In my new role as interim dean at Bradley I am on the platform throughout the ceremony.  I personally congratulate each graduate in the College of Liberal Arts and Sciences.  I love this part of the job.  Every graduate is smiling and keen to shake hands.  It is a moment of genuine happiness that I am honored to share with several hundred students.  I’ve been asked if this is tiresome or exhausting.  Quite the contrary, I find it energizing.  I try to offer each graduate an authentic moment.  Some are nervous, so my warmth helps to calm them.  Most are indescribably eager – a few are bubbling over with excitement.  When one young man asked for a hug I happily complied.  He was so thrilled to be graduating and he wanted to express that feeling.

But my college is one of five at Bradley so I also sit and observe much of the process without participating.  I use this as an opportunity to check out shoe trends among young women.  Since academic robes hide clothes there isn’t much else to do.  In previous years trends have included spectacular heels and glittery platforms.  These shoes elicit awe and worry in me.  I fear that someone is going to experience a humiliating fall while walking across the platform.  This year I was happily surprised at a new trend: sandals.  Dozens and dozens of women chose to forgo spikes for comfortable and cute flats.  Some were glamorous, some were colorful, and some were unique.  This trend is wonderful.  While I appreciate a beautiful heel and almost always wear high platforms myself, I believe that sandals represent something important in young women: a blend of confidence and practicality.  Sandals are comfortable, airy, and flexible.  The fact that young women are forgoing heels in favor of sandals gives me hope.

That said, I must share another trend I noticed at graduation: tattoos on top of the foot!  Oy!  That’s gotta hurt.  I am not sure what to make of this.  Perhaps it is a way to express individuality but also hide the ink from potential employers?

Every year I also look forward to hearing the graduation speech.  Sometimes I am disappointed.  This year I was fortunate to hear two short, smart, inspiring talks.  The first was at Bradley.  Jeff Hoffman, founder of Priceline, offered a lively and engaging lecture.  He encouraged graduates to follow their passion, not the paycheck.  He warned parents not to pressure their daughters and sons into lucrative careers simply for the money.  He offered the example of a mechanical engineering student who really wanted to buy a food truck and travel the nation cooking and exploring.  The student ended up following his dream and his parents helped him purchase the truck.  Apparently, he is doing well.

The second speech was by California Governor Jerry Brown.  He offered a pithy commentary on the importance of “making a difference” in the world and encouraged graduates to focus on climate change.

What struck me about both speeches was the emphasis on dreams, change, and thinking big.  As higher education copes with the development of MOOCs and a strong emphasis on practical majors I was thrilled to hear commentary on the importance of a liberal education focused on “doing good” in the world and engaging with big problems.  With 27 million slaves in the world today we cannot simply pursue dollars and ignore the violence and inequality across the globe.  Every young man and woman who is fortunate enough to earn a college degree – representing the elite 1% of the world – has a responsibility to use that education collaboratively and in the spirit of giving back.

I love the ritual of graduation – from shoe observations to speech analysis – because it marks a moment of transition and hope.  Best wishes and good luck to the graduates of 2013!

Please feel free to share your own graduation observations. . .

Isaac, who is utterly taken with his goofy, funny stepfather (my husband Tom), was leaning over to give “the old man” a hug when his iPod slipped out of his pocket and onto the couch.  As the two struggled to pick up the slim gadget it slipped in between the arm of the couch and the cushion.  Tom slipped his hand down into the narrow space to grasp the iPod but succeeded only in pushing it further into the couch.  Despite valiant efforts he could not reach it.  We turned the couch upside down and worked for about 30 minutes to get it.  No luck.  The couch ate the iPod.  It was gone.

The loss was tough on Isaac.  The iPod was brand new – a Christmas present with so much potential:  Games, music, texting, even “face-timing” with friends and family.  He was crestfallen when we concluded that we could not save it.

If it had been me at age 11 (and maybe even age 48) I would have engaged in endless self-pity and grumpiness – making my family feel the loss as much as I did.  I would have been inconsolable for days if not weeks.

Isaac, on the other hand, pulled himself together so quickly I was completely shocked.  Almost immediately he accepted the loss and went about his business (which, at the time, was watching an episode of The Office, a TV show that we are all watching together from its first season.  Don’t you love it when your kids get old enough to watch your favorite TV shows with you?)

