The Price of Privilege
Posted on May 12, 2013
Above: Circa 2009, Elsa and Marcos after receiving a present from their Nana — it didn’t take much to make them happy.
The other day Karan and I saw something on the news about the Dominican Republic. We saw a picture of a rainy, flooded street and it brought back a rush of memories for us both of living there. We felt wistful.
When the moment passed I said to Karan in a quiet voice “I know you miss living there.”, to which he nodded silently, and I said “Me too.”
So why do we miss a place with so many problems, problems which are as clear in our memory as everything that is good? I know my reasons, I wrote about them long ago in my post Life in High-Definition Video but I was curious what Karan’s reasons were. The first, and really only reason he gave was “People are happy.” How true.
It is a conundrum that is not unique to the Dominican Republic. The poorer the country, the less they have on average, the happier the people seem to be. I remember this as a child when I visited Haiti. The children we are all smiling, flashing their brilliant white teeth against their dark skin, playing with sticks and scrap metal. Most of the children had no shoes, dirty clothes and swollen bellies from lack of proper nutrition. As I child myself, I only saw smiling faces, children full of joy and it made me happy.
Dominicans, by contrast, have more than Haitians and it is “happiness quotient” is therefore a little lower. Within the Dominican Republic, it is the upper class, the privileged, who complain more, who dwell on the negative. But the poor, who have the greatest reasons to be unhappy, find joy in every day things from a cool breeze which relieves from the blistering midday heat, to their favorite song playing on the radio.
The United States is a far more privileged country than the Dominican Republic or any other third world country and our unhappiness reflects this. We don’t appreciate that we have running water, electricity, maintained roads, public libraries, good schools…no, we don’t even think about these things and instead complain about any glitch or bump in our day. This goes back to my theory that all Westerners should live in a third world country for at least 3 months to give them some perspective.
It just seems that, on average, the less one has, the less one needs to make one happy and by contrast, the more one has the more one needs for that same happiness. The people in poor countries do not dwell on the difficulties of their life, difficulties that in many ways they are powerless to change, instead, they celebrate the little things in their life that are good. We can all learn from this.
Me, in the hospital when I was 2 years old.
Although as American, I am privileged compared to someone in the third-world, by American standards, my upbringings were far from privileged. Yet, for the most part, it was a happy childhood. Both parents were artists, divorced, and broke. There was lots of turmoil, little money and in the mix was the problems with my legs which kept me in the hospital most of my youth. But although there are memories that are painful, there are others that shine and those are the ones I cherish. People used to say how awful it must have been to have to spend so much time in the hospital. But all I had to do was look to the left or the right and see a kid, a fellow patient, who was worse off. This perspective is not because I am so much more empathic than others, it is because I saw, literally, children who faced much greater challenges than mine and I thought to myself that I should be grateful.
My experiences continued to draw me to challenges, to people in situations far worse than mine and that is, in part, why I moved to the Dominican Republic.
In my time living in the Dominican Republic, I went from a somewhat privileged life where I had a big apartment in the central part of town. One room with air-conditioning (a real luxury there) nearly 24/7 power and water. Then times got tough and the peso lost nearly all its value, trading from 25 pesos to $1 when I moved there to 50:1. I billed in dollars so all my clients put their projects on hold which effectively took away all my income. I was pregnant with my son at the time.
I moved, out of necessity, to “que lado”, the eastern part of the capital. The house was nice but it was in a “barrio”, poor neighborhood with dirt roads and burning trash piles. My first week there the power was out for 3 days straight. When the power went out there was also no water as the pump didn’t run. I had to heave 5 gallon buckets of water out of the cistern. I was 6-months pregnant and the father was never there. I was alone in a foreign country, pregnant and vulnerable, with limited power and water, in a neighborhood I didn’t even dare to walk around.
But because I was pregnant I kept my spirits up. I wanted to bring my son into the world with joy in my heart. Life was tough and lonely there but I reminded myself that I had chosen to move to the Dominican Republic and I needed to take the good with the bad. I reminded myself once again to be grateful for what I could — the beautiful baby inside me.
