Back to School Blues for a Former Homeschool Family

Lately I’ve seen a lot of photos on the Internet of parents cheering and jumping for joy as their kids were packed off to start a new school year. Mom is giddy and the kids sour-faced as summer comes to an abrupt, but long-expected, halt.  Sure, they’re staged but the message comes through.

http://www.today.com/parents/moms-celebratory-back-school-dance-goes-viral-8C11041602

http://www.fox13news.com/trending/187237945-story

I used to hear parents say the same.  ‘Man, I can’t wait for school to start!  I have to get these kids out of the house and get things back to normal!’  I found it interesting.  I mean, I get it.  Kids, all kids, are loud and messy; grumpy and dirty, sometimes sick, always eating or sleeping.  But then again, they’re kids.  They can be equally funny, happy, joyous, entertaining, sweet, kind and helpful.  On the balance the good far outweighs the bad.

The way I see it, we signed on for it.  OK, maybe it was a romantic date and a glass of wine, but one way or the other, we brought them into this world and they are delights.  Not only so, they are the future.  The future of our families, our very DNA.  And they are certainly the future of our nation, our civilization, our various faiths or ideologies.

Perhaps I’m coming from a different perspective.  By way of full disclosure, we spent a lot of years home-schooling.    Some years, school was all year long, even if in lower doses. (Latin or geography in the pool, etc.)  But one reason we did it was that we knew our time with the children was ultimately short, and we wanted to make the most of all of it.  And we did, whether having class at home or visiting National Parks, every bit was a delight.

Fast forward.  One went to college, then another. And our youngest two are in public high school, a sophomore and a senior.  Mornings are no longer times of lavish breakfasts and learning/laughter around the table.  The clock is ticking, the bells waiting to ring.  The school year is not open for our exploration and delight; it is determined by the state and woe-betide anyone who runs afoul of the sanctum sanctorum of the 180 days of learning!  (Even if the last twenty or so are often spent doing remarkably little.)  Our lives belong to the state, in a sense.  Our trips can only happen when others take trips because everyone is on break together; on the approved break.

Our dining room, formerly known as class-room, is lined and packed with books and notebooks.  With old science kits and well-worn texts, as well as novels highlighted and annotated.  There are files with test papers kept for records or nostalgia.  The desktop computer once shared by four kids is sleeping; as it has for probably a full year or more.  The kids have moved on to their personal lap-tops. Perhaps the desktop dreams of those days gone by.

There are living remnants.  Our youngest still do homework under the bright lights of the dining room.  They still work on that expansive table which once housed our own kids and visiting co-op homeschool students, who were taught Latin by my well-organized and gentle bride.  (The same worn table where many holiday meals have been shared.)

Backpacks still lie about, and the two who remain at home still laugh when they aren’t stressed over AP exams or some other crisis.  We still go through food; and the older two visit and leave their mess, their empty soda cans, their laundry.

It’s still sweet.  But it changes every year.  As it should, I suppose.  But having watched the transitions, having seen our school house population shift and dwindle, I can tell you that every year when the kids go to school I am anything but joyous. I am broken and sad.  My playmates leave; as if I were the pre-school sibling, wishing I could go along, nose pressed to the window, counting the hours until their return.

 

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I walk around the yard, looking for them; for echoes, foot-prints, fleeting memories of summer delights.  In the house I sometimes walk past empty rooms; but seldom look inside at first.  It makes me miss them more.

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Every year I reflect; did I do it right?  Have we prepared them?  Did we miss something?  How could I have used the time better?

Yes, I know. It’s probably pathological.  But my point is merely that when the kids leave, Jan and I don’t celebrate.  Oh, we celebrate their growth and learning.  But we mourn just a bit every time.

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Sure, most of the photos and videos are just jokes.  Everybody, I think, misses their kids at least a little when school starts back.  But I wonder if any parent, jumping for joy as the bus pulls away, considers the chiral image of the scenario.  Will there be a day when you visit the adult kids, and as you leave they cheer? They post photos:  ‘mom and dad finally left!  We’re all so happy to get things back to normal!’  Maybe.  Kids remember.  And they know when they’re wanted, and when they aren’t.

Enjoy every minute. Celebrate the good times, the successes and joys.  Remember the hard ones.  But maybe, just maybe, it’s best not to cheer when the kids go away.  Because they’ll really go away, and go their separate ways, before you can play ‘Celebrate’ and dance your heart out.

And I suspect that if they feel welcome, it’s more likely they’ll come back to visit in years to come.

 

 

Watch for signs of depression in your teen.