His maturity did not go unnoticed by his brother, either.  Evan recognized that Isaac could have made his life miserable.  Isaac could have whined and complained and even figured out a way to blame his older brother for the loss.  This would not have been unprecedented.  Isaac is a clever youngster and has a devilish streak in him.

So, the next morning Evan did the unthinkable.  Without any pressure or suggestion from anyone, Evan gave Isaac his iPod.  Willingly.  Happily.  Admittedly, I had recently given Evan my old iPhone so he really did not have a use for his iPod anymore.  But still.  It was generous and sweet.  Evan is and always has been a thoughtful big brother.  He has treated Isaac with gentle patience – even when provoked with the most irritating jabs and jibes from his smart-ass little brother.  So I shouldn’t have been surprised at all.  His decision was generous and protective – perhaps even a little nurturing.

But it struck me that this was an adult decision.  One that required Evan to think about his own needs versus those of his brother.  He must have considered Isaac’s feelings, his hurt, and frustration.  He recognized that this accident was no fault of Isaac’s.

I was so proud of both boys.  They have grown up.

But when do our children ever grow up?  Just a few days ago Evan got the stomach flu.  When I went home to check on him at lunch he fell into my arms and put his fevered head on my shoulder.  He remained like that for a while.  Tears streamed down my cheek.  He was nearly six feet tall and generous beyond fault but when sick he simply wanted his mother.

The last batch of nylons I purchased, however, proved to be a very unnatural color.  I am light-skinned and they made my legs look nearly orange, especially in contrast to my pale arms and face.  So I dashed off to a nearby department store to pick up another batch.  This was supposed to be a 30-minute trip.  I was immediately bewildered by the variety of names for what appeared to be tan: Little Color, Barely There, Cafe a Lait, Buff, Travel Buff (really??), Soft Taupe, and Gentle Brown.  It was impossible to determine the difference between these different shades of tan until I opened each pair and carefully placed my hand through to gaze at the color over my skin.  After about 15 minutes of confusion I finally chose Buff because this seemed to be the lightest color.  I checked out, drove to Starbucks to pick up a latte, and as I was waiting in the drive-through line I looked more carefully at the nylon container.  Oh no!  These were “toe-less” nylons?  What?  Who buys toe-less nylons?  According to the packaging, women who wanted to “show off a new pedicure” would be inclined to make such a purchase.  No woman I ever met.

So, with deep frustration I returned to the store and had to make even more decisions. This time, I had to choose between Control Top Sheerless Toe, Control Top Reinforced Toe, Sheer Toe, or Reinforced Toe.  And then I had to review all the colors again because there was no Buff color available in the nylons with toes!

After another 15 minutes of furtive and guilty package-opening, I chose Little Color, Control Top Sheerless Toe.  Thank goodness I was done.  I went to the checkout.  The cashier asked for my email address.  I asked her why she needed that.  With irritation she pronounced that the store wanted to keep track of its patrons.  What?  I declined and said I was in a rush.  She huffed more.  I paid.  As I was driving back to work I vowed I would never again purchase nylons at a store.  If this pair worked I would order 500 pairs at Amazon.  It worked.   I am ridiculously thankful for online shopping.

Let me begin by confessing that the film touched me – it made me feel weepy, proud, angry, amused. Daniel Day Lewis became Lincoln and I believed him. Although I have read other perspectives, I loved Sally Field as Mary Todd Lincoln. I thought that she offered a very touching interpretation of a complex and troubled woman.

But as an historian of the nineteenth-century American antislavery movement and also a contemporary abolitionist, I wish the film had given us so much more.

