. During the Wagner's summer camp, I had inner city middle schoolers draw butterflies, cicadas, and other wildlife in nature journals and create mini-dioramas of animals in their natural habitats.

Hands-on experience of nature in parks and with rescued wildlife engages all our senses and makes it real.

Dude, that's an owl! 

Drawing from life is an exercise in really looking, rather than skimming over what is in front of our eyes.

Now that I get a really good, long look, geez, those talons are seriously scary looking! 

Well-presented information in a good book takes us deeper into understanding.

Owls are predators, descended from dinosaurs. They need those talons to swoop down on their prey.

Finally, creative illustrations transcend what can be seen by the naked eye or camera lens in any single moment. They have the potential to evoke an emotional response, which impresses on us the mystery and profundity of the natural world.

Click here.*

In the library last year, the kid and I came across Every Autumn Comes the Bear by Jim Arnosky. It's a quiet sort of book. When you really get down to it, all that happens is that a bear appears, hangs out for a bit, then goes to sleep in a cave. And yet we both fell in love. What got me was the subtle beauty of the watercolor illustrations. They were detailed, yet loose and painterly. Naturalistic, yet full of unexpected color choices.

In the months that followed, I kept coming across Jim Arnosky's name again and again.  My kid expressed interest in turtles, and we found All About Turtles. I pulled a book off the shelf because of its striking cover image of an osprey, and it turned out to be Arnosky's Thunder Birds. The kid got really into bugs, and we found Arnosky's Creep and Flutter. Talk about prolific!

Jim Arnosky popped up once again while I was looking for books for a workshop I teach. In the adult section of the library, among the field guides on trees, I came across Crinkleroot's Guide to Knowing the Trees. An adorable, gnome-like man on the cover charmed me instantly. Inside he introduced himself to me as "Crinkleroot", and said he was "born in a tree and raised by bees." I took the book home and immediately read it to my kid, who loved it. Not only that, now they knew the difference between coniferous and deciduous trees.

To our joy, we discovered a whole series of Crinkleroot books: guides to butterflies and moths, animal tracking, knowing the birds, giving back to nature, and more. We checked out as many as our public library kept in stock (which was most of the series).

Even though the books were basically doling out textbook information about their subjects, because Crinkleroot addresses his readers directly and is full of personality, the kid responded to him the same as they respond to Angelina Ballerina, or any of their favorite characters in literature. The first time we went to the Morris Arboretum and saw a real log cabin, she exclaimed with delight, "It's Crinkleroot's house!"

The only Crinkleroot books the kid found disappointing were the ones titled Crinkleroot's 25 (fill in the blank with "animals", "more animals", "mammals", "fish", and "birds") Every Child Should Know. In each of these books, Crinkleroot only appears at the beginning, and the rest of the pages are filled with profiles of animals listed. The reason the kid didn't like these books was, as they put it, "I want Crinkleroot to come with us."

Even though Crinkleroot is a delightful character in a series of informative and playfully illustrated books for children, you will not find Crinkleroot dolls, t-shirts, backpacks, or other hokey merchandise. He does not star in a cartoon on Nick Jr., the Disney Channel, or even PBS Kids. You will, however, find Crinkleroot books in most public libraries and many schools. On Crinkleroot's website you can purchase teaching leaves with art and science lessons, download free coloring pages of animals, and even listen to the Crinkleroot song.

I wish Crinkleroot were as familiar a literary character as Fancy Nancy and Arthur. He is a full fleshed-out personality who presents children with facts about the natural world in a way that is engaging and beautiful. And yet, when I have brought him up to educators at nature centers and the Wagner Institute, they have never heard of him. Just like that horrible Toys R Us ad, Crinkleroot's anonymity is perhaps indicative of our society's disconnect and disinterest in the natural world.

A side by side comparison of Crinkleroot and Santa Claus

Crinkleroot looks quite a bit like Santa Claus. White beard. Rosy cheeks. Friendly expression. They're both chubby and wear a lot of red. Crinkleroot might be shorter, but then in many historical incarnations, Santa is an elf or elf-like man of short stature. (Snopes has a good article on the history and myth surrounding Santa's appearance.)