This is my latest column in the SC Baptist Courier.  Teens are wonderful!  But that transition from childhood to adulthood can be so hard on them.  Please remember that they can be afflicted by depression, and watch yours carefully. And their friends!  Text follows link.

 

Wholly Healthy: Watch for signs of depression in your teen

It’s August, and that means that school is starting. Middle school and high school, in particular, are times of significant emotional challenges. Not only are students adapting to physical changes and emotional growth and maturity, the fact is that depression is a big problem for young people. In 2012, according to government statistics

http://www.childstats.gov/americaschildren/health4.asp, 11% of kids between ages of 12 and 17 had at least one major depressive episode. These episodes increase their risk of suicide and drug abuse.
All parents know that raising adolescents is a challenge. The complexities of adolescent culture are compounded by their even more complex brain chemistry. In the end it can be very difficult to sort through which behavioral changes are normal and which are pathologic and dangerous.
Because of this, it’s very important to educate yourself, and talk to your kids. And talk. And talk. If you think you’re being intrusive or invasive, that’s not necessarily bad. (In general, they want your attention more than they admit.) Young people will frequently say ‘everything is fine,’ when everything is far from fine and they are feeling sadness and despair.
It’s important to spend a lot of time with the kids. And while you do, to watch for signs of depression, like withdrawal from friends and family, loss of enjoyment of normal activities, expressions of guilt or worthlessness and increasing emotional outbursts. Be attentive to increased physical complaints such as fatigue and loss of appetite. This list just scratches the surface, so I’ve attached a link with more details. http://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/teen-depression/symptoms-causes/dxc-20164556
Furthermore, as you talk to your kids, don’t be afraid (or ashamed) to snoop. Know what they’re doing, where they are going and who their friends are. Ask who they are texting, what they’re reading, and what they’re thinking about. And don’t accept ‘oh, nothing’ as an answer. They are always thinking about something.
And since most of them seem permanently attached to a telephone, snoop there as well. There are ways to track their phones and to follow the websites they visit and the texts they send and receive. And you can simply tell them that you want access to their passwords. Odds are you’re paying for the thing anyway. This isn’t to be mean, but to be diligent. The texts and searches on their phones can be clues to their emotional struggles and also to dangers or cries for help.
Remember that even kids with loving, attentive families can spiral into dangerous depression. Don’t forget that Christians have brains and depression is a real disease of the brain, not a moral or spiritual failure. So never be afraid to discuss it with the kids, admit that it’s real and seek counseling and medication as indicated.
Your efforts might just be life-saving.

Never Stop Discovering Your Spouse

Elysa photos 007

This is my most recent Greenville News column.  Inspired, of course, by my amazing wife Jan.  All my love baby!

http://www.greenvilleonline.com/story/opinion/contributors/2016/06/05/ed-leap-never-stop-discovering-your-spouse/85286660/

June is here, and while it certainly isn’t the only month for weddings, it is a popular one. This month, many young men will have a brand new thing called a wife, and many young women a thing called a husband. Both are perplexing, and both are wonderful. As such, I have some insight to share.
Gentlemen, what you have before you after the vows are said and rings exchanged, is a woman of your very own. She has been thinking about this her whole life. In fact, she has been unconsciously (and consciously) evaluating men as husband material since she first realized that there were boys in the world other than her father and brothers. She chose you. (Don’t question it, just be glad…she knows you’re imperfect, trust me.) And what she wants is your love and devotion. She wants you to stand by her and be faithful. She needs to know you won’t run away when things get tough. She needs to know that you still think she’s amazing when her life is a hot mess and her hair won’t do anything right and she just cries for no reason. She does not expect you to figure it out or fix it, as much as you want to do that.
The great wonder is that she just wants you (you among all other men on earth!) to share life with her, hold her, protect her and get old with her. She could have had people better looking, smarter, stronger or richer and every smart husband realizes this. She wanted you to share her mind, heart and body. She probably wants to have your baby. (It’s a compliment of the highest order.) Something about you drew her in to your orbit. Observe this advice, honor her dreams, speak kindly and treat her gently, love her lavishly and you will never in this life find an ally more true or comfort more wondrous.
This beautiful thing before you is yours; and she should be your favorite hobby, best friend, greatest confidant. She will give all of that back and more. But remember what the Little Prince said: ‘You are responsible forever for what you have tamed.’
Ladies? What you have is a man, also of your very own. As a young man, he didn’t probably didn’t think about weddings or marriage as much as you did. But deep inside, he wanted it. He wanted a woman to care for. Good men like caring for things; we protect, we defend, we provide. It’s our wiring. On some level, even as you wove your spell he ‘hunted and gathered’ you. In a hilarious expression of the whole process, ‘he chased you till you caught him,’ as my wife used to say. He is sometimes slow to understand things natural to you. Like feelings. He is sometimes uncomfortable with lengthy discussions of emotions. He is fascinated by your feminine ways, tears, declarations of love and complicated rituals. He struggles with bra-straps and is confused by make-up, skin products and your many shoes. But in all his simplicity, he is far more complex than your friends (or society) lets you believe. He is in awe of you and if you are kind to him, encourage and respect him, he will do anything you ask just to make you happy.
He needs a little space sometimes. And honest to goodness, there are times when he says ‘I’m not thinking about anything,’ and is telling the absolute truth. We men go to that place sometimes, even though your multi-tasking brains can’t fathom it. Let the man have it now and then. Just a little down-time. He’ll be back.
Your husband, properly treated, will love you and the children with a devotion that comes fairly close to worship. And when he says ‘you’re beautiful,’ don’t tell him no, don’t deny it. He really believes it because you are his, and he’s amazed that you agreed to marry him in the first place.
Husbands and wives, his whole process is an incredible mystery. Two people, two complex creatures, with dreams, hopes, wounds, bad habits and all the rest come together and make, as the Bible says, ‘one flesh.’ Two humans who barely know themselves choose to know another and love them for life.
As you pass through the portal of the wedding into the new life called marriage, may you never stop discovering the unfolding, life-long wonder that is your spouse.