How can we possibly understand the Thirteenth Amendment without a mention of the thousands of abolitionists who devoted their lives to ending slavery? That is a great disservice to history and to the men and women who sacrificed their time, money, safety, and, sometimes, sanity, to end slavery. I include in this group those courageous freedom-seekers who escaped from slavery and traveled north through their own ingenuity and persistence. I also include those who aided escapees. Women like Harriet Tubman – the famed underground railroad conductor – and the less famous Laura Haviland – who also made daring expeditions into the South to help enslaved people. What about Parker Pillsbury, who spent his entire adult life traveling across the North and lecturing to often hostile crowds about the sin of slavery? He and his lecturing partner Stephen Foster were pelted with rotten eggs, verbally abused, and physically accosted. Once, when Pillsbury stood up in a church to make an unwelcome abolitionist speech he was thrown in a closet until after the services ended.  What about Henry Highland Garnet, a former slave who called for militant resistance to slavery?  Garnet believed that emancipation would only come through violence. John Brown, who led an ill-fated raid on the arsenal at Harpers Ferry in 1859 in order to incite a slave rebellion, agreed. He was hanged for his efforts.

Abolitionists paved the way for the Thirteenth Amendment, even during the Civil War. The Women’s National Loyal League, created by Susan B. Anthony and Elizabeth Cady Stanton, distributed petitions calling for emancipation and garnered thousands of signatures. African American and white abolitionists demanded that blacks be allowed to participate as soldiers in the military, a right they finally won in 1863, nearly two years into the war.

Many abolitionists expressed deep reservations about Lincoln before and during the war and constantly pushed him to move beyond emancipation as a war measure and focus on emancipation as a moral imperative. Some, like Parker Pillsbury, predicted that the Thirteenth Amendment would not end all slavery – and that racial discrimination and oppression would continue in different forms. He was, of course, correct.

Which brings me to my second critique of the film.  Lincoln is a missed opportunity to raise the issue of contemporary slavery. The Thirteenth Amendment ended legal slavery but it did not end the various types of illegal unfree labor that continue into the twenty-first century. It is estimated that somewhere between 23 and 30 million people live in slavery today. Sexual slavery, labor slavery, and military slavery are enormously profitable and they are beginning to overtake arms and drug trafficking in the illegal market. Vulnerable populations such as the poor and the disenfranchised are targets for smart and resourceful traffickers and slavers. The defenseless are everywhere, from small African communities to large American cities. Offenders include wealthy families who purchase young women as servants, restaurant owners who purchase enslaved workers, pimps and porn kings who find homeless and abused girls and boys and sell them on the streets or abuse them in films.

Clearly Lincoln could not address all these issues but it might have alluded to the abusive sharecropping and peonage systems that predominated in the South following 1865. Newly freed slaves were swept into debt and forced to labor to pay back what they owed in an inherently unfair system. Or, worse yet, they were imprisoned for trumped up or petty charges and forced through convict leasing to work for local employers for years. Lincoln might have alluded to the systematic terrorization of blacks in the South – through lynching and other forms of violence and intimidation – to create a system of subordination and oppression that would last for decades.

Despite the film’s weaknesses, I am happy that I took my two boys, ages 11 and 13, to see it because I believe it is important for them to understand that change comes with sacrifice and compromise and diligence. But when we discussed the movie afterwards I reminded them that slavery is not gone – that children all over the world are exploited and abused and that we could never forget or ignore that.  I confess – I cried as I talked to them.

I encourage you to take a moment and check out one of the many organizations battling slavery today. Just go to a website: Coalition Against Trafficking in Women (http://www.catwinternational.org/); Polaris Project (http://www.polarisproject.org/); Historians Against Slavery (http://www.historiansagainstslavery.org). Or check out a book like The Johns by Victor Malarek. Get involved. Become an abolitionist.

I had just started my new job as Interim Dean and I was still excited and jittery. I was anxious to chat with Tom about my latest ideas, encounters, and challenges. We had made arrangements to meet at the Oyster Bar in Grand Central Station, one of our favorite places in New York City. We would take a late train to New Haven that night. We had carefully planned our weekend together, packing it full of visits to favorite shops, restaurants, and a much-anticipated reunion with a delightful couple we’d become close to over the last few years.

The trip began as expected: my flight from Peoria to Chicago was on time. Once I arrived at O’Hare, however, it became apparent that there were problems ahead. I noticed several cancellations on the big screens and most were flights headed to the East Coast. I went directly to my gate and all seemed well.  Just before we were scheduled to board, however, American Airlines personnel informed us that the flight was cancelled. I immediately called the airlines (as a frequent flier I have a “special” number to call) and made arrangements to be put on the next flight and also, just in case, on the first flight out on Saturday morning. I retired to the Admiral’s Club to get some work done but it was an unusually frenetic atmosphere.