My mother kissing my newborn son in the house way out in “que lado”.
I lived there for a year and a half. Ever so slowly business picked up, life got better and finally I made just enough money to move back to the center of the capital. Oh did I appreciate the little things then. Even if the power went out, there were places to go with light instead of the entire neighborhood plunged into darkness. I could walk to places…in many ways life was so much easier.
But compared to my life now, it was still very hard. Now I live in a very nice town, in a nice apartment complex with a community pool. If there are problems in apartment there is a maintenance crew who come immediately to fix it. In the Dominican Republic I had one apartment with a filtration problem and when it rained water would drip down in to the electric switches and flames would burst out. Forget about maintenance, there wasn’t even an ambulance you could count on coming if you got electroculted. I’ve come a long way.
I have always lived by the motto “Happiness is a choice” and I truly believe this. Even before my experiences overseas I have tried to seek happiness in everyday things and let go of what makes me unhappy. I consider my time in the Dominican Republic to be a gift because I never take anything good for granted anymore. I miss their simple pleasures.
Priorities Crossed
Posted on December 15, 2012
Photo above: The church where the Christmas concert was held.
In the past two days I have experienced great contrasts. Yesterday ago I heard the horror of what happened to those children, those sweet innocent children in Newtown, Connecticut. I choked back tears as I read the news, imagining it could be my own children, and then realizing it was impossible to imagine. I could only send love and sympathy.
Today was a new day, a fresh day, and my son had his Christmas concert with the Jacksonville Children’s Chorus. This was not a school holiday show but a professional show and I was excited. The show lived up to my expectations and more. As soon as the first group of kids came out to sing, I was overcome with emotion. It wasn’t until the song about peace and an end to war that I thought of those children up in heaven, then I let the tears flow, but just hearing those beautiful voices brought the emotion, one of pure joy, that these children had such potential, such spark and such dedication.
The world is beautiful and ugly. There is no perfection anywhere, but there is a question of priorities. In my small slice of this world, I like to observe and I write down these observations here, in this blog. So my latest observation is this: I think we have our priorities crossed. I spent nearly 3 years trying to have my family together in this country — a family which is law abiding and has followed all the required steps, the infinite number of steps in the complicated immigration progress. So how it is that we make the process for a foreign family member to join his/her family in the United States so complex, with multiple background checks, interviews and evidence collected, yet the process to obtain a gun is so easy. Don’t we have this backwards? Shouldn’t it be far easier for families to be together than to be able to kill them?
My son Marcos after his Christmas concert.
I know I’m simplifying things but I am just talking about my small slice of the world and it is just what I see. Today I saw beautiful children, including my own son, singing their hearts out. My husband got to see it too and I was grateful that he now has his visa, even his green card, so he can do so. But he missed many other moments, so many moments, all because of the complex process. I know, I know. There are bad people that want to come to our country and we need to protect it. I don’t want bad people here any more than any of you do. But it does not take 3 years to do a background check.
With family-based immigration, you have a U.S. citizen that is accountable for the immigrant. That immigrant can be tracked and monitored. While we may never know from any application who is good or bad, my point is that it is not that complex to keep tabs on the person who enters the U.S. via a family-based visa. The process is complex to prevent fraud but what is the real danger with fraud since a background check is always performed anyway? It is that the person may take someone’s job or even government benefits but not that they may walk into a school and kill, kill, kill.
It is a tangent I know but I just think that if we are going to make a process complex it should be to get a gun or any other weapon which could kill many people. That is what should take years, require several background checks, evidence, an interview and expensive fees. Simple as that.
Until then I will just love my family and be grateful that we are all together at last.
