Digging deep

In less than 90 minutes we are leaving this hotel, leaving St Andrews, leaving Scotland, leaving behind our boy.

I have no idea how other Mothers cope with the leaving. There is no manual and like other “women’s issues’ little discussion on how. And while I imagine every leaving is different dependent on the relationship and on practice; this is my first time. It hurts as if some magical being is reaching inside me and slowly extracting the organs which keep me breathing.

I promise Roscoe that I will not cry when we walk away from the boarding house. I remain dry-eyed all evening. The bright blue sky’d sunny yellowness of the following morning lifts my mood: the day beckons to get to know better the town where he’s going to be for the next few years. We are texting and he says that most of the boarding house boys are off to Edinburgh for the day so of course we pick him up and saunter into St Andrews for a large plate of celebratory oysters. Leaving the restaurant it’s apparent that this Barbados boy is inappropriately dressed for Scottish sunshine so we purchase a lightweight fleece to go on top of his thin T shirt as he is beginning to turn blue with the cold. Craig has to take him back to our hotel as he cannot get heat into his bones. His first lesson in dealing with our home climate; Layered dressing.

We walk the beach. The sky is glorious and the miles of cold hard golden sand are scattered with dog walkers, kite flyers, pram pushers, whole families out enjoying time together. We amble-walk, the wind at our backs, catching our words, our laughter and blowing all imminent future wrenching away. We argue how far Ben Cross, Nigel Havers, Ian Charleston ran for the opening sequence of Chariots of Fire; both boys have no faith that the actors ran far at all. My romantic notions of about a mile dashed by my husbands pragmatism as he points out the freeking freezingdom of the North Sea. Although we are surprised at the amount of hardy Scots with their trousers rolled up and their feet bare as they walk in icy waters this afternoon. It’s enough to make my bones ache just watching.

I know they ache for other reasons as I loop my arm into my son’s as we more purposely stride into the wind heading back towards St Andrews town. Turning into its cold embrace is a metaphor of momentousness: the leaving is marching towards us. 

We decide to have dinner at the hotel; Roscoe lured by the promise of escargot and being still of the age where the whiff of strong garlic is of no consequence. I watch him wrestle with the tongs and a few elusive snails and wonder how the boy who dislikes anything but pasta, loves the food we’ve eaten today: another quirk of his capricious contradiction.

All too soon it’s time. This time much harder as we all know this is the dreaded au revoir. I have to dig deep to maintain any semblance of composure, managing only by seeing my boy is matching me and I don’t want to make it any harder for either of us.

Now, I watch the rain battering against our window; it’s dreich grayness apt. How do other Mother’s do this? I have no blueprint, no plan. The packed cases mock me, silent tears run as I type. No words come. It’s just screaming emptiness inside, impossible to describe.

My challenging, gorgeous, contradiction of a boy is now being nurtured and grown by others.

I ache.

 

Bias

I wrote this over  a year ago and for some reason never posted it.  Given all that’s happening now with BLM and the ugliness of division wrought bare with UK and US politics, it seems apt to actually press “publish”

Last year, the Irish actor, Liam Neeson, opens his mouth and lets a genuine insight come out during a newspaper interview with a journalist, Clémence Michallon.   In this he admits to having combed the streets looking for any lone, random, aggressive, black-skinned man; to batter with a cosh in revenge for a close female friend being raped.  During this interview, Neeson was at pains to point out that he knew his feelings were wrong and this primal need for revenge could not be assuaged in a decent society.  And given he probably knows more than most, the reeking damage that revenge creates, having grown up in Ireland at the height of the troubles, I’m inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt.

FILE – This Saturday, Aug. 15, 1998 file photo shows Royal Ulster Constabulary Police officers as they stand on Market Street, the scene of a car bombing in the centre of Omagh, Co Tyrone, 72 miles west of Belfast, Northern Ireland. The Aug. 15, 1998, attack was the deadliest in four decades of conflict over Northern Ireland. None of the Irish Republican Army dissidents responsible for killing 29 people, mostly women and children, has been successfully prosecuted. (AP Photo / Paul McErlane, File)

Obviously I don’t know Neeson so cannot speak on his motives and how he thinks.  However,  he does make a fine point which has been lost in a lot of the more sensationalist press and TV coverage on this story;  primal revenge comes from a very different place than conscious or subconscious bias and the two should not be confused.

