Degrees of Separation

One of the things I've been following about the state of Maine is the incredible effort by local and state government to not only keep college graduates in their state, but attract college grads from other states.

That got me to thinking. Why don't the kids who graduate from the Block Island school and become professionals come back to the island and hang out their shingles? Meaning no disrespect to those who are providing able services, but are you telling me that in the last forty years or so, Block Island has produced no doctors, no lawyers or veterinarians, dentists, teachers, CPAs, Ministers or Public Service Officials?

Now, don't get me wrong. There are exceptions to every rule. I'm not saying that Block Island doesn't produce professionals...we do. Nor am I saying that Block Island is losing all its kids. Not yet. Nor am I forgetting that there are plenty of kids who stay here and work for a living - sometimes taking over family businesses. There are hard-working generations who fill many public and private positions. Many take over their families propane, construction, and hospitality businesses. Good, honest work that one can be proud of. And these are the kids who are also participating in the volunteer Fire Department, the Lions Club, the Rescue Squad - the real backbone of any community. And I'm fully aware we have a Block Island alumni at the Bank, and one at the Pre-School, and one teaching Health. I'm sure if I think about it for a minute, I can come up with a few more. But I'm disappointed (without in any way editorializing on anyone's competency, so get off that boat before it sails) that a Block Island school graduate doesn't own/publish/run the paper. Or that one of the many qualified doctors and interns at the Medical Center isn't a Block Island school grad.

Perhaps these students who graduate from Block Island and go on to get four, six and eight year degrees could come back and live in their parents accessory apartments? Until the parents retire to Florida (or Culebra, or St. John's or whichever the hip island is at the time) and live in the accessory apartment themselves during the summer so as to spend time with their grandchildren. Perhaps there would be a lot less bitching about the way the town is run if it were kids who grew up in the Block Island system that were running it? Or would that make a difference anymore? Would the paper print different stories if it were published by a BI grad? Would Block Island church attendance be higher if BI grads were leading worship services? Or would nepotism and favoritism be the order of the day?

Anyway, like I said, I was just thinking...

Leap of Faith

Hey, Block Island Blogger, you thought it was scary posting something that was controversial and not knowing if your anonymity was still intact? Try knowing that you have no anonymity and still going ahead and publishing something personal and hoping that it's not your biggest mistake yet. After all, I don't really know who's reading this...

I grew up in a nice middle class, suburban white neighborhood in the mid-west in the 70's and 80's. Come on, how Ozzie and Harriet can you possibly get? So, yeah, I had nice things and went to a great school and have an aunt and uncle who I love more than life itself and a cousin more like a sister and other cousins I've always looked up to. But I was also raised in a house with mental illness. Not my own, although I know many who might take me to task for that. This mental illness went undiagnosed for twenty some-odd years and only then because the particular state of incarceration required it. This mental illness was untreated, unacknowledged (is that a word? It doesn't sound right) and generally swept under the rug. In the 70's and 80's, teachers, police, health professionals, etc., weren't required to report suspected abuse. And people like me who grew up not knowing anything different didn't know that there were people I could ask for help and places I could go. So I ran away. A lot. Not from home. From life. I was outgoing and social and one heck of a drama geek...but I never stood up for myself, let people walk all over me and spent a lot of time hiding under my bed and behind buildings and such. Eventually I moved away from home; slowly and painfully becoming aware that maybe that was not how life was supposed to be but not knowing how to make the leap from major party girl to girl who loves life.

I came to Block Island because I was looking for the next place to run away from my problems. I had no intention of staying here for any length of time. I fell in with the "wrong" crowd - a group of affable but extremely screwed up people who seemed, at least at the time, unable to make the distinction that "nice" is different than "good". And I was treated badly. But I also realize that I allowed myself to be. Nor did I show these people who I considered to be my friends (at the time I didn't really know better) the respect I should have by standing up for myself and saying "No, this isn't acceptable" or apologizing for my thoughtlessness or generally being the kind of person I'd like to be, irregardless of their behavior toward me. But I'm veering from my original tangent--be the ball, warbler.

I got stuck here - for lack of a catchier phrase. I didn't choose to stay here. I drifted and got stuck and then I met somebody who thought I could move mountains. So, for them, I did. I became responsible. I learned to cook. (and cook I can!)I paid my bills and took out loans and kept my cars in running order. I own property and make dentist appointments and wipe poopy butts and teach my daughter how to pluck her eyebrows and hope to God I don't have to teach her to drive because I can't guarantee she'll live past the first lesson. And somewhere in there, I learned that terrible things happen to good people. And the only thing that really matters is whether you're going to stay down after the hit, or get back up and put your chin back out.

When you live on a tiny island accessible only by boat or plane, it becomes a big production to quietly run away. So you don't. You stay. You deal. You break down. You go to lunch at the Mohegan with a sympathetic friend. You start web pages and blogs and you pine for home, but you also realize that without this little tiny rock stuck off the coast in sometimes punishing waters, you would not know what it's like to be needed, wanted, loved and adored. You would not know what it's like to feel new life move inside of you or experience the incredible swelling pride that paying off that delinquent student loan for that degree you don't use has given you.

So, Block Island, for all the bitching I've done, here's a really big thank you for all the gratitude I forgot to express.

Thank you.

Poetry From The Upper Lower Not Quite Middle Class

An Homage to Boredom

Oh, ennui
You are so...