First Impressions
Posted on December 7, 2012
Above: Supermarket aisle in America [Source]
American roadway: the cars all seem new and the streets clean, good condition and clearly marked
Whenever I return from traveling to the Dominican Republic I always see the United States with an outside perspective — fresh eyes. My first impression is always one of amazement regarding vehicles and traffic : the condition of the cars on the road — compared to the Dominican Republic, all the cars in the U.S. seem brand new; how polite and orderly traffic is — drivers stay in their lanes, turn signals are used, road signs observed; and how the roads are well maintained — no giant holes that can take a hubcap or blow a tire. My next amazement is with supermarkets: how many products are offered, how wide the lanes are — makes you feel like dancing in them, and how polite the other shoppers are. Even though I have lived in the United States nearly my whole life, I always have these observations after being away in the Dominican Republic because the contrast is so great.
American supermarket: there is a huge selection and wide aisles
This time, however, I was not only able to observe my home country through the my own eyes as an outsider, but also through Karan’s eyes, a true outsider. Karan knows virtually nothing about the United States. He has never been here before now, not even for a visit. He knows some of its history from school because, unlike the United States which virtually nothing is taught regarding the cultures on the Asian continent, Indian schools do teach some American history. But even though he knows some of the historical figures in American history, he has no context or timeline so it is all jumbled together. For example, one time he asked me if Benjamin Franklin was a president before or after Bill Clinton.
Karan doesn’t know who Marilyn Monroe is.
His knowledge of popular culture is also very limited. He does not know who Marilyn Monroe or Elvis are, nor does he know the names of most current stars. India has a very strong popular culture, with a plethora of movies, so he tends to stay within that. His knowledge of America, therefore, is based on what I have told him and some movies. Therefore his impression of America before he arrived could be summed up in two phrases:
- most Americans change their personal relationships often
- most Americans like fast food
Neither statement is false per se, but certainly America is much more than that.
So I have watched Karan closely as I have shown him just a tiny speck of America, my neighborhood of Ponte Vedra Beach and bit of Jacksonville.
In the wealthy, waterfront part of Ponte Vedra Beach (not where I live), there are over 2000 homes valued at more than $1 million.
His first observation of Ponte Vedra Beach was how quiet it was. He has spent his whole life in third-world countries where there was constant hustle and bustle, commotion, chaos. Here it is very orderly; he said it felt like a resort. But in some ways he felt it was almost too perfect and well-behaved. He missed some of the chaos and I have to agree with him. He probably missed more than me, having grown up in it, but I have also felt that despite the comfort of being here, it is like eating a nutritious meal with no flavor — you know it is good for you but its not much fun to eat.
Part of the calm in this area of Ponte Vedra Beach is the it is not very ethnically or economically diverse. Most people (outside of us) are quite well-to-do and the majority are white. Everyone is nice and polite but there is a lack of spice.
Last weekend, however, I got to show Karan a completely different part of Northeast Florida.
I had a giant, old tube television that died while I was away. It was too big to put by the dumpster and the responsible thing was to recycle. We live right next to the county line between Duval and St. Johns County in Florida so I looked online for the closest place to recycle the television which turned out to be across town in West Jacksonville. Karan loaded up the television and we drove the 30 miles to get across town. When we got off the highway it looked like we were in the impoverished South of the picture books. The paint on all the buildings was faded, businesses were boarded up, trash was scattered and everyone we saw was black.
Rundown part of the Westside in Jacksonville.
In Ponte Vedra, to see a black person, or asian, hispanic, etc., is notable — it is that rare. But the Westside was the mirror opposite. Ironically, we didn’t fit in to either neighborhood.
So we drove to the recycle place with the giant television in the back and that is when I saw the sign: “for Duval County residents only”. “Oh no!” I thought, I can’t drive all the way down to St. Augustine with this television. I pleaded with the guy to take the television anyway but he said he couldn’t.
We drove away but I was determined to find a place we could just drop it off. We pulled into a convenience store where several guys where hanging out in front, all black, and we asked them where the nearest Goodwill drop-off was. “Whatcha got to drop off?” a guy asked with two gold teeth. “A giant television.” I said and Karan got out to show it to him. I explained that it wasn’t working right but before I could say more, several people had gathered around and there was a bidding war of who would take it off our hands, finally ending with one guy who had a van parked right there. I backed up my car and Karan helped the guy load it in the car. The guy now says “It works okay right?” and at this point, after having said over and over that there was a problem with it and being ignored, we both just decided to stay silent and let the guy figure it out. Since it did power on he could probably get it working anyways and worse case he could take it to the recycle place around the corner that wouldn’t let me drop it off. Problem solved.