After my second flight was canceled I joined about a dozen other travelers in line to discuss my situation with an agent. I learned that lightening had struck a central box of some sort in New York and that it had affected most of the East Coast airports. The agent gave me a “distressed passenger” ticket and told me to take a shuttle to the Westin where I would pay a reduced price for a night’s stay. I sighed with exasperation and called my husband to give him the bad news.  Our New York City evening was off; I hoped that my 6am flight would be on time and allow us to at least have one day together.

I headed to the shuttle with a deep sense of disappointment. There were only a few other people on board and I started chatting with a man who, I quickly learned, was also the victim of a cancelled flight. We cheered each other up by sharing our stories.  Larry was in finance and had been in Chicago for several days in meetings. He was headed home to New York to celebrate his son’s birthday on Saturday. His frustration at being delayed was palpable. Unlike me, he had been rebooked on a very circuitous route that would take him from Chicago to St. Louis to Washington DC to New York City. He would not arrive home until the early evening, well after his son’s birthday party. His situation made me forget my own frustration.

As we checked into a lovely Westin hotel we agreed that we would meet in the bar to chat some more. I arrived at the bar first and although I opened my laptop with the intention of working, I could not forget the fact that it was Friday night and I was supposed to be at the Oyster Bar in Grand Central Station with my husband. I could not concentrate. I ordered a beer and chatted with the bartender who was funny and friendly. Another man soon joined us; his name was Stig and he was a pilot who flew cargo for a Chinese company. Larry arrived not long after and our small group spent the rest of the evening talking, laughing, drinking, eating, and forgetting our cares.

Stig, soft-spoken and thoughtful, explained that he was from Sweden (or was it Norway?) but had a home in Napa Valley. His wife was also a pilot. They had several dogs and no children. They prized their rural existence, preferring the beauty and space of the valley to the activity of the city.  Stig struck me as a happy person. He smiled as he talked about his home life and his experiences as a pilot. Larry asked him if he preferred piloting cargo to people. Stig explained that cargo planes included a nice space for the crew to cook meals and relax and talk, unlike airlines that carried people. I envisioned a friendly office 35,000 feet in the air.

Larry also appeared to be happy, though his personality differed from Stig. Friendly, lively, and outgoing, I imagined that he made acquaintances wherever he traveled. He liked to ask questions and he listened carefully, clearly interested in people’s lives, thoughts, and experiences. I always enjoy curious people. They seem to delight in all aspects of life. He told us about his busy social life; he and his family often hosted backyard barbeques and joined neighbors for spontaneous gatherings. He had a rich life.

By the end of the evening it felt like we were all friends. Stig and I were both tired and we headed upstairs but Larry, the most energetic of us all, chose to walk to a nearby casino and gamble for a little while. We shared  email addresses, promised to keep in touch, and said our goodbyes. I collapsed into bed with a smile on my face, grateful for this chance encounter that transformed a frustrating change of plans into an enjoyable evening.

I was happily surprised to have one more opportunity to chat with Larry. Very early Saturday morning, as I walked out of the hotel toward the shuttle, I heard my name. It was Larry! He had decided to take an early shuttle to see if he could stand-by for a more direct flight to New York City. He told me that he had won a few hundred dollars the night before at the casino. I congratulated him and we laughed at how much fun we had experienced despite our flight cancellations.

As I was sitting on the tarmac later that morning, my flight delayed, I received an email update from Larry. He had made it onto an earlier flight and would arrive in New York City before me!

Despite the fact that our Friday night plans were cancelled and we ran into terrible traffic driving home from LaGuardia on Saturday, my husband and I drank up every moment we had together. In fact I think we valued or time together even more because it was so short.

Life is full of unexpected roadblocks. But life is also full of unexpected delights. I hope that I never allow my anger or frustration to cause me to miss out on delights like my evening with Stig and Larry. Is it a test of my commitment to finding delight even when confronted with a roadblock that I find myself stuck at O’Hare airport yet again as I write this? I began this blog while waiting for a flight to Philadelphia. I continued it as I waited on the plane to take-off, but it was eventually canceled. I continue it now, sitting at the Admiral’s club with a G&T and some sushi, chatting with my friendly neighbor from Austin, Texas, waiting to see if I make it onto the last flight to Philly.  I’m on standby. . .

