Finally... (aka Intentions, Part Three)

Mary-Ann Sontag March 18, 2022

Every one of us lives life in community with others. Every choice, every decision we make as individuals ripples outward to others. There is no action without consequence, no thought without impact.

Something as simple as a smile can change the day for someone, who will then go on to impact other people differently because of your kind regard. In the same way, rudeness can so easily start a chain reaction.

This is why we must be intentional in all we do, understanding that we are not self-contained — rather, we are simply and magically part of something so much bigger than ourselves.

Many somethings, actually — a couple, a family, a friend group, a team, a class, a dog group, a church group, community, state, nation and so on. We are part of everything around us, creating and influencing it with our words, our actions, and even our thoughts.

I consider all that a bit of a mandate to be a decent person, care about others, try to make the world a just and equitable place, do the right things, and so on and so forth. The mantle of personhood is heavy!

And that is how I wound up with this darn painting…

It went like this.

NPR Pledge Week was happening. I called in to pledge. The person on the phone ran through the thank you gifts and one of them was a donated painting called Super Nova.

OMG, I said to myself, I will get that for Nova Sr.!! Mind you, I have never actually met Nova Sr., a wonderful young person in Minnesota, but she plans to move to Montana and live with me as soon as her parents spring her — I think she will love how the guest bathroom is coming along!

Thanks so much to Lori for the latest addition to the bathroom — a fun reminder to wash your hooves!!!

Anyway, back to the painting…

I drove up a canyon north of Missoula to retrieve said painting from the person donating it. I knocked on the door, and identified my purpose. She went and got the painting.

“Oh Dear,” I said to myself as I walked it back to the van. “Is that bird poop?!”

Then I felt guilty (see previous posts about Catholic schools) because someone lovingly painted that, and I was thinking mean thoughts. I wondered if maybe my lack of appreciation stemmed from my ignorance about art. Maybe it is actually amazing. [Please note the complicated thoughts and emotions from my attempt to do a good deed.]

I showed the painting to Suzanne who said — after a moment of silence as she regarded the masterpiece — “Well, maybe you can use the frame?”

She is such a cheerful optimistic, that Suzanne!

Our best intentions do not always go as planned but the important part is that we try. I may not have scored the perfect painting for Nova Sr.’s bedroom but she gets to start this day knowing that she matters to someone in Montana, and you — more people she has not met — are also invited to acknowledge and support her.

Nova Sr. competed in a special virtual Trick Dog competition for Juniors…

You will not want to miss Team Hattie’s Trick Dog Video WELL DONE, Team Hattie! SO clever and fun.

Fun Fact: Hattie is a cousin to the Bright Stars, making all the dogs and associated humans related to each other. Given that I am practically her aunt, I think Nova Sr. might be moving to Montana even sooner!

Nova Sr. is not the only girl we are invited to support today — Ada and Wildflower Zeus have only two more days to sell Girl Scout Cookies.

I am ordering more boxes (they can be mailed — who knew?!) — my way of telling Ada, “YOU GO, GIRL!”

If you want to join me in mattering to a girl you have not met, here is the link to Ada’s virtual cookie store: Girl Scout Cookies

Thank you to the parents/family of those two special girls for raising such a wonderful next generation, and for letting us be part of the fun.

#girlpower

Now, what do I do with that darn painting?!

Intentions, Part Two

Mary-Ann Sontag March 15, 2022

It is easy — and heartbreaking — to look back and see where our personal life trains got derailed. For me, it was age 14.

There I was, chugging along my track — one of the smart kids at St.Joachim’s. Don’t I look smart?!

I headed off to the Catholic High School where I made the Varsity basketball team as a freshperson (I was tall — see above) and the challenges of the classes suited me. I remember distinctly my ethics class because I loved it so much. Ironically — or maybe not — I am teaching an ethics class this semester to undergraduates.

But the track from the 14-year-old me in that ethics class to the professor teaching ethics was anything but smooth.

The short version is that my parents’ divorce — and the resulting shortage of money — took the Catholic high school off the table for us, and so at the start of my sophomore year I went to a public school for the first time since kindergarten.

Oh.My.Heck.

Kids smoked! They did drugs! They practically had sex on the lawn! There was SWEARING!! It was a wee bit of a culture shock (understatement alert).

Everything that had provided structure — school, church, family, sports, and even uniforms(!) — was gone.

I got lost — and nobody really noticed.

I dropped out of high school in the middle of my junior year. I was married and pregnant at 18. Two kids before I could legally drink.