We waved goodbye to the group who were happy about this unusual interracial couple who bestowed this enormous “gift” out of the blue — a woman that did not fit in their perception of white and a “black” man who was not black like they were. I’m sure they will remark on this day for sometime forward.
Just part of the massive development that is the St Johns Town Center.
We then drove across town to our next stop, the St Johns Town Center which is a massive collection of stores spread out like a small, densely packed town.
I know a lot of Americans like to shop but I am not one of them, at least not like this. I like yard sales, thrift stores, consignment shops. I like them for the prices but also for the random discovery of a true find. But the St Johns Town Center is retail consumerism at its finest and honestly, you couldn’t pay me to go there if I didn’t have to, which unfortunately I did have to that day.
My laptop was on the fritz so we brought that into the Apple store. The place was buzzing with people and salesmen walking around with iSomethings in-taking why people were in the store. It was a tech explosion. Quite a contrast from the rundown streets we were just on.
So in a few hours we visited three very different parts of this area I now call home. The one closest to Karan’s initial impression of America was our last stop at the St Johns Town Center, There he saw American commercialism in full swing.
It was just one day in America, so much more to see, so many more impressions to have.
Amor y Sabor (Love + Flavor)

Potential to Do Harm
Posted on March 1, 2013
[Photos © Eliza Alys Young, first posted on December 22, 2012]
In the days since the tragedy at Sandy Hook Elementary in Newtown, Connecticut, we have, as a country, struggled to make sense of it all. Every parent has thought of their own children on that day and are grateful they are safe. Some are grateful for something else — that it wasn’t their child who perpetrated the violence. Others pray that there is no child like Adam Lanza at their school — a ticking time bomb of potential violence.
So what do you do if you realize that your child’s classmate exhibits violent tendencies?
We do not know what happened to Adam Lanza that caused him to act so destructively but we do know that he must have been disturbed in some way to exhibit such violence. It has been said that he was mentally unstable but we will never know exactly what was going on inside. If you follow the news online then you have probably heard of, if not read, the post entitled “I am Adam Lanza’s Mother”. (I won’t link to it here because I don’t want to give it any more publicity but if you Google it you will find it right away.) The post describes the mother of a mentally ill 13 year old boy who is potentially violent. While I question the motivation of the post, whether it was more for publicity and personal gain than actually helping anyone, the fact remains that the mental health issue is unresolved and virtually unsupported in the United States.
In the interest of keeping our children safe and insuring that what happened at Sandy Hook Elementary will never happen again, we are faced with the challenge of how to identify and help the mentally ill in our society. One challenge is what I have found myself faced with: what do you do if your child’s classmate exhibits violent tendencies? How do you get that child help? How do you keep your own child safe?
This is the challenge I have found myself faced with.
Over the past couple of months, there have been a series of incidents which have led me to the conclusion that one of my son’s classmates is violent, potentially even mentally ill. The pattern of violence visible over time has caused me concern while, taken individually, each incident seems just a case of a boy acting out a bit too aggressively. Collectively, however, the incidents are troubling.
My son is in third grade and this boy who we will call Ron for the purposes of this article, is in his same class this year. He also lives in our apartment community but before this year we only saw Ron at the community pool or the bus stop. Ron and my son always had friction in their friendship; sometimes they would play together well but more often times they would fight. Typical kid stuff I thought, nothing to worry about. At least I wasn’t worried until this school year.
It began with the calls from the school that my son kept getting in trouble. Every incident involved Ron as well and their teacher said that Ron was the instigator but my son would join in. At first it was goofy boy stuff like making noise or silly jokes but then the incidents evolved to more aggressive behavior with Ron urging my son to tease another child, throw things and even hit. I was called into the school, the boys’ desks were moved farther apart, the bus driver changed their assigned seats and I avoided having them play together.