Update!  The efficient and delightful American agent who was helping me — Lynn — got me onto the flight!  And she said if it was canceled I could stay at her house. Sometimes it all works out.

Larry – this one is for you.

The tests:

Intelligence. The decision to purchase a new car often requires months of thoughtful, careful deliberation. For most of us, purchasing of vehicle is a tremendously important financial decision. I drive a 1999 Subaru Outback with about 170,000 miles. It is in decent shape for its age but it is slowly beginning to fray around the edges. Each visit to the mechanic costs more and more, making me realize that I cannot afford to wait until the car requires a prohibitively expensive repair, leaving me panicked and pressured to buy a new car quickly. So in order to avoid this situation I began researching various cars – comparing price, size, comfort, aesthetics, gas mileage, reliability, safety, and on and on. It took hours and hours of time. And I kept questioning myself. Is this car really the best choice for our needs? Can we afford it? What are the multiple options available on the car? Which do we need and which do I want? By the end of the process I felt that I had expended more brain cells than was warranted.  And I’m still not entirely sure I made the right choice.

Financial Success. Buying a new car forces you to confront your financial success. I am not a “car person” and do not define myself by my vehicle. Cars are nonetheless important and visible symbols of our status. Driving a Beemer is different than driving a Subaru. It suggests success, independence, and professionalism. I would enjoy driving an expensive, fast, comfortable, cool car. My son would love it if I drove one of his dream cars! But the truth is I cannot afford such high-end luxury car. So I have been thinking about what kind of financial success is desirable and meaningful to me. As my monthly paycheck has slowly grown over the years I have found that my desire for more expensive luxury items has also grown. I do not wear $800 designer Jimmy Choo shoes, but I do like Maui Jim sunglasses and Coach bags. And once you experience those sweet shades it is hard to go back to the cheap Target brand. So my car purchase must be within a reasonable budget and I must recognize that once I move up the car scale it would be very painful to move back down.  Toyota seemed like a nice balance.

Patience. So this weekend we planned to visit dealerships and test drive cars. But even this simple plan was foiled! It stormed on and off all day on Saturday, making it impossible for us to go car shopping. We eventually managed to go to the Toyota dealership and drive our top choice, but we had to race home to prepare for a dinner party that evening. We planned to return to car shopping on Sunday but were disappointed to learn that car dealerships were closed on Sunday. This struck me as highly illogical because the weekend was the most convenient time for most people to shop. So despite having done my homework and being well prepared to make a decision, I had to wait. There is also the real possibility that our preferred car will not be on the lot and we will have to wait for it. Once you make the decision, conduct the negotiation, and finalize the financing, it is simply torturous to have to wait and wait and wait for the shiny new car to arrive.

Social responsibility. Purchasing a car says as much about your politics as it does about your patience and financial success. Prius owners buy not only a socially responsible car, they also buy a reputation for environmental responsibility and political progressiveness. They happily announce to the world as they cruise around in their crazily quiet vehicle that they care about reducing their carbon footprint. They walk taller and why not? Hummer owners, on the other hand, happily scoff at environmental concerns and embrace their reputation for self-indulgence and showmanship. My car choice leaves me somewhere in between. With two quickly growing boys who have lots of friends and many long-distant soccer tournaments in our future, I knew that we would need a larger car. And I freely confess my desire for heated leather seats, a remote starter, a smooth quiet drive, some power behind the engine, space for six, and a nice onboard GPS system. While the Toyota Highlander fit the bill I cannot afford the extra $10,000 it would cost to purchase the hybrid version. So my gas mileage is not going to be impressive. That makes me environmentally selfish and socially irresponsible.  Doesn’t it?