After Graduation, Love the Kids. Just Don’t Worship Them

Sam and Tyler K5 graduationhttp://www.greenvilleonline.com/story/opinion/contributors/2016/05/22/ed-leap-after-graduation-love-your-kids/84556782/

Graduation is upon us once more. All across the area high, schools, trade schools and colleges are releasing their eager, bright eyed students into the the next phase of their lives. My wife and I have graduated several times, and have graduated two sons. It’s an emotional, beautiful time when Pomp and Circumstance turns moms into weeping messes of mascara and tissue, and dads into great, red-eyed lumps who choke back tears and say muffled things like ‘I…I’m fo prd ov you. I lvvv you,’ sniff, sniff.

The kids are emotional but boy, are they ready. They toss those hats into the air (as parents try to grab them as keepsakes) and they head off to jobs, or to parties or sometimes to pre-loaded cars headed off for the beach. Some go to their own weddings and some go to basic training, or their first overseas deployment with the armed forces. Big stuff all around.
But as I thought about the whole process I realized that one of the great dangers of a successful society (and by any measure of the world at large or history ours qualifies), is that we are capable of investing all of our worth as parents into the activities and successes of our offspring who are now springing off on their own.

As such, we forget something very fundamental. Once the kids grow up, they can largely do what they want. Just like most of us did. But what does that mean exactly?

Well, first of all those graduates with all of their dreams, like ’I want to do forensics,’ ‘I want to be a marine biologist,’ ‘I want to be attorney general,’ etc. may or may not do those things. Their dreams are useful guiding stars at first, but most of them will change course for a variety of reasons. Thus, I am not a full-time magazine journalist as I originally intended. Nor an Air Force navigator…probably good given my tendency to get lost.

We love to brag about what our kids will do. I certainly do. They are hints of the future, and sometimes we believe their successes will somehow atone for our own shortcomings, our own failed dreams. But it’s important to step back on occasion and realize that the future may look very different from what they, and I, and all of us, think it will be for them.

Second, they may decide that the educational path we hoped for them to follow isn’t right. These days, many college majors are a poor economic bet compared to heating and air or welding. My professional friends in medicine and law are particularly stricken by this. When one says to another, ‘Tim dropped out of USC. He’s decided he wants to be a contractor,’ there’s an almost palpable tension and a pat on the shoulder. ‘Well, he may go back to school later.’ Or he may be a wildly successful contractor. Or he may just like building things more than thinking about things that don’t interest him. Who knew?

Third, they will love and marry people we didn’t expect. Just like we did. We can have all kinds of plans for betrothal and hopes that they’ll find this girl or that guy. But in the end, as Pascal said, ’the heart has reasons of which reason knows not.’

And now the hardest, dear weeping parents, and many of you know this. They will make their own mistakes. They will lose jobs and ruin relationships. They will set themselves back. They will violate, sometimes, the law of man and often the law of God. This is called being human. For Christians, it’s tough realizing your kid is a sinner too. (In the secular, world, the equivalent might be realizing your liberal family raised a Republican and you have to love them anyway. Cheer up! Prodigals do return!)
Allow me to review: the kids will study what they want, work at what they want, love whomever they want and make big mistakes. The best we can do is show the grace and love throughout all of it.