A pattern of violence began to develop including violence towards animals, lack of remorse and unwarranted aggression.
At a camping trip with Boy Scouts which both boys attended, my son was admiring a little frog with his sister. Ron came over and smashed the frog with his foot even though my son frantically yelled no. At school, once the boys were separated, the situation really darkened. Ron started demonstrating bursts of aggression towards my son such as randomly punching him, throwing pine cones or shouting expletives. These incidents always happened when Ron was less supervised such as at recess, in the hall or on the bus. My son wasn’t the only target, one day my daughter ran off the bus crying, saying that Ron had hit her and yelled bad words. When I confronted Ron he just denied it and refused to apologize.
As a parent I struggled with how to address the situation. I decided I would try to talk to Ron directly to see if he was angry with my son. So I did and he said that my son had teased him which my son denied. Regardless, there clearly was some resentment. I asked Ron to please stop hitting my son and to see if they could try to be friends. He agreed and I felt that I had made progress. Not so fast.
Later that week my son told me that he had been playing with Ron at recess and they wanted to continue the game after school. We live in the same neighborhood so I agreed he could go over to Ron’s house after he finished his homework. He was only gone 20 minutes when he burst into the house sobbing. Apparently the invitation to come over was a ruse and a group of boys from the neighborhood all ganged up on my son, hitting him with sticks and chasing him into the woods. Although Ron wasn’t the ringleader in this incident, he had lured my son there and the trap was set. My son was bruised, not seriously injured, but his spirit was crushed.
Once again I was faced with the question of what to do. Obviously my son would not play with Ron or any of those other boys again but there were no parents who witnessed the situation and the other boys stuck together blaming my son. One boy, however, who was not in the group had witnessed the incident and confirmed my son’s account of what happened. The ringleader of the incident was from a nearby neighborhood so I didn’t even know who to contact. I know Ron’s mother casually so I called her and left a message. When I talked to her I realized that Ron’s mother sees her child very differently from everyone else. I don’t know if it is denial or just not knowing but Ron’s mom sees a sweet boy who acts out now and then like all boys do. She doesn’t see the burst of anger, the pattern of violence, the need for a psychological evaluation and even intervention.
How do you tell a parent that their child might need professional help? There is no way you can.
Of course the violent tragedy at Sandy Hook has caused me to look at the incidents with Ron a little more carefully but it was just a couple of days ago, when I attended the class Christmas party, that the potential of this child to do harm really became clear to me.
I live in an affluent seaside community in North Florida, although I would consider my family to be middle-class. The community here is predominately white, but as part of a multicultural family, I have only experienced positive here: everyone is polite, respectful — it is a great place to live.
My kids go to a great public school with great teachers with a wonderful curriculum. There is just this one boy…
I got to the Christmas party early to help out. When the kids came in I looked for my son and I saw that he was crying. I asked him what was the matter and he said that Ron had punched him repeatedly at recess and in the hall. I asked him why he didn’t stay far away from him and he said he tried but Ron kept coming up to him. I then asked if the teachers did anything and he said they just told him to stay away. So I went up to his teacher to talk about the situation. She seemed at a loss as to what to do. She said she tried to keep the boys separated and that my son had to make good choices to stay away. Good advice but not a solution. In the classroom, the teacher was nervous around Ron, like he could act out at any moment. She kept trying to keep him away from my son.
During the class I had a chance to observe Ron. He was in his own world full of nervous energy with an occasional twitch. He kept seeking my son’s attention, showing him what he was doing repeatedly. Then out of the blue he came up and apologized for punching my son. While the apology was nice, it wasn’t enough. What I saw was a boy in trouble. At the very least he had some serious anger management issues to resolve. At the most he needed psychological treatment. From what I could tell from his mother, this was not going to happen anytime soon and his teacher confirmed my observation that she was not seeing the same boy we did.
We test a child’s eyes and ears but when do we evaluate their mental health?
