The Power of Presence
Last month, I finished listening to the audio book Hillbilly Elegy: A Memoir of a Family and Culture in Crisis,
by J. D. Vance. The reason I bought the book is because it is the next
one for my white, privileged, suburban, book club. I had no idea what
it was going to entail, let alone how moved I would be.
Yes, it is about the author's experience growing up in Middletown, Ohio and the "hillbilly justice" and other Appalachian values that helped shape--and confuse--who he is today: a graduate of Yale Law School, a U.S. Marine, a husband to the daughter of Indian immigrants, and a best-selling author.
There is something about this book (and maybe partly hearing it read by the author) that makes it impossible to either ignore his experience or, interestingly, to too quickly judge it. While part of me was disgusted at his living conditions and surroundings, the neglect and abuse he endured, and the commonality of rage in which he marinated for his childhood, I was very aware that he did not harbor resentment. In fact, he credited much of his success to those values and conditions, or at least his overcoming them as obstacles.
He asks himself how we as a society can look at his experiences--all of it--and draw conclusions about how to help children in those environments. He strongly believes that his ability to leave and thrive outside this culture was due entirely to the role models of extended family, present and supportive grandparents, and a loving sister-turned-mother-figure. And, it makes sense that he concludes as much. He saw others who did not escape as not having these things.
I do not come from a family of hillbillies. I come from a family of highly educated, white, New Yorkers. My maternal grandparents are from Germany and they were quite present in my upbringing. They were stern and serious and loathed luxury and waste and anything that was not hard work. I was shamed by them for being proud and being chubby. But, even when they did that to me, I knew that they were wrong. I longed for nurturing grandparents, but I never bought into the crazy strict depression-era nonsense. I was taught the critical importance of working hard at noble work, at being respectful and honest, and of advocating for self and others. But, I learned this from my parents. My dad was a work-aholic where work was noble, and my mother a compassion-aholic. But, my dad always came home for dinner and my mom always held us accountable.
Now, I live in the suburbs of Denver, Colorado with my high school sweetheart to whom I have been married for almost 20 years. We have three boys who are perfectly healthy, sweet, smart, men-in-training. We chose where we live based on the reputation of the schools and we beat to death the importance of lifelong education (both formal and informal). We have dinner at 6 every night, which is almost always prepared by me. We have strict bedtimes that coincide with what is recommended by the AAP. We run a tight ship. But, my kids do misbehave, are addicted to technology, and have their normal ups and downs. They are beginner humans and act accordingly.
My kids' friends are children who look the same as mine for the most part and come from not only similar income brackets but the same exact neighborhood--many with the same exact house model as we have. On paper, they look the same. But, so many come to our house and comment in awe at the regular and home-cooked meals, or the dad who is always home working on a project for and with the family, or the mom who won't allow an ipad or a tv or a phone in the bedroom. They long for this type of structure and presence. Sure, being a helicopter parent is not good and can be extremely harmful. But, something needs to be said for the high expectations, the means and time to support your kids, and the commitment to do just that. Being present means more than going through the motions of soccer practice and letting your son tell you a story while you are checking fantasy football stats and pinterest on your phone. It means consistently and mindfully engaging with each child, each day, seeing his world through his eyes and helping him navigate whatever his obstacles might be.
I don't think we should be asking how JD Vance succeeded given where he lived. I think we should focus on how and why Mamaw and Papaw kept at it, didn't give up, and were committed to being supportive of JD. THAT'S what we need to clone in this world. And, not just in poor communities. Neglect and hopelessness is ripe wherever the role models are absent.
Yes, it is about the author's experience growing up in Middletown, Ohio and the "hillbilly justice" and other Appalachian values that helped shape--and confuse--who he is today: a graduate of Yale Law School, a U.S. Marine, a husband to the daughter of Indian immigrants, and a best-selling author.
There is something about this book (and maybe partly hearing it read by the author) that makes it impossible to either ignore his experience or, interestingly, to too quickly judge it. While part of me was disgusted at his living conditions and surroundings, the neglect and abuse he endured, and the commonality of rage in which he marinated for his childhood, I was very aware that he did not harbor resentment. In fact, he credited much of his success to those values and conditions, or at least his overcoming them as obstacles.
He asks himself how we as a society can look at his experiences--all of it--and draw conclusions about how to help children in those environments. He strongly believes that his ability to leave and thrive outside this culture was due entirely to the role models of extended family, present and supportive grandparents, and a loving sister-turned-mother-figure. And, it makes sense that he concludes as much. He saw others who did not escape as not having these things.
I do not come from a family of hillbillies. I come from a family of highly educated, white, New Yorkers. My maternal grandparents are from Germany and they were quite present in my upbringing. They were stern and serious and loathed luxury and waste and anything that was not hard work. I was shamed by them for being proud and being chubby. But, even when they did that to me, I knew that they were wrong. I longed for nurturing grandparents, but I never bought into the crazy strict depression-era nonsense. I was taught the critical importance of working hard at noble work, at being respectful and honest, and of advocating for self and others. But, I learned this from my parents. My dad was a work-aholic where work was noble, and my mother a compassion-aholic. But, my dad always came home for dinner and my mom always held us accountable.
Now, I live in the suburbs of Denver, Colorado with my high school sweetheart to whom I have been married for almost 20 years. We have three boys who are perfectly healthy, sweet, smart, men-in-training. We chose where we live based on the reputation of the schools and we beat to death the importance of lifelong education (both formal and informal). We have dinner at 6 every night, which is almost always prepared by me. We have strict bedtimes that coincide with what is recommended by the AAP. We run a tight ship. But, my kids do misbehave, are addicted to technology, and have their normal ups and downs. They are beginner humans and act accordingly.
My kids' friends are children who look the same as mine for the most part and come from not only similar income brackets but the same exact neighborhood--many with the same exact house model as we have. On paper, they look the same. But, so many come to our house and comment in awe at the regular and home-cooked meals, or the dad who is always home working on a project for and with the family, or the mom who won't allow an ipad or a tv or a phone in the bedroom. They long for this type of structure and presence. Sure, being a helicopter parent is not good and can be extremely harmful. But, something needs to be said for the high expectations, the means and time to support your kids, and the commitment to do just that. Being present means more than going through the motions of soccer practice and letting your son tell you a story while you are checking fantasy football stats and pinterest on your phone. It means consistently and mindfully engaging with each child, each day, seeing his world through his eyes and helping him navigate whatever his obstacles might be.
I don't think we should be asking how JD Vance succeeded given where he lived. I think we should focus on how and why Mamaw and Papaw kept at it, didn't give up, and were committed to being supportive of JD. THAT'S what we need to clone in this world. And, not just in poor communities. Neglect and hopelessness is ripe wherever the role models are absent.
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