But to love them well, we have to take them off the altar. Our worth as humans cannot be wrapped up in our children. That’s a terrifying and overwhelming idolatry and it holds them to far too high a standard.

So as they get those certificates and diplomas, remember they’re humans. Hope and fear, success and struggle in dynamic tension.

And love them.

 

Show some patience in the bathroom debate

d87e8246a18b0a04b40041956e38707fhttp://www.greenvilleonline.com/story/opinion/contributors/2016/05/08/ed-leap-show-patience-bathroom-debate/83918244/

 

I have to admit, I never thought that we’d be arguing about who to allow into which restroom. And yet, men and women who identify as other genders feel oppressed that everyone isn’t flinging open the stall doors to welcome them as bathroom-mates. And those (like me) who view it all with a little suspicion are considered worse than troglodytes for failing to keep up with modern progress and diversity.
Let me say from the outset that I am believe, absolutely, there are people who have issues with gender. There are those who are born with indeterminate genitalia, some with chromosomal issues or abnormalities of the endocrine system, and still others with psychological factors which make gender assignment or identity confusing.
However, that reality doesn’t obviate other concerns. Humans have been cautious about sexual predation for a very long time. In particular, but not exclusively, we’ve been suspicious about the motives of men towards vulnerable women and children. Maybe we have some deep ancestral fear of rape and abduction by invaders or raiders. (A thing well known to our forbears within about 200 years.) Isn’t it possible, therefore, that our heightened concern about this issue is not about hatred or intolerance, but represents a well honed biological instinct? That perhaps it is part of some evolutionary, survival-based instinct to protect those who are more susceptible to predation?
This may be why so many of us don’t like the idea of letting just anyone use just any restroom, changing room or locker room. These are often isolated places that typically have no back door for escape. It seems peculiar to me that while we are endlessly cautioned that college women have a one in five chance of being sexually assaulted while in university, we are mocked for having concern about opposite sex strangers in public restrooms. While it turns out the data on college rape isn’t nearly as bleak, the general concern about sexual assault is very real and reasonable.
Even if most transgender persons out there aren’t a particular threat, couldn’t it be that our concern over men lying about their gender identity, to gain access to vulnerable women or children, might be well-placed? And by the way, women are fully capable of sexual assault as well; a quick search for ‘teacher sexual assault’ will reveal a significant number of instances in which a female teacher sexually abused a student in her charge. Equality of opportunity also means equality of suspicion, you see.
Further, we keep hearing that transgender people aren’t pedophiles. Indeed, most probably aren’t. (I like to assume the best.) But neither are most men or women. And yet, most of us recognize the wisdom that a man alone shouldn’t chaperone a camping trip of adolescent girl-scouts, or be ‘house father’ to a sorority. And ask your female friends and family if they want male chaperones for their pap-smears, or if they prefer a female. And a lone young woman might not make the best choice to guide high school boys on a long field trip involving a hotel stay. These things make sense, if only to avoid the appearance of impropriety.
In addition, it is the height of politically correct folly to assume that because one has ‘transcended’ traditional sexual roles or genetic gender that they are, by default, above reproach and incapable of evil. In fact, it is demeaning to assert this. To be accepted as part of the greater collective of society is to be seen as human, not ‘super human.’ This means one is respected, seen as valuable, but also subject to the same laws and cautions as everyone else. Ultimately, since the fairly recent mainstreaming of transgenderism, I doubt if we have enough experience or data to make definitive statements about whether or not the transgendered have any increased or decreased risk of predatory behavior. I do think we can safely assume that those who would pose as transgendered are clearly dangerous, and for most of us I believe that’s the greater fear.
So why don’t we all show some respect for one another and some patience in the face of both titanic cultural shifts and time-honored mores. Then we might come to a reasonable common ground that respects differences and protects all the vulnerable.
Or to use more a more contemporary idea, maybe both sides of the issue deserve some tolerance.

I don’t think that’s too much to ask.

Do you?

Make Time For Romance Every Day

Happy Valentine’s Day!

http://www.greenvilleonline.com/story/opinion/contributors/2016/02/13/make-time-romance-every-day/80177498/

It Doesn’t Have to be Valentine’s Day to Date Your Spouse.

My wife and I have had some wonderful Valentine’s Days in the past. I remember the first time I tried to cook for her. A friend let me borrow her apartment. I cooked steaks and had the whole romantic thing set up for Jan, with flowers and all.