Then there are the significant differences. Crinkleroot merely lives in a cabin in the woods with his pet snake Sassafrass, consorts with nature, and tells tall tales about being raised by bees. Santa on the other hand, lives in the far-off North Pole (a place covered with shifting ice water) and has magical powers: he can fly in a sled, visit all children in a single night, and spies on all children throughout the year.

A late autumn walk in the woods

If we must associate a jolly, white-bearded fictional character with gift-giving in December, how about purchasing some Crinkleroot books to add to the home libraries of the children in our lives? Instead of putting cookies out for a mythical elf, we can take a walk in the woods and note that the nakedness of the deciduous trees signifies winter and the time when bears sleep.

* The image was Owl In Flight, an oil painting by Jane Gough.

A Tour Around Ye Ol' (Godless) Tannenbaum

I almost didn't put up a tree this year. The kids (ages 2 and 4) have ignited a whole new wave of over-analyzing and agonizing over whether to celebrate the holiday season or not, and if so, how to celebrate in a manner which is true to our family's secular worldview. For now, let's just focus on the issue of the tree.

First of all, what do I call it? A Christmas tree? Maybe spell it X-mas, or Krismas. Tannenbaum just means fir tree and sounds reasonably festive; that's good, right? But walking around calling our tacky, miniature tree a tannenbaum feels pretentious. Holiday tree sounds forced. We started calling it a Cricky tree. That's what (I've been told) my husband called it as a kid. And let's face it, in an atheist home, it's basically there because of my (somewhat shallow) attachment to my childhood.

So we have a religious symbol in our house from a religion we don't practice. That's not unusual for middle class Americans, right? Plenty of non-Buddhists have statues of Buddha on their shelves. Same with non-Hindus and statues of  Shiva and Ganesha. People read and enjoy stories of the religious myths from cultures around the world. Still, decorating the tree in December makes me feel silly and a bit like a phony, but whatever. The kids like it. Okay, okay, I like it, too.

This is no elaborate tradition in our house. It took no more than twenty minutes to bring the box of ornaments labeled "Hippy Tree Balls" in big, black marker by my cynical husband, up from the basement and hang them on the three foot high tree I bought on a whim at ACME. Twenty minutes of bouncing back and forth between nostalgic bliss and wistful torment.

Strung the lights on first. It is the same string of lights Will and I purchased seven years ago for our first holiday season in our new house. (Okay, Will had nothing to do with it. He could give a shit about anything holiday season related.) I had run out to the Family Dollar and purchased $40 of cheap ornaments, mini candy canes, a 3 ft fake tree, and a single string of lights - the gaudy, multicolored, large bulbs that went out of fashion a long time ago. I like those lights the best because they are most like the ones from my childhood Christmases. It is a sappy explanation, and every year those memories wear more thin.

Will's favorite ornament reflects his cynicism about the holidays. It was handmade by an artist friend of ours who works in polymer clay, and seems innocent enough: a dinosaur hugging a car. Except it's really a dirty inside joke, and that's not really hugging. With a smirk, I hang it in a prominent location on our tree.

I have several ornaments from the two years I worked in a small, private, progressive school. It was one of the best jobs I ever had. There was practically no hierarchy and both students and faculty were encouraged to take risks and be creative. Every teacher seemed to regard his or her position as a calling. I taught grade school students who involved themselves in political action, public service, who questioned and knew how to research. But it was part time, the pay low, and the commute long. More than that, the job left me with little creative energy for my own artwork and writing. The job wasn't my calling, so I quit. Every year I look at these ornaments, these gifts from amazing former students, and briefly ponder the path not taken. It's not regret; I like where I've ended up. But there's deep melancholy in it.

