Fellow suburban parents, it's time to talk to kids about appreciating what they have

From Saturday's Briefing:

If Katie takes a sliced apple to school for lunch, forgets to eat it and then throws it away at home after remembering it in her bag hours later, I'll remind her that it's like throwing out a couple of dollar bills. Organic apples are pricey, even when you buy them on sale.

If I hear Cooper chomping ice, I'll ask him to stop, citing "those $9,000 teeth." The $9,000 represents total orthodontia costs so far and doesn't include routine cleanings or recent wisdom teeth removal. And soon I'll have to call them his $10,200 teeth, as those impacted wisdom teeth caused a bit of trouble, and we're about to enter a third stage of braces.

These admonitions don't come easily, though. I often feel conflicted talking about expenses with my children. I don't want them to feel guilty for the costs associated with growing up, yet I want them to understand that most everything has a price. They need to be prepared for their own bill-paying future. They need to appreciate what they have and understand why they often don't get what they want.

It's the same kind of conflict that comes from living in our mostly affluent community. I'm thankful for access to new technology at new campuses, clean streets and responsive police. I'm grateful for the opportunities my children have in a school district that offers academic and career and technology classes that read more like college courses. I'm in awe — and even slightly embarrassed — that our football team plays games at the Dallas Cowboys' indoor practice facility. (When I'm at normal high school stadiums, I find myself wondering, "Where is the giant video board for replays?" and "Why is there no air-conditioning out here?")

We live in a modest home not far from much newer, more extravagant houses. I drive a 10-year-old minivan (keep on, trusty Odyssey!), while many of the cars around town have Bluetooth technology and touch screens.

Some families ski every spring break and spend at least a week of summer along Highway 30A in Florida — that is, when they can fit in vacations around select sports travel schedules.

I begrudge them nothing. These same families work hard, volunteer all over town, make wise decisions and share generously.

Our bubble isn't representative of the nation, though, or even our Denton County. Our community's affluence is an anomaly. Most people don't live in magazine-ready homes. Most children don't attend classes in brand-new buildings. There are school districts all around us in which the majority of students qualify for free or reduced lunch.

Not all children — despite what mine see — have access to braces. Many families would prefer to buy organic produce but simply can't justify the extra expense from their meager food budgets.

So, what is our responsibility in the middle of — or on the edges of — affluence?

At the Damm house, we're working on an awareness of both what we have and what others lack, plus responsible use of the resources we have — including donations when we can. We talk about how difficult it is to work out of poverty, and we consider historical and current policies that make life more difficult for low-income families.

When necessary, I remind my people that double reeds and private oboe lessons aren't free and that I won't replace lost or broken items that you can live without.

A few weeks ago, we were driving to meet family for dinner at Legacy West, one of the many swanky restaurant districts within 7 miles of our neighborhood. Cooper, who is months from graduating high school and moving on to college, was staring out the window and remarked, "Wherever I go to school, there probably won't be anyplace as fancy as this."

"Nope," I answered. "I'm thankful you realize that now."

Tyra Damm is a Briefing columnist. She can be reached at tyradamm@gmail.com.

Lincoln, MLK and our hope for the future

It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us -- that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion -- that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain -- that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom -- and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.

Abraham Lincoln, 1863

On Friday afternoon, a large group of young men encircled, taunted, mocked and harassed a Native American and Vietnam veteran.

Also on Friday, a group of young people sat in a circle and discussed the importance of the Gettysburg Address as well as parallel themes found in Lincoln's text and the classic novel A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L'Engle.

I'm disheartened and disgusted by the actions of those teens in Washington, D.C. -- actions that were recorded and shared millions of times. I'm praying that they each have a change of heart, that they take ownership for their individual actions in a mob setting, that the adults in their lives examine why those boys thought it was OK to display blatant racism.

It's important to remember that those young men in Washington, on a field trip from Kentucky, do not speak for all young people in the United States.

I find solace in the words of my sixth-graders, who spoke eloquently Friday about courage and freedom, faith and love, unity and civil rights. 