When I was in residency, our hospital had a yearly February ‘Sweetheart’s Ball,’ and all of the residents would be excused from work while the faculty took over our roles in the hospital. I’ll never forget how lovely my wife looked in her black party-dress, dark curly hair down around her bare shoulders. Wow. Anyway, back to the point. We have had a lot of delightful romantic times on and around February 14. But as the Day is now upon us, I’d like to offer some advice to the young, and even old, couples out there.

First of all, romance may seem spontaneous but it requires attention and effort. Sure, there are moments of wonderful emotion that sneak up on us. But if we don’t take time with our spouses, romance can be a tough sell. For instance, men, if you ignore your honey for the entire football or deer season, a bouquet of roses at the last minute will earn you a sweet, sarcastic smile and not a lot else.

Likewise, for the ladies, a man won’t feel romantic if he isn’t appreciated throughout the year. If he feels berated and belittled, the last thing on his mind will be sweeping you off your feet or twirling you around the dance floor.

And to both men and women, make an effort! No, our love mustn’t be predicated on appearances. But for heaven’s sake, try to dress up for special times together! It’s a sign of respect. And no, guys, it doesn’t mean your nice John Deer hat. It means leave it at the house. Ladies, yes, it means perfume and lipstick and that dress you know he likes to see you wear. I may be a Neanderthal, but it’s just how things work for most of the men and women in the world.

Second, build on the basics. What I mean is, date one another! I don’t care how long you’ve been together, married or not. Schedule, intentionally and regularly, date nights or date days. This isn’t complicated. It’s about time talking, listening (attention men) and holding hands. Some of our absolutely best dates have involved a quick snack of appetizers and a much needed trip to the grocery store. Freezer section flirting is the best!

I don’t know how many times we’ve wandered the romantic aisles of Lowe’s, looking at things we’d like to have in the house someday, or talking about repairs we need to make. Heck, my Jan loves yard work and a trip through the riding mowers is as good as a walk through the jewelry store. (Take that boys!)

Third, grow and stay active together. Find a hobby or activity you love, or you can agree on, and make it a date. It may be biking or fishing, taking an art class or volunteering for the church or a service organization. It might be fixing up the house or cleaning the attic. But do it together and talk. A lot. Couples thrive on communication, so never forget that. We’ve found, over the years, that movies may be fun but that afterward, we didn’t have any time to talk. Couples need to decompress, process, discuss and dream. They need to talk about what the kids are doing, and on some dates, need to make a vow not to talk about the kids at all, but only one another.

These days Jan and I have ‘workout dates.’ We go to the gym, work hard to stay fit (for ourselves and one another), then get lunch afterward. Believe it or not, if you eat properly, it isn’t as silly as it sounds. Ice cream and cake after workouts aren’t the same, by the way. (OK, maybe every fifth or sixth.)

It’s a time of red-roses and chocolate candy, dinners by candle and champagne; but mostly in theory. For much of the world, Valentine’s Day will be an exhausted kiss after the children are bathed and in bed, or holding hands during night-time prayers.

Fortunately, romantic dates come in many varieties all through the year. Just be sure that however you do it, you do it with the singular goal of loving your spouse better with every passing day.

Don’t Freak Out! Be Calm in 2016…

Here is my column in this week’s Greenville News.  Enjoy!  (And call your grandparents…they love you.)

http://www.greenvilleonline.com/story/opinion/contributors/2016/01/10/dont-freak-out-calm-2016/78362386/

A common theme in the emergency department is this one: ‘Doc, I freaked out and came straight to the ER!’ I wish I knew how many times someone has said something similar to me. ‘The baby had a fever so I freaked out.’ ‘I fell and got a big bruise and I was afraid I had a blood clot so I freaked out.’ ‘I saw a spider on my leg and I freaked out so here I am!’

I’ve wondered about this for a while now. I have a theory. I believe that some of the freaking out that leads people to the ER results from the absence of sufficient grandmothers and grandfathers. It isn’t that those dear folks aren’t out there doing their best. It’s that families are often mobile or broken, disconnected from all roots. So the collective calm and wisdom of the ages, often found in grandparents, is often difficult to obtain.

I remember any number of my childhood injuries consoled, bandaged and painted with Merthiolate by my grandmothers. What I don’t remember is anyone freaking out. Not even when I nearly impaled my foot on a makeshift spear whittled from a broom handle.