One might say that Ron is just a bully and not mentally disturbed. After all Adam Lanza appeared like a quiet, reserved child. My concern with Ron isn’t just the anger but the randomness of it, the fact that it seems to come from no where, and then leave as quickly as it comes. One minute he is a sweet kid and the next he is angry and unrepentant.
The situation is at this point unresolved. The kids have started Christmas break so there is nothing to do now. When they return to school I will be vigilant. It is only third grade so I do not fear a violent tragedy but at the same time I do not want my son to fall victim to more violent outbursts. If I have to, I will escalate the issue for my son’s safety but the reality is the issue is much bigger than that. I am convinced that this boy is a walking time bomb. Not that he will be another Adam Lanza, I am not suggesting that, but that he has the potential to do harm. Over time, as he matures and has access to more things that can cause harm, that potential worsens.
I am talking about third grade. There is still time.
How many children are like Ron that are going to school, harboring anger that has no release? How do we identify these children before there is a tragedy? How do we help them? I have never had to ask myself this question before now and it is only by asking that I realize that at this time there is no answer.
Update:
I first wrote this post on December 22, 2012. I submitted the post to several newspapers and magazines and one local paper, The Folio Weekly, picked it up and printed it. My son was very proud of me and brought the article in to show his teacher who then showed the principal and all of a sudden I got a phone call. The principal assured me of their “no tolerance” policy of bullying and offered to switch my son to a different class. I decided to wait and see how things went now that I knew I had gotten their attention. The principal also recommended that if anything happens again to fill out their ‘bullying form’. I found it a bit ridiculous that all this information was coming to me now but I thanked her anyway and instructed my son what to do.
Things were okay for a few weeks and then there was another incident and my son dutifully filled out the form and reported it. Ron was questioned by several people and my son overheard Ron blaming him for the incident.
On the bus Ron was aggressive to my son but he ignored him. He told me about the incident after school and we agreed that it would be best to switch classes. Then my son asked to play with another boy who lives near Ron but they play well together. I said yes and my son rode his skateboard over to his house. My son’s friend has several skateboards and he wanted to try one of them so he put his skateboard by his friend’s house, near the front door, and skated around with his friend. When it was time to go, he went to get his skateboard but it was gone. While he was looking around for it frantically, Ron came over and said he knew what happened to it. He then proceeded to describe a scene where he said he saw a boy throw it into the lake and he was sure it was this boy who comes to play from another neighborhood. Ron went into detail about how he knew it must be the other boy and how the skateboard had to be in the middle of the lake by now.
When my son told me the story I was convinced that it was Ron who took the skateboard but I had no proof. The boy he blamed it on wasn’t even playing in our neighborhood that day. There wasn’t much we could do so I asked all the other kids and moms to keep a look out for the skateboard. I thought perhaps that Ron was being spiteful and had stashed the skateboard somewhere and hopefully it would magically reappear one day. I never imagined that the lake story was actually true but it was, at least part of it.
The next day I called the school and requested the class change. I also requested that the recess areas be different as that was where most of the incidents were happening. Even though it doesn’t seem fair that my son was the one to have to switch, luckily it worked out as his new class had his good friend he had been skateboarding with.
One week later, to the day, of the skateboard going missing, the mother of my son’s friend was walking her dog one morning and saw the skateboard floating in the lake. It was too far to grab but she pulled it in with a stick. It was covered in mud and gunk. It clearly had been there a week. Thankfully my husband was able to take it apart, clean and grease it and it is now good as new. Shortly after, when my son was skating around with his friends, Ron came up to him and whispered in his ear “I stole your stupid skateboard!” but he made sure no adult could hear.
The mother who was my friend on Facebook has de-friended me even though I never formally got the chance to address it with her. She will force an hello if I say it first but otherwise she has just withdrawn into her world where her kids are little angels that can do no wrong…
Then just the other day a mutual friend showed me the mom’s post on Facebook. For Ron’s birthday, she gave him…a BB gun with the comment “Coolest Mom ever.” No words.
Posted by CreativEliza
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