Style. A car is more than a reflection of your politics, it is also a reflection of your style. I am not a minivan or station wagon. These are simply not my style any more. To my son’s disappointment, I am not a Mustang or a Camaro either. And yet I knew that as long as the boys are still at home I could not yet purchase a sleek sedan – so the next best option for me was a SUV. I knew that I wanted a Toyota or Honda – not only for their reliability but also their style. I’ve always preferred the curves and elegance of these two brands. I like the shape of the Highlander; it is not too boxy or too muscular or too stiff. And I want black. Yes, it shows dirt and yes it gets hot. I’ve never owned a black car but it seems crisp and professional to me. And the truth is that I want to appear “crisp and professional” just like my car.

As I come to the end of my car-buying experience I have to face facts: my score on all these “tests” is not impressive. But that is okay. It is undoubtedly the score I deserve.

Wish me luck.  I’m negotiating tomorrow.

Two days later: We have a new car!  See photo above.  Gotta give a shout-out to Peoria Toyota-Scion and Pearl Automotive for its no-pressure sales people (Nick Armstrong!) and easy start-to-finish process.  You defy the car-buying stereotype!

I watch Survivor. I have watched this reality TV show since it began, missing only a few seasons. If you have not watched the show, the premise is that a group of men and women are thrown into the wilderness (usually an island) and expected not only to survive but also to vie with each other in a series of competitions. One person is voted off the island every three days. I tell myself that I watch the show as a sociology experiment, but the truth is that I savor the challenging competitions that result in “immunity” for one tribe and the dreaded Tribal Council for the other. I love to predict who will get booted off each week. I understand that the show is very much constructed: The producers and editors pour over hours and hours of film and scale it down to a mere 45 minutes or so every week. They create tension, they make stars, and they give us characters that we love to hate. Colton is one such character. But this was not clear at first.

This season the men and women were separated into two tribes, but in a plot twist they placed both groups on the same beach. Colton, a young white man, immediately came out as gay and bemoaned the fact that he was stuck with a bunch of hyper-masculine men. He often stole over to the women’s tribe and tried to bond with them. But he spent so much time with the women that they became a little bit tired of his complaining. The men began to suspect that he was giving away secrets to the women. I liked him immediately because he seemed like an underdog.

As the season moved forward it became clear that Colton had very few physical attributes that would help him in the competitions and he was notably lazy around camp. His teammates became frustrated with him. But Colton was smart: He picked out a few oddballs in the men’s group – a cranky old surgeon, a small person, and a sushi chef – and united with them. At the same time he built friendships among the women. When the two tribes were broken up and re-divided into two new mixed-sex groups, Colton emerged as a surprise leader. He became arrogant and his mean-streak emerged. But he was powerful and everyone knew it so he got away with his outrageous comments and behavior. At one point he coldly advised a woman he had grown to dislike to either jump in the campfire or retire from the show because she would be kicked off the island next.

He was disrespectful to people he deemed to be inferior – intellectually, culturally, or economically. He seemed to hate poor people. He was snooty and infuriatingly entitled. He did little other than gossip and manipulate but he seemed to be dominating. My kids and I became increasingly frustrated and even furious with this guy.

And then it happened. He started complaining about abdominal pain and the medical team was called to the island. It was his appendix. He had to be transported to a hospital. Suddenly, he was off the show. In his last few moments on the island, writhing in agony, he continued his selfishness by refusing to give one of his teammates the immunity idol that promised at least a little bit of security. He took it with him as a memento.

As soon as they put him on a stretcher and began carting him away my older son Evan said, simply, “karma.” His brother thought about it and replied, “yep.” I thought, too, and said, “yep.”

Karma indeed. This guy got what he deserved: pain and failure. But deep down I knew that it was more complicated. After all, he achieved fame (or infamy).

I find Colton interesting not because he appeared selfish and lazy and mean-spirited. Lots of people on Survivor fit that bill. I suspect the producers search for folks who will raise the ratings with their deeply unlikable personalities. I am writing about Colton because he reminds me that stereotypes are like graham crackers — they break easily. Just when you think you have a good grip as you slather the peanut butter on, it breaks and makes a mess. So frustrating!

Colton initially fed into several gay male stereotypes. He appeared physically weak. He was dramatic and emotional. He gossiped and manipulated. But this was eventually complicated by a new series of character traits that did not fit. I know that we tend to remember stereotype-consistent behavior in people and therefore our convictions about stereotypes are constantly reinforced. If you see a woman by the side of the road with a flat tire waiting for someone to help her, this will likely stick with you. If you see a beefy guy standing by the road waiting for help you are likely to forget that. Seems weird, right? But it’s true. Studies show we ignore behavior that contradicts stereotypes. Colton was a reminder of these truths.