In addition to ‘the grandparent’ issue, we really don’t do a good job of teaching young people about sickness, injury or even health outside of birth-control; even though life involves far more than reproduction.

The medical world of freaking out, however, is a microcosm of a greater problem. We seem to be a nation that ‘freaks out.’ We freak out over weather, politics, culture, relationships, celebrities and whether or not our own social media posts or pictures are getting enough traction. We freak out when life is difficult and we freak out when we’re bored because life is so good. And when we freak out, we go looking for someone to keep us calm, cover our wounds and give us hope.

Maybe we freak out simply because we watch too much television, where every medical event is a screaming, chaotic blood-fest. Or it could be that we spend too much time on the Internet, where every insect bite is deadly and every bit of swelling is (of course) the sure-path to cancer. Sometimes we freak out because of what we put in our minds. A patient once told me, in tears, that he thought about death all day. It turns out his television viewing exclusively involved shows about murder.

On the other hand, perhaps it’s more than being educated (by school or grandma) about all the the things which should make us ‘freak out’ or not. Maybe it’s a matter of how to deal with anxiety and uncertainty in general. I have observed over the years that children from chaotic home-lives are much more anxious when we have to stitch their wounds, start IV’s, give them injections or any other stressful, frightening procedure. Those who come from homes filled with consistency and calm can often be managed with simple reassurance. It could be that calm was the most important salve applied by grandmothers.

I believe in preparing for crises. I became a physician in large part because I didn’t want to be powerless in the face of medical emergencies. I say we teach young people as much as we can to prepare them for life’s troubles, whether they involve open wounds or flat tires. Knowledge is power, as they say.

But I believe we can help the ‘freak out’ crisis with two other things. The first is by keeping families connected and involved, so that the young can see how adults handle stress. It’s important to model this for our kids, well into their 20s.

The second, however, is a little harder. I believe that everyone needs a belief system to bear them through hard times. As modern, technological and scientific as we have become, we have yet to escape our deep need for hope and meaning, for transcendence in the face of trouble. And yep, I’ll say it; for a God who will calm the storm or calm us in the storm and be waiting on the other side of it, in this life or the next.

Life is hard and scary. But there’s way too much freaking out. And with the right application of grandma, knowledge and God above, maybe we can spend 2016 with just a little less freaking out and a little more hope.

 

Happy Veteran’s Day, Pop

Happy Veteran’s Day Dad!

 

first cav

I want to take a minute and honor my dad, the Rev. Keith Leap.  I have a pretty keen memory, and it reaches far into my past.  So one of my earliest memories is of my dad taking me fishing the day before he shipped out to Vietnam.  Dad was a company clerk with the 1st Cavalry Division, Airmobile.  He was in country in 1968.  There, he was in constant peril from small arms fire, rocket and mortar attacks and all the other endless ways that a war zone can end one’s life.  He was young, and thin as a rail. I can see the photos in my mind, although I don’t have any of them. But what I remember vividly is that day fishing at Twin Lakes in Huntington, WV.  I seem to recall that it was foggy, and that because I was three, most of our fishing consisted of me dropping a line into the grassy shallows next to our feet.  We never caught anything. We’re both, quite frankly, pretty abysmal outdoorsmen.  But he took the time before leaving.  That sticks. When he returned, thank God, he was posted at Fort Monroe in Hampton, VA.  We lived there a time and I loved the military feel of the place.  I remember the commissary, where there were dioramas of POWs in fake grass huts over the freezer section.  And I remember the PX, where (in that time in history) a boy could find the coolest toy guns ever, from toy belt fed machine guns to toy bazookas.  We took our guns seriously back then! I had a little uniform, with a 1st Cavalry unit patch and my name.  It was the old olive drab, and I had a helmet and a wood and steel bolt-action toy rifle with a real fake bullet in the breach.  I was the baddest of the bad!  But only because I was trying to emulate my hero. I have had an adventurous life.  I have flown to car crash scenes in a medical helicopter.  I have opened the chests of those with wounds to the heart. I have traveled the world, and I have been a consultant on WMD for the DoD.  I have married and loved a dream of a woman, and raised four children to be his grandchildren.  And yet, so much of my adventure was my attempt to equal my father’s courage and service. I was in the Air National Guard for a number of years.  I was a flight surgeon, in fact, with an F-16 squadron in Indiana.  And on the night that Desert Storm began, I was rocking babies in the nursery, an intern desperately frustrated that there was an honest to God war and I couldn’t be there.  Not that war is good.  But a man wants to match his father.  When veterans stand in church, I am always a little slow to stand.  My service cost me so little.  His could well have cost his life.  That’s why we went fishing that misty WV morning, a day so full of  import that a boy little more than a toddler still remembers it at 51. Dad ultimately became a much beloved pastor, now retired.  War did not end for him, it just became the war for the soul of man, the war eternal, of which our temporal and frequent outbreaks of international blood-letting are merely the consequence.  And for that I honor him as well.  Having been a church attending Christian for most of my adult life, I suspect that enemy fire is easier to bear than the bitter attitudes, stubbornness and outright cruelty that can emanate from so-called Christian church members. So here’s to you, Pop.  Happy Veteran’s Day. Veteran of war, veteran of fatherhood, faithful husband, committed pastor and longtime lover of Foghorn Leghorn. I say, I say, I say, You da’ man! Love you, Ed