Mine is a story of what trauma does to kids but it is also a story of resilience — and privilege. At age 20, I took a step into the unknown future. A very pregnant me signed up for classes at San Joaquin Delta College in Stockton, California…

I did that because there was someone who believed in my potential: My grandfather.

This is my dad on the bench that is dedicated to my grandad at UC Berkeley.

That photo from the previous post of the three sisters? We are sitting on that bench. It is our place — I do not know how else to say it.

And so of course I transferred to Berkeley — where else would one go to college? I seriously thought that.

That is where the privilege comes in. Not only had I grown up around that UC Berkeley campus, my grandfather had set up a trust fund for his grandchildren’s college expenses. Not just the boys — all of his grandchildren. That was both a powerful message about possibilities and an invitation to the advantages of future income and independence that education offers. For a young woman of that time — it was life changing. I still had to work part-time but I never worried about how to pay for tuition and books, even when I was a single parent with two small kids in tow.

Sometimes I worry that my successes cover up the really important parts of my story. That traumatized kids need help — they are so vulnerable. That we all lose when trauma robs us of bright stars who are so filled with shining possibilities — but who are buried under their family drama. Maybe that is you and if so, please know it is not too late.

I used to wonder what I could have done and been if not for the metaphorical bombing of my family but I don’t anymore. Instead, I just have a sense of wonder and gratitude that I was uncovered from the rubble. I know it wasn’t just me that did that — I had so much help along the way.

We never can truly know the impact we have on others — all we can do is believe that we matter, and so does the person in front of us. Even if it is a random kid in front of us in line at the grocery store — maybe our kind interaction will be what she needs to keep chugging along through the darkness today — and finish a Ph.D. at Berkeley on some other day.

#gratitude

Blog posts are organic. I am not always sure how they will proceed — this series is definitely in that camp. These posts really are about this darn painting…

But I am contextualizing — and the context is even more than I expected or planned. My willingness to share is because I accept and honor the words that apparently needed to be written.

Maybe someone besides me needs to read them.

You matter.

Intentions, Part One

Mary-Ann Sontag March 13, 2022

When I was 14, my parents divorced. That simple statement cannot capture the trauma — it was like a bomb went off in our family, shattering everything and everyone.

My mom was left with five traumatized children, ages 14, 13, 12, 11, and 10 — and one toddler foster child. Can you even imagine that?!

Married at 20 with her first child (aka me) ten months later, my mom was a mom — that was her job.

She did not finish college, had no particular skills, and was ill-equipped in every way for life as a single parent.

The world did not make it easy for her.

The electric company would not let my mom put the account in her own name — she was a woman. My uncle had to put the account in his name.

She was denied jobs because of gender, including one at International Harvester — hold that thought.

Without a husband in the home, she could not be a foster parent anymore — and so when Robbie left, after a year with us, she lost that part of herself.

The priest at our parish told her she could not take Communion anymore — because of a divorce she did not want or initiate. She lost that part of life as well.

There is a moment burned into my mind of that day when she put her head on the counter and just sobbed, telling us she wanted to kill herself.

Understandable — and terrifying and traumatizing. All of it. For all of us.

What she eventually did to be okay during that terrible time when our family imploded was instructive and inspiring. She started swimming laps every night. She learned how to change the oil in the car. She joined a class action suit against International Harvester and was part of a settlement that created change. She saw a therapist.

My mom also got a job. She was hired to bottle a product that created a strong, shiny surface on wood. She would come home covered in the stuff.

It was a carcinogen. She developed breast cancer a few years later and died at 45. Choices — and lack of choices — have consequences.

Perhaps you can begin to understand why gender equity issues matter so much to me. Perhaps you can also understand why — in spite of not being encouraged to attend college — all three sisters in my family have graduate degrees. Those degrees and the independence they allow us are part of my mom’s legacy. Her suffering mattered.

Women STILL are paid less than men. We are STILL treated differently in the workplace. Women are STILL denied opportunities because of gender. Yes, we have made progress — painful and slow process — but we are not done.

There is a role for all of us in nurturing the next generation of women. We need to create and hold equitable spaces for girls, encouraging the qualities and traits they will need to be mighty, strong women who have choices — real choices — in their futures.

We need to be examples of what is possible for them, offering contrast to cultural messages that devalue and objectify girls and women. We need to use the power of our collective voices to ensure organizations and institutions have representation at all levels, and offer meaningful and honest opportunities to girls and women.

I hope my granddaughter understands the power and possibilities represented in her name…

…but my commitment is not just to girls in my immediate family. I want ALL girls to grow into women with choices. REAL choices. I want ALL girls to know they are strong and mighty, full of potential and possibilities.

And all that is to offer an introduction to this…