Survivor producers knew that making Colton into a loathsome stereotype would boost ratings and so they knitted together scenes of the young man engaging in gossip, cruelty, and vanity — constructing the character that we all love to hate. But they could not entirely control the image so we also saw glimpses of Colton’s character that were confusing and even contradictory. He was tough and relentless when necessary, he endured pain better than many, he bonded with both men and women. He was hateful toward people based on class — which I found particularly dumbfounding. Why would a person from an oppressed group choose to oppress another group? It just seemed wrong. But of course Colton was also a privileged man who grew up learning his own stereotypes about poor people. So while he bemoaned negative stereotypes about gays he promoted negative stereotypes about the poor.

I still dislike Colton. I’m glad that karma caught up to him. But he reminds me to slow down, think before I make assumptions, and fight those stereotypes. After all, many feminists are funny. Lots of elderly people drive just fine. And not everyone in the Midwest is nice.

My husband and I purchased memberships in the Admirals Club, which is the American Airlines oasis in large airports. Since we spend so much time at O’Hare, LaGuardia, and other airports, it is a good investment in our sanity. The clubs are usually quiet spaces where we can get work done and relax without the typical stress, hustle, and bustle of the airport. The free drinks don’t hurt either.

Yesterday I was at the club in O’Hare, grading and responding to emails. I sat at a table and plugged in my laptop. There was a couch in front of me with a man sprawled on it, talking on his cell phone. I almost took another seat because I recognized this guy as an air jerk. He was loud and taking up too much space. Little did I realize the mind-boggling level of rudeness he would achieve. First, he never got off the phone. For 90 minutes he talked, talked, talked. I tried to ignore the droning but every once in a while he would do something that made me gasp with disgust. For example, while talking on the phone he sneezed without covering his mouth and turned toward me as he did it. My open coffee cup seemed to be his target and he was a good shot. I cringed and threw away my coffee. Later he began pacing and — as he continued to talk on his phone – reached down and picked his butt (sorry, how else to say that?), and then began rubbing his back up against a column, like a gorilla. I stared in astonishment. Did he mistake the airport for his private bathroom? Seriously?

A few weeks ago I was carefully maneuvering into the club holding a very hot cup of coffee and pulling my luggage when a man breezed by me, knocking into me and causing me to spill hot coffee on myself. He turned, looked at me, said nothing, and walked on. I was left there with my mouth open, staring at his back.

Countless times I have witnessed people using the speaker function on cell phones, thus exposing everyone to both ends of their conversation. One half of the discussion is irritating enough, but listening to the muffled, staticky other half is intolerable. Business travelers are especially fond of having loud conversations in the terminal, apparently hoping to impress the rest of us with their references to “bonds” and “big buys.” They also like to talk loudly on planes, where we are all captives and thus cannot escape the incessant chatter.

Because we fly so often we are usually upgraded. This does not guarantee an absence of air jerks. Some first-class travelers are anything but “first class.” These people are uniquely impolite with seatmates, haughty with flight attendants, loud eaters, and sometimes unbearably gassy. And they blithely bump their luggage, purses, and laptop cases into others with no apology. Once, long ago, a foreign businessman seated in front of me threw his used tissue over his shoulder, onto my lap.

I am always so happy to be on a plane full of good travelers. These folks are polite, friendly, and respectful. They try to stay within their space, they know that their music should not be too loud, they keep their voice down, and they do not expect others to cater to them. Thank you to all the kind and thoughtful air travelers out there. Let’s hope air jerks take some lessons from your behavior.

And please share your air jerk stories — or good traveler stories — in the comments!

Evan’s behavior surprised me. He has always been rather shy, especially around girls his age. At the restaurant he was confidant, happy, and outgoing. What happened?