Learning to Love Freedom

I have to admit that I’ve become a bit of a freedom junkie.  As a native West Virginian, there’s this desire, deep inside, to be unfettered.  When I was a child I expressed it by wandering all day long through the hills and valleys around my home.  No phone, of course, and no radio.  No way to contact, or be contacted by, anyone else.  I remember being about 13 or 14 when my dad let me go off into the woods with my single-barreled shotgun to hunt.  I never shot anything.  But I was free.

Later I was encumbered in some ways by college, medical school and residency.  But when my wife and I moved to South Carolina, and ended up in our rural, hilltop log-house, I rediscovered the deep inner peace of freedom.  Our family roams at will through the woods around our home, the state forest across the road.  On July 4th and New Year’s Eve we set off fireworks as long as we want.  On Halloween our bon-fire roars high as the tree-tops.

We throw clay-pigeons over the back yard and shoot them; we have lost untold arrows in the woods, and have behaved like barbarians for years, simply for the joy of doing what we wanted to do.  Our five dogs and three cats collude in our freedom, and have furry smiles as we sling dinner scraps over the back deck into their un-caged, happy mouths.

In 2005, my wife and I discovered a kind of liberty that we had never imagined.  We began to homeschool.  That adventure liberated us from the constraints of state-determined schedules, curricula and ideology.  It allowed us delicious, lavish time together, whether the kids were playing in the pool while rehearsing Latin declensions with my wife, or traveling to the Grand Canyon during the off-season.  We were unencumbered, and while the children learned much and learned well, we had precious little oversight to pester or constrain our wild, free time together, when we rolled about in our fragrant love for one another.  If we had known how it would be all along, we would have started homeschooling much earlier.

Two years ago, I found more freedom.  I took the plunge, left my partnership of 20 years and Jan and I started a small corporation, LeapMedicine.  I began working as an independent contractor.  I worked where, and when, I wanted.  I still do.  If I don’t want to work a holiday, I don’t.  If I want to work, I do.  If I work a shift and don’t like it, I don’t go back once my committed shifts are over.

There are costs to freedom.   It’s magnificent but unpredictable.  The cost of owning a business is sometimes daunting in America today, although I wish I had done it sooner.  There are others.  We recently tried to refinance our mortgage.  We discovered, to our chagrin, that large companies want people in communities of boxes.  You can refinance a house in a subdivision.  But a log house on a hilltop is unnerving to banks and lenders.  It isn’t the same as everyone else.  It’s less predictable, and understandably.  It may not sell.  Only so many people are comfortable away from the crowd, away from the comfort of commonality.

Indeed, we are nationally obsessed with being members of a herd.  Ask a kid in school if it’s OK to be different, the way every kid book with a quirky penguin and a sad skunk says it is.  It isn’t.  There’s a price, and it’s paid in bullying or marginalization.  Maybe it’s good training, because the same dynamic certainly exists in the world of adults.  Try saying the wrong thing, wearing the wrong emblem, believing in something unpopular, standing for a viewpoint on principle not popularity.

Bullying just takes different forms; like social media campaigns, or lawsuits.  Being marginalized means ridicule by a professor, lack of promotion by a boss, firing by a corporation.  America, the land of the free, doesn’t really like freedom these days.  Freedom means you might hurt someone’s feelings, crush their fragile self-esteem, say something shocking.  Freedom of ideas is a beautiful dream, but the kids on the adult playground of modern thought are like the bullies from our childhood, dressed up in suits, with law degrees and political offices; and with the same fragile sense of self the old bullies had.  But they have more power to punish the free, more power to torment the outlier.  Fortunately, truly free people relish their freedom so much that they become hardened to the ways of bullies and go on living in joy and liberty.

