Nothing is Simple About Terrorism in Israel

Ping!

My assistant coach hit a practice grounder to the left side of the pitcher’s mound. Our shortstop shifted his weight slightly, caught the ball in his glove and tossed it up just past his shoulder. He snatched it out of the air with his bare hand and fired a throw to first. The first baseman had to stretch his glove down the foul line to make the catch but managed to keep his foot on the base. I pursed my lips slightly but kept quiet.

Ping!

Coach hit another ground ball, this time to third. The third baseman moved to his right to catch the ball backhanded with his glove, made a quick 360-degree turn as he transferred the ball to his other hand and threw the ball as hard as he could. I watched the ball sail into the outfield and decided I’d seen enough.

“Hey!” I yelled. “Everybody bring it in for a minute.”

The team jogged over to me and looked up expectantly.

“Look,” I began, “we don’t need flashy plays here. This isn’t Sportscenter; nobody’s making the Top Ten Plays or Web Gems and we don’t get any extra points for style. Just make the play.”

I heard a number of chuckles, mixed with some slight groans and an, “Aww man!” from the team.

“Seriously!” I pressed. “I want boring! Give me the most boring, straightforward plays you can make. I don’t want to see Derek Jeter throwing the ball as he jumps and spins. I want to see you field the ball cleanly, set your feet, make a solid throw to get the out, and I want to yawn!”

The players laughed as they returned to their positions to continue practicing. Continue reading “Nothing is Simple About Terrorism in Israel”

How to Talk to Kids About Life and Death

“I’m not going to lie to him,” she said, turning to me. “He should know what’s going on.”

My wife seemed to expect a different reaction from me but I wasn’t going to argue. I agreed with her; it was better for him to be told the truth. I didn’t want to cover it up and have him start wondering what we were hiding. He didn’t need every detail but he deserved enough information to understand what was happening around him.

This also wasn’t his first experience with death. Two of his mother’s relatives passed away within the last five years. He has multiple friends who have lost relatives. He was three years old when we flew to Chicago for multiple days of post-funeral gatherings for family members of ours. And that is to say nothing of the more public tragedies to which he has been a virtual witness.

“I agree with you,” I said. “He should know where we are going.” Continue reading “How to Talk to Kids About Life and Death”

Keeping Morale High During National Have Fun at Work Day

I’ve heard it said that all work and no play make Jack a dull boy.

My name may not be Jack but I’m pretty sure I know how he feels.

The world of community mental health can be a scary one at times. My coworkers and I are often bogged down in talk of DSM diagnoses, difficult behaviors and challenging family situations.1 Our clients and their families are struggling with the most serious issues, including physical aggression, hallucinations and suicidality. We have to find ways to help our clients cope with these conditions, as well as teach their family members how to encourage their children’s development. We find success at different points along the way but the high points come along a lot less frequently than any of us would like.

Believe it or not, though, I still enjoy going to work. Continue reading “Keeping Morale High During National Have Fun at Work Day”

Coffee Shop Therapy

John took a sip of his latte and leaned back in his chair, letting the warmth filter down through his body. He had had always been sensitive to the winter temperatures – he had become more so since he entered his eighties – but the frigid air outside was nothing compared to the cold he had felt lately from other people.

He watched as a young woman in turquoise yoga pants took the seat next to him. She draped her North Face over her chair and set a laptop on the table next to her coffee. She had just settled in when she stood back up and moved her belongings to a cushioned chair against the wall about twenty feet away.

I hope it wasn’t something I said, John thought to himself. Continue reading “Coffee Shop Therapy”

Eye Rolls, Curses and Puns (Oh My!)

She let out a sigh so deep I could practically see her shoulders slump, despite the wall separating our desks.

It was hardly the first time she had made such a sound. Working in an office such as ours – not to mention social work, in general – tends to have that effect on its employees. We take on the mental and emotional burdens of our patients, helping them to sort through the various circumstance they face each day. Even in the best of moments, when we are able to collaborate with our patients and other providers to carry those loads, the additional weight still empties our stores relatively quickly.

There was a slightly different tone to this sigh, though. She hadn’t gotten a call about a child being hospitalized or a parent unhappy with her family’s treatment. The phone lay still on her desk and the notifications of new emails remained silent. Her resigned exhale had nothing to do with work, in fact.

She had just heard me tell one of my jokes. Continue reading “Eye Rolls, Curses and Puns (Oh My!)”