Puberty, that’s what. Evan has been experiencing dramatic physical and emotional growth in the last few months. His voice is deeper. He is so tall now we look each other in the eye. He meticulously washes his face to address the small signs of acne. He also combs his hair over his forehead, which frustrates me to no end.  Why smush down that beautiful curly hair? Our conversations have changed in ways both subtle and important. It is hard to describe, but I often feel like I am talking to a young adult. He recently asked me, “Mama, is it hard to shave?”

I have mixed feelings about these changes. On the way hand, I am saddened. I remember his birth and first few years as if they occurred yesterday. He had curly auburn hair, big blue eyes, and lashes so long and lush women would drool at the sight of them. He was relentlessly curious. He pointed at everything and said, “Ha da?” which we knew meant “what’s that?” He was smart and so cute and good at everything. (Not much has changed in that regard.) He loved to cuddle.

But there are many aspects of Evan’s growing maturity that delight me. He is increasingly witty and funny. Our conversations involve more give and take, more negotiation and thoughtfulness. He is trying different types of foods so we can dine out with enjoyment. He is more patient with his brother and seems to find Isaac’s imitations flattering as opposed to irritating. We like the same games, though he always beats me.  We are watching more TV shows together, including Modern Family, Survivor, and now Touch.

And I am curious to see how he will negotiate his teens, which will officially begin in May. I wonder if he will continue to love soccer as he has since he toddled across our backyard, kicking the ball?  I wonder if he will want to keep his hair long and curly, or if he will cut it short. How tall will he be? Will he continue to excel in math and struggle in French? Will he have nerdy, sweet friends, as he does now, or start to hang out with jocks? Who will be his first love?

The joy of discovering my son year by year as he ages is spectacular. But sometimes when he does something stupid or thoughtless I wonder about my responsibility as a parent. When he was reprimanded for cursing at school, I guiltily recalled my own swearing at other drivers while the boys sat in the back seat, mouths agog. Did he learn to curse from me? But surely “car cursing” is different, right? That doesn’t count! Mostly I recognize that he is testing boundaries and negotiating a sense of his place in the world. He is figuring out who he wants to be. Apparently sometimes that is a sailor.

Welcome to puberty, Evan. I hope I survive it.

Confidence. Hmmmmm, I thought. These women seemed to be brimming with confidence. Indeed, as I listened to them chat I could not help but grin. These young women made me happy. They were smart and articulate, athletic and healthy. They carried themselves with an assuredness that suggested they were going somewhere. But they did not strike me as arrogant or careless.

And they reminded me of my own students at Bradley. I am teaching a small class of senior women’s studies students who are all working on their final research papers. I love these young women. Though they arrive at our 9am class sleepy and quiet, resentful that I had the audacity to force them to get up so early, within five minutes they are transformed. They become energetic and talkative. They like their research topics and they like each other.

They are researching everything. Gender and rap music. Pornography. Women presidents in Latin America. The medicalization of women’s sexuality. The history of the Pill. Divison I women coaches. African American women and hair. Rosie the Riveter. Latina and Muslim women in the U.S. We have lively conversations and everyone contributes.  We all want to learn and we are excited.

So how is it that Rush Limbaugh said what he said? How did he denigrate a young female law student for advocating insurance coverage for birth control? Does he know any young women? Who is he appealing to?

Women’s increased control over their lives has always frightened people. Whether it is economic, educational, sexual, or political, women’s progress threatens our sense of normalcy.  When women began lecturing against slavery in the late 1830s ministers proclaimed that they were violating the virtues of womanhood and demanded they return to the home. When women began calling for suffrage and property rights politicians ranted that this would destroy the family. Women would begin acting like men. Who would tend to children, cook, and clean?

Rush wants to create a world in which women are subservient, submissive, and dependent. But this is a fantasy world. Even when women were prevented from voting, holding property, and attending college they managed to negotiate power and independence in the spaces of their own lives. Even slave women found ways to assert some control over their lives.

So we need to remind the Rush Limbaughs of the world that we will not participate in the denigration of women. We need to encourage our daughters to do their best in math and consider careers in engineering or science. We need to encourage women to run for office.

I am reminded of Deputy Chief Brenda Johnson. She is tough, smart, relentlessly polite, beautiful, and successful. She spills her coffee and misplaces her keys but she always closes her cases. This is an image of womanhood I can get behind. Rush, meet Chief Johnson.