There's one ornament which splits me right in two. The ornament itself is rather cheap and dull. It's merely a white, glass bulb with the HumanLight holiday logo printed on the front. HumanLight was invented to give secular humanists something meaningful and our own to celebrate in late December. I have jokingly described it to friends as a sort of atheist Kwanzaa. I used to encourage my humanist friends to adopt HumanLight. I wrote a promotional article about it for Humanist magazine. I had my oldest daughter light a candle and open her presents from us on December 23rd (the official date of HumanLight.) For the record, my husband rolls his eyes at all this.

Two guys in New Jersey created HumanLight in 2001. They got not only their local chapter to throw a HumanLight party, but quickly persuaded many others, even some abroad, to adopt the holiday. A couple songs were even written. Not great songs, mind you. "HumanLight" by Sonny Meadows sounds a bit too much like the Spiderman theme song (this was pointed out by some college students who attended our party one year, and they all got a good laugh out of it.) So not great songs, but at least they were our songs. As long as we were earnest about it all, it meant something. My local chapter got Paul Kurtz to be our keynote speaker less than a year before the prominent philosopher passed away. Even the "father of secular humanism" couldn't help but get a bit sentimental around the holidays, and for part of his talk he had all of us in the audience stand and hug each other.

One of those guys in New Jersey who created HumanLight was my friend, and in 2012, to the shock of all of us who knew and loved him, he took his own life. It took five months for my rage over his suicide to burn out. Since then, when I think of him and anything associated with him or even organized humanism, there is a quiet undercurrent of despair. I realize that my involvement in organized humanism all these years was never really about the ideas. I mean, I agree with the ideas, sure. But I can live the humanist philosophy just fine on my own. The organization was about the people. It's often difficult for us nerdy, cynical, godless folk to find others who want to watch lectures, documentaries, read heavy nonfiction, and sit around discussing religion, philosophy, and politics. I didn't celebrate HumanLight because of the message or meaning of the holiday. I celebrated it because it was something to share with my friends. So with my friend who was the most enthusiastic about celebrating HumanLight gone, I'm just not that into it anymore.

The ornaments with pics of my kids, one for each year of their lives, these are what evoke the nostalgic bliss. I look at images of their adorable expressions and reminisce over the best moments of their infancy and entrance into childhood. All the sleepless nights, poop explosions, and shrieks are out-shined by memories of first cradling them in my arms, the stuffed animals they slept with and carried around, the silly ways they first pronounced the word orange, and so on. Considering these ornaments against the rest of what hangs on our Cricky tree, it occurs to me that I could just hang photographs of my kids as they age in the stairwell in decorative frames and achieve the same effect. Why record their growth with tree ornaments?

It's just a tree.

But it's more than a tree! It's a symbol, right? A symbol of, of... oh you know. Family togetherness. We decorate it with memories, surround it with gifts for those we love. An evergreen, the leaves don't turn brown and crumble. They endure the cold darkness of the winter. It's about hope. Another chance to do better, to do more in this world. To improve ourselves. Argh, but that's still so vague, somewhat trite. I can do better. It's, it's...

Just a tree. A tree that makes me feel... A tree that makes me feel.

I realize that no matter how much I try to recapture (or perhaps reinvent) some transcendent wonderfulness of the holiday season, and which can be shared by people of all faiths and no faith, it's all cold comfort. Being a religious skeptic means forever being on the outside looking in. It means exchanging the elation of faith for the sober courage of doubt.

As another year ends, this passage of time is emphasized. I set new goals for the coming year while growing more and more weighted down by memories of what I achieved and failed to achieve in the past. Eventually, there will be no rebirth, no spring. The wicked will go unpunished, the good will pass away without adequate reward.

We top our tree with a finger puppet of Isaac Newton.

I will ride this carousel. Hopefully I'll take more pleasure in the beauty and craft of the wooden horses I ride than I will feel disappointment over the lifelessness of their shiny, painted eyes. I'll try to enjoy the music without worrying about when it will end.

Yes, my daughter, we put up a tree. You can call it a Christmas tree if you want. But we don't really celebrate Christmas because we're not Christians. What do we celebrate? That's a good question. Not that I've found a satisfying answer. There's nothing special about December, really. Only that, if we must face the impending darkness, it's comforting to have a little artificial light.