Becoming a parent is to experience life, the daily trials and mundane tribulations, with new poignancy.It is to experience past, present and future simultaneously, to somehow find a little sadness and a bit of nostalgia at every joyous milestone and a little fear even in victories. There is certainly a new, heightened awareness of the ephemerality of life. And with that, the urgent need to hold on, to document, to each adventure, each passing moment.
My son is only three months old. He’s so little that even that phrase, my son, sounds foreign. Yet already I have planned imaginary future conversations.
I’ve thought about time-outs during the terrible twos, about both of us blinking back tears on the first day of kindergarten, about homework and curfews, heartbreak, victory and defeat.
But today I find myself thinking about a whole other conversation, one that is much more complex. How will I teach him who he is? How will I instill a sense of culture and family history?
No doubt, many parents wonder the same. But, as President Obama shakes hands with Raul Castro, I wonder what my son will think of it.
My story is hardly unique.
I was born and raised in Miami, a place unlike any other, a city in the United States but somehow worlds apart from it. I grew up between English and Spanish, a bridge between my families’ suffering, loss and tragedy and a new life in a new world. Like many others, I inherited my family’s pain. Their sense of loss, their forever exile, is something I grew up knowing and feeling as though it were my own.
My parents’ Cuba, their parents and grandparents’ Cuba, became a place alive only in woeful memories or impassioned political arguments. It became an archetype, a place that lived in our collective unconscious, a place we knew and felt and understood because of the hurt and loss embedded deep into the core of our existence.
I wonder how to explain that, how to explain their sense of loss. I wonder too, how to explain to him my sense of loss, a sense of exile and estrangement from a place I never knew.
How do I preserve their history, their stories when even I grapple to make sense of it all? Especially as those stories become a little cloudy.
My father is gone. So are my grandparents. My mother doesn’t discuss her life there much. Some of those memories buried deep in her unconscious, the trauma too much for her to bear.
There aren’t family photos or ancestral artifacts to tell the stories of what life was like before, during and after the revolution. All those things stayed behind as families fled.
Histories were lost.
And now I rack my brain, trying to remember the good and bad, the laughter and the tears, and I try to imagine how I will share them with my son. Will I remember them? Will I do them justice? And what will he make of it all. What will he think? Will they form part of his identity? Will he listen patiently? Dismissively? Will he be curious? Will he feel Cuban? American? Both? Neither? Will he also yearn for a place that exists only in hearts and minds of a generation that is fading away?
If I lived between worlds, between languages and cultures, somehow — like the city in which I live — both American and not, what does that make him?
I don’t know.
And my parents’ Cuba, even the embellished romanticized memories, is even further away, less tangible.
Family stories, like history itself, fade away and I can only imagine how my son will see it, how he will see me, and who he will become.
Gabrielle Molina was a seventh grader in Queens, New York. Her friends and parents say that she was smart. She was ambitious and loved science. Her father said that she wanted to join the U.S. Air Force and then study law.
On May 23rd her 15 year-old sister forced open their bedroom door and found her lifeless. Gaby hanged herself. She was 12. In her suicide note she apologized to her family and said that she was bullied.
Her classmates harassed her, calling her a slut, and teased her about looks. They even posted a video on the internet showing the 5-foot tall girl getting beaten.
Cases like these have become all too common and have prompted legislative action. Governor Rick Scott signed HB 609 into law, expanding Florida’s current anti-bullying law to include “cyberbullying.”
The new law, which went into effect on July 1st, gives schools more power to intervene in cases of cyberbullying which take place outside of school. In the past, administrators’ ability to act was limited. They could only intervene if the bullying occurred on school property, or in the course of a school-sponsored program, or on a school bus.
Now if cyberbullying “substantially” interferes with or disrupts the educational process, administrators may regulate and punish it — even when it originates on a computer or device off campus.