I set out to write this as an homage to homeschooling.  But as so often happens, I discovered that homeschooling, and even business ownership, are merely some of the sweet fruits of an attitude, of a decision, to be free.  It was what made America, once upon a time, a great country.  It’s what real Americans long for, live for and are willing to defend and die to preserve.

I hope that my children, and their children and all the rest can remain free.  I hope that they can thumb their collective noses at those who silence, subjugate, manipulate and ridicule those who just want to live and be left alone.  I hope they take their children on trips and walk away from unnecessary constraints.  I hope that they forge new ways to be free and remake this nation.

Freedom.  Take every step necessary to preserve yours, and your children’s.  Because once it is surrendered it does not return easily.

And once enjoyed, perhaps the most addictive thing in all the world.

The Best Way to Learn Tolerance? Raise a Teenager.

Here’s my latest at the Huffington Post!

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/edwin-leap-md/the-best-way-to-learn-tolerance-raise-a-teenager_b_6149546.html

 

If you want to understand tolerance, it’s helpful to have teenagers. I have four of them. Four wonderful, brilliant, engaging creatures brought to this earth by their mother and me. They are entertaining, they are well-read, they are courteous and insightful. And they are each, at times, surly, self-centered, lazy and stubborn. (You know; like every human ever born on this earth.)

I would give my life for any one of my children if they needed. I would stop a bullet, stand in front of a train or give them a kidney. I believe I’ve already demonstrated my love by watching ‘ironic’ sit-comes with them for hours on end.

But sometimes, well sometimes, they drive me absolutely crazy. And never more than when they think they know everything. Which is pretty much every, single day. It’s a huge conflict because their mother and I, in fact, know everything.

Not a week goes by that they do not remind their parents about another social injustice in the treatment of women or minorities, another philosophical quandary (are chickens sentient and if so, what about factory farming?) or the latest research suggesting video games are good for mind, body and soul (and give you a shiny coat as well). They quote statistics on global climate change, they argue with one another about licensing parenthood. And they seem to go out of their way to pick ‘hot-button’ topics to challenge the apparently irrelevant education and moral authority of their parents. In our house, ‘because I said so’ is a long lost trump-card.

This is particularly interesting because my wife and I are what you might call ‘conservative.’ Or what others would no doubt call ‘right-wing, Bible-thumping, Southern nut-jobs.’ In the colloquial, that is. And it’s even more interesting because our children were home-schooled. (I know! Can you believe it?)

Our children were raised in the Baptist church, in the sultry, Confederate Flag waving ‘Buckle of the Bible Belt’ (where damned progressives would go for eternal torment if they believed in such things). Our four kids, stewed for years in all things Southern, are each deeply concerned about their pet causes, among which are included social justice, renewable energy, global climate change, animal rights, fairness, equality, racism and feminism.

So as you might guess, we disagree on certain issues from time to time. But here’s the remarkable thing. Their mother and I may not always share their opinions, but we don’t love them one iota less. Nor do they love us less! Dinner conversations are always fascinating. We all learn from one another. They lift their Baby Boomer parents to new ways of viewing old problems. And hopefully (can you hear me Lord?) we anchor them in traditions and truths that have remained relevant for thousands of years and hundreds of generations of their ancestors.

I am so proud of them. I see in their eyes, and hear in their passionate words, the fire I first saw in their mother when we met in college. Their mother, who still has a t-shirt from the first Earth Day, and who was aggrieved to be born too late for Woodstock. Their mother who learned to tolerate a staid, gun-loving, tradition following Republican, who became their father. I became more like her and she became more like me. We ‘tolerated’ each other so well we ended up with four children in about seven years. And they’re like both of us. We all tolerate one another in abject, breathless, unquestioning love.

This is how it works. We can banter about the word ‘tolerance’ if we want. But it’s too easily a weapon of suppression. Tolerance is the word we now use to say ‘you have to agree with my views.’ However, as one sees with teenagers, tolerance in truth means to disagree, but to respect. And in it’s highest, most beautiful incarnation, to disagree and yet love.

We all change over time. I don’t know exactly how my kids will end up; where they will lie in the political, moral and spiritual spectrum of the future. But I know that even when we disagree, I’m proud of the people they have become through this wonderful mixture of reading, listening, arguing and discussing. (And no small amount of parental prayer.)

The thing is, if a bunch of rural home-schooled kids can grow into the kind of people who can endure the views of their parents without screaming, and if those parents can face the emotional and intellectual wanderings and pilgrimages of their children without shipping them off to boarding school, then there’s hope for a world of tolerance. As long as we understand that tolerance doesn’t have to mean agreement. But it does have to mean love.