A student in my morning class pointed to the nonviolent leadership of Gandhi. A student in my afternoon class quoted John 3:16 as an example of sacrificial love. Students in both classes asked questions based on research, listened to one another and sometimes even disagreed, but always with civility.

These are 11- and 12-year-olds who together represent most every major world religion. Many speak a second or even third language at home. Their parents subscribe to varying worldviews. 

Yet they are able to come together with common goals -- to learn, to show what they've learned and to learn even more from one another.

My heart is heavy when I watch the video of the boys who surrounded Nathan Phillips. Yet I know that love is stronger than fear or hate or selfishness. I continue to place my faith in God, Christ and the Holy Spirit while respecting and honoring that not everyone does the same. 

I continue to pray that all of God's children acknowledge that we are not required to look alike, think alike, sound alike, pray alike or worship alike. We are called to love one another and protect one another without qualification.

My hope lies in the children who, regardless of and because of their differences, are able to share, listen and consider new points of view.

My morning class, discussing the Gettysburg Address and A Wrinkle in Time

The only normalcy that we will settle for is the normalcy that recognizes the dignity and worth of all of God’s children. The only normalcy that we will settle for is the normalcy that allows judgment to run down like waters, and righteousness like a mighty stream. The only normalcy that we will settle for is the normalcy of brotherhood, the normalcy of true peace, the normalcy of justice.

Martin Luther King Jr., 1965

I'm guided by possibility in the new year

From Saturday's Briefing:

I've never been successful with new year's resolutions. They feel so heavy, and I'm disappointed come late January, early February, when I haven't met my expectations.

Instead, I've found more peace by focusing on interim goals regardless of the calendar. Plus, every year since 2013, I've adopted a guiding word, inspired by Jon Gordon's book One Word That Will Change Your Life.

Joy. Content. Embrace. Each year the word changes, and I try to live with it as a clarifying reminder of what's most important.

As 2018 was waning, though, I was struggling to find my new word. I kept a running list, discarding more than accepting, never feeling devoted or committed to a single option.

In the midst of this silent search, I was reminded of both the miracle and fragility of life. Within just a few days, I celebrated an infant baptism and mourned an unexpected loss.

In a church sanctuary, a group of family members and friends gathered around baby Jude, praying for his future and vowing to lead by example. We sang hymns together and reaffirmed our own faith. We took turns cuddling him. We marveled at his tininess and good-naturedness. We celebrated the promise of a joyful life.

And then another group of family members and friends gathered before a casket holding the body of Kumar, giving thanks for his life. We hugged his wife and two children. We placed rose petals in his casket. We listened to loved ones recall endearing qualities — pride in his adopted United States, devotion to healthy habits, passion for education. We wept over a life cut short.

Jude and Kumar. Two souls from different centuries, from different continents, from different religions. Both pillars of light, both loved from the very beginning. One with a lifetime to explore and a community to build, the other with a journey complete and a community left behind.

How could I frame the new year to reflect my values with both Jude and Kumar in mind? I was still unsure, until New Year's Day, when I opened my new calendar and read the quote for January, from Emily Dickinson: I dwell in Possibility.

Possibility.

Of course.

Jude's options are staggering, almost overwhelming. Kumar's have already been realized.

Mine are somewhere in between.

Each day offers new possibility. Books to read, ideas to explore, prayers to voice. Recipes to try, music to sing, paths to walk. Hugs to give, laughs to share, friendship to receive.

I like to think that I don't need reminders to embrace each day as a gift, to revel in every single sunrise. And yet there are days when I spend more time worrying than being thankful, when I fall into routine without thinking, when I leave possibilities unexplored.

So for this Year of Possibility, I'm thinking of Jude and the hope he represents, and I'm thinking of Kumar and the impact he's left. I'm singing, "Early in the morning, our song shall rise to thee," and I'm envisioning red, white and pink petals scattered with respect.

How fortunate we are to embrace babies — and how fortunate we are to wake up each morning — even as we say goodbye to friends who leave too soon. Welcome, 2019, and all of your potential.

Tyra Damm is a Briefing columnist. She can be reached at tyradamm@ gmail.com.