Goodbyes Are Hard

We sat across from each other, she in her scrubs, I in my usual polo shirt and jeans. The conversation was relatively short; more substantial than a rushed hi-everyone-okay-great-see-you-next-time, but not nearly as drawn out as some of our previous interactions. I did my best to sprinkle some humor into our exchange; objectively, I’d like to think I stayed above the Mendoza line with my choices, though it’s always hard to tell with teenagers. Either way, it wasn’t exactly the time for jokes.

I like to think that I can put people at ease with barely more than a look. I have an image of myself with a warm smile and a welcoming twinkle in my eye, encouraging my clients to open up with little more than a curled lip and a relaxed brow. It might be unrealistic to think that I can help someone relax simply by being relaxed myself but I know it doesn’t hurt.

It didn’t seem to matter with her, though. Continue reading “Goodbyes Are Hard”

Not My Place

The hallway walls on the twenty-first floor were bare, showing nothing but faded paint and reinforced tinted glass. I hadn’t been to this part of the hospital in close to a year but the maintenance carts and construction tarps to the left of the elevators did not seem to have moved. It was the highest floor in the building but I had long thought that the brown and taupe evoked the image of a dungeon, rather than the penthouse.

I pressed the intercom button to announce myself to the nursing station and sat obediently in the small waiting room to be let in. My eyes lingered for a moment on the sign next to the door – “Caution Opening Door; Elopement Risk” – and I grunted. The phrase had always struck me as odd, as though the staff were concerned that the patients’ first destination if they left the unit would be a seedy Las Vegas chapel.

Her therapist entered and greeted me with a smile and a handshake. We exchanged pleasantries and she led me through a maze of hallways to the meeting room. Our patient was seated next to the table, her mother and grandmother on either side of her and her infant brother bouncing on her lap. I smiled at the family and the two other social workers in the room and made my way to a seat across the table. The baby tracked me as I sidled between the chairs, his expression of skepticism strong enough to rival any teenager’s.

Don’t worry, kid, I thought. I hate having to be here as much as you do. Continue reading “Not My Place”

Looking for Answers Before Bed

Brian couldn’t sleep.

He lay awake in bed, doing his best to ignore the episode of “Friends” airing on television, hoping to fall asleep. He was sure his daughter would make her way into the bedroom at any moment and climb into the bed, which meant he’d have to choose between staying in bed and getting assaulted all night by his toddler or move to the couch to give his daughter and his wife more space.1 His thoughts had slowed somewhat but he recognized the familiar weight that they still seemed to hold.

The day had been full of contradictions and confusion, an odd mix of positivity and borderline despair, as many days had been recently. Continue reading “Looking for Answers Before Bed”

Starting a Relationship as a Well-Meaning White Man

He sat cross-legged on top of the mattress, his back leaning against the wall behind him. Even seated, I could tell that he was tall and athletic. He hardly had the frame of a bodybuilder but his late-teenage muscles were still noticeable under his loose fitting t-shirt. His eyes followed me, expressionless, as I entered the living room and accepted his mother’s invitation to sit on the small couch opposite him. His mother sat on the other bed for our conversation – it was hardly the first home I had visited that had two beds in the living room – and began telling me about her experiences raising her son over the last few years.

I kept glancing back at the young man as his mother and I spoke. I asked him all of the usual questions – What was therapy like? What’s worked for you and what hasn’t? How do you get along with your peers at school? – and received the usual one- or two-word answers. His mother supplemented his responses, as mothers often do, but I made sure to look back at the young man frequently as I listened.

It was his life, after all. Continue reading “Starting a Relationship as a Well-Meaning White Man”

The Unintended Hospital Visit (or, How a Kia Saved My Life)

“Okay, Aaron, here’s your car,” the rental car representative said to me as he gestured toward a maroon sedan in the garage.

I wrinkled my nose a bit as I gave it a quick once-over.

“A Kia? That’s all you’ve got?”

I didn’t know much about cars when I was twenty-four (although, honestly, not much has changed in the ten years since). My knowledge could basically be summed up as, “If it works, great; if it doesn’t, find someone to fix it.”1 The one thing I did know, though, was what I had heard about brand reputations. I knew that foreign-made cars, particularly from Japan or Germany were the “best,” and that American-made cars were generally fine, though not quite as good. I couldn’t have told you exactly what the differences were between the brands or what made one “better” than the other, but I knew what I had heard.  Continue reading “The Unintended Hospital Visit (or, How a Kia Saved My Life)”

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