Even the associate professor of experimental psychology at University College London, Lasana Harris, struggles to make a conclusive link.  Although he says that incidents such as rape can shape the the way someone thinks about a specific community, he thinks that it may have something to do with existing or pre-existing biases.  To give credit where its due,  he acknowledges that there is an unjustifiable prejudice when it comes to black people being perceived as perpetrators of sexual assault. “You can control it if you’re aware of the stereotype, if you’re aware of the fact that you have these stereotypes and these biases,” he says.

It’s this acknowledgement which creates the distinction; primal revenge involves an action or behaviour which is not premeditated or thought out. Bias is often a conditioned choice which can be mitigated once someone is aware they are biased in some way.  Neeson became aware of this in the week after hearing of the rape and chose to change his attitude and behaviour.

This all starts with our brains which are complex systems which control much of what we do.  We can be exposed to 11 million pieces of information at any one time; however our brain only has capacity to functionally deal with about 40 information ‘bites’ at any moment.  Thankfully we  have the capacity to make unconscious decisions within 200 to 250 milliseconds after taking in a piece of stimuli,  so we  filter information and select what is important to us, to reduce the demand on our brains.

In addition, and I’m massively simplifying lots of neurological research here;  our brain is made up of 100 billion neurons. As we grow and develop, these neurons are ‘wired up’ to each other and  then communicate through thousands of connections  helping form our memories.  The part of the brain called the hippocampus is vital for forming new memories. We use our hippocampus and surrounding areas to bind our memories together and add information about context or location.  Given we start to form our memories as early as 3 days old,  we all have different memories based on our own experiences, backgrounds, cultures and attributes.  Even so our memories are not exact records of events; they are  reconstructed in many different ways after events happen, which means they can be distorted by several of our biases.

Our fundamental way of looking at and encountering the world is driven by this “hard-wired” pattern of making decisions about others based on our memories and what feels safe, likeable, valuable, competent, etc. without us even realising it.  So we see certain things and miss certain things, depending on what the unconscious is focused on. It filters the evidence that we collect, generally supporting our already held points of view, and dis-proving a point of view that we disagree with.

Add to this mix, our culture, which comes to  life though the symbols and meanings, stories and myths, observations, values and assumptions we  start gathering from a very young age.  Symbiotically we absorb the generalisations and stereotypes that  our human groups holds and by human groups I mean family,  friends, colleagues that we spend time with;  they all influence our bias even when we don’t realise.  We all use stereotypes to some extent, as they help us to learn about people and other human groups as well as make quick decisions such as, is this situation safe or dangerous?  Our capacity for stereotyping also helps us look through a busy crowd and spot our friends.  So in summary our brains, cultural upbringing and life experiences influence our stereotypical thinking and our biases.  Its what makes us uniquely human.

I’ve hosted cultural subconscious bias awareness workshops and run coaching sessions on the impact of bias particularly on decision making and teamwork.  Invariably participants warm up by completing a number of the free bias tests offered online.   These are useful for me too as certain instances or situations on this island can affect my bias and I want to stay aware of my reactions and choices.

For I too experience deep seated racial bias here in Barbados.  White skins to black skins;  black skins to white skins and black skins to different shades of black skins.  I have lost count of the amount of times I have been standing in a queue, quite happily with all colours of skin, only to find when its my turn to be served for the black-skinned teller or server to walk off, or find another laborious task to do first,  before serving me.  Never was this more blatant than in a Wildey coffee shop next to Carters, the local hardware store, when after queuing to place my  coffee order, the local server walked off when I got to the front of the queue, forcing her colleague to eventually shout across the store for my order.  I watched the same woman do this twice over with other white- skinned customers as I sat drinking my coffee.  Another small example involves the local Cheapside market stall vendor who charges me $6 for a bag of lemons and then charges the customer standing next to me $2 for the same product.  When I ask about the price difference,  I’m aggressively informed “this is my price.  Do you want the lemons or not”?  You quickly learn not to argue, particularly when you feel the need for the accompanying gin!    Living here and experiencing this regularly I now have a small inkling of what racism must feel like for black skinned people living on my home island.