“As an educator and legislator, I’m pleased to see that my colleagues on both sides of the aisle came together to bring this bill to law,” said Senator Dwight Bullard, D-Miami, who sponsored the bill in the upper chamber. “In our digital age and society teachers and administrators need the ability to protect our Florida gems from the unwanted attacks students receive online.”
Bullying is not new, but the far-reach of 21st century technology is. This is the age of Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr and the ever-growing world of social media — where insults and names and embarrassing moments no longer live in our memories or slam books or notes, but they have the potential to live forever in cyberspace.
And teenagers are hooked on technology and more connected than ever before. They text, they tweet, instagram, snapchat, facebook and vine. Yes, these are all verbs now. And it is almost impossible to monitor.
According to a 2012 Pew Internet Project survey, 78% of teens now have a cell phone and send an average of 60 text messages per day. About three in four (74%) teens ages 12-17 say they access the internet on cell phones, tablets, and other mobile devices.
The need to socialize among teens is nothing new. I can remember spending hours on the phone with my friends when I was a kid and passing notes in class. What teenaged girl never feared the teacher apprehending a note and reading it out loud to the class?
The notes have disappeared. But the messages have not. Teens, more acutely aware of their popularity – quantitatively measured in the number of friends, followers and/or likes received on their social media sites – and reputation than any other segment of the population, are constantly communicating and grooming their online presence.
Between classes, during lunch and any chance that they get, kids are on their phones or tablets. And with the ability to photograph and videotape just about anything, at any time, anyone can be victimized. And one mistake can live forever online.
And, very often, they do. Gone are the days when the worst thing that a bully did was steal your lunch money. With the prevalence of the internet in teenagers’ everyday lives, it may become very difficult – even next to impossible – to escape the torment.
Cyberbullies send mean text messages or emails, spread rumors on social networking sites, and send or post embarrassing pictures, videos, websites, or create fake profiles.
A bully’s torment is no longer restricted to school; it is a constant onslaught of cyberattacks that reach kids at home, and on their most precious device, their cellphone. And because quite often the attacks are posted anonymously, the origins are difficult to trace. And once something is posted online, it can be difficult – sometimes nearly impossible – to remove.
The results can be tragic, like they were in the recent case of 15 year-old Monique Griego of Maryland who committed suicide after online bullies assaulted her with messages like, “I hope you die. Go kill yourself.”
Or the case of the 15 year-old Audrie Pott, a California teen who was a member of a middle school marching band that performed at President Obama’s first inaugural parade in 2009. Who, like Rehtaeh Parsons of Canada, committed suicide after allegedly being raped and then cyber-bullied after the attacks. Having photos of themselves — during the attacks — go viral.
Or Jessica Laney, a popular 16 year-old soccer player in Pasco County, Florida who received constant anonymous messages telling her that she was fat, she was mean, no one liked her. Messages telling her that she should die. Jessica hanged herself.
These are the senseless tragedies that this new law seeks to avoid. But alone, it cannot end cyberbullying. Kids live their lives online. They are constantly connected. More than ever, it is important for parents to keep track of what their kids are doing, both in the real world and the cyberworld.
This new law can be dangerous because it could give parents a false sense of security. In most cases, school officials were already intervening in the case of bullying.
In the case of Gabrielle Molina, after the video of the fight went viral, a school counselor set up a meeting with Gabby’s parents and between the two girls. No one knew the extent of the cyberbullying, except Molina’s friends and older sister, who did not speak up until after the girl’s death. The same is true in the Griego, Pott and Laney cases. No adult in those girls’ lives knew about the cyberbullying that they endured.
Parents are a child’s best advocate. More than ever, it is important for them to know what is going on in their lives and to monitor their cellphone and Internet activity. And kids also need to know that it is important to come forward and ask for help when they or a friend are in danger.
Schools, administrators and teachers are doing everything they can to keep kids safe, but we don’t go home with them. And we cannot police kids’ ever-growing online activity outside of school. Too often, we do not discover what is going on at home, until something tragic happens.
Originally published on WLRN.com in July, 2013: http://bit.ly/1oXF5bo