There are many training courses and workshops that recruiters and hiring managers can attend to make sure that their own biases do not affect the hiring process.  However,  its often difficult to find out the personal biases and attitude of the candidate without stepping into a minefield of employment law.  This is why I love this practical 5 minute article by Fletcher Winbush which gives an easy to follow  6 point guide for any hiring manager to uncover any underlying attitude issues held by a candidate.

More employers, particularly those in the service sectors;   need to hire for the right attitude and awareness of personal bias, than just relying on skills (which can be taught) or experience (which can be learned on the job).

Understanding our personal biases gives us choice; to look at any situation which gets our dander up and figure out why we think and feel this way.

Stay curious about difference.  Stay curious about yourself.

 

 

First love

The boy falls in love. Tumbling blinded into desire and pulsing need. His world obliterated by one gorgeous group of atoms molded into female form.

I watch. Powerful and powerless. A jealous enabler; part taxi driver, part cook, spare part. It is too soon for him to understand the love jumble of emotions: at fourteen he is still a child and she is older by 15 months or perhaps years. He has no chance of breath or choice while faced by such advanced feminine wiles. He cannot and does not listen to me. Why should he? What can I possibly know of young love in my “ancient” form? I persist, trying to keep connection, trying to be neutral, dropping suggestions and hints of how to spend time, where to spend time, gifts and ideas shrouded in wisdom and guidance.

I helplessly watch him make poor decisions on where to spend his time, grateful that the love of the game means he still goes to practice and still performs on the pitch. The difference is she now joins me to watch him play, even though she doesn’t like the sport. I think he likes having her there although the other players both tease him and revere him for this female slavish devotion.

We are bonded in our love of the bones of him and I gradually let her in as time shows this is not a fleeting first love but a deep felt connection fulfilling some primal calling.

She’s bright, well read and attractive. Her parents go from acquaintances to friends and we bond over concerns of the nature of their relationship, shared taxi duties and mutual values. This is hugely helped by their Scottish/Danish sensibilities, this similar cultural references making even the most delicate of conversations somewhat easier. The hardest of these being the “are they really ready” and the discussion and debate between blocks and facilitation. Of course the kids are steps ahead and I have the painful pleasure of listening to my boy explain his feelings and ask for my support. I sit on the sand, letting it run through my fingers as he confidently puts forward his thoughts and opinions; how can this be my child, my boy? But then again, how can this not be my son? We walk back along Bathesheba beach and the world has changed, the juggernaut of progress has found a different gear. He runs ahead to play with Monty dog and I realize the gold of the moment is not in the sand or the glistening Caribbean Sea, it’s not in the delight of watching boy v dog races and the joyful hoots of his laughter; rather it’s in the acknowledgment that this is the beginning of letting go. The start of my journey to learn to let my child grow into a man. It’s not easy.

Almost a year later I stand in the kitchen and say to her “You must finish this. You deserve better and are worth more than how he’s treating you now. Let him go. He does not have the courage to tell you it’s over for him. Instead he’s treating you badly and it’s breaking my heart as this is not how I have brought him up. No woman should be treated with such cavalier distain – never let this happen to you again. Have the courage to break your heart, you cannot change him, change yourself” She nods tearfully and goes downstairs to almost verbatim repeat what I have said back to him, I guess in the hope to make him change.

I stand battered by his hormonal rage when she leaves. He’s confused. My sisterly solidarity has trumped my Mothers love. He doesn’t understand my betrayal and is determined to prove me wrong. This lasts less than a week and she is cast off again. I rage silently wishing her courage.

Four weeks later, he tells me she’s done with him having sat him down during break-time to let him know her decision. I ask for his response and he shares that he sits with her , letting her talk, feeling responsible for her pain,  yet relief that she’s ended it. I give my female perspective and watch as his eyes cloud over.

There is much learning still to be had.

She will always be his first love, always be special.
He doesn’t realize this yet.

One day…