Finding My Voice

There are people in our lives who loom so large that we lose sight of the fact that they are still mere mortals. They may be trainwreck celebrities or historical figures or parents. We admire them, loathe them, or simply find ourselves with our jaws open as they shave their own heads in front of the paparazzi.

Diane Rehm is one such person for me. Diane hosts a two-hour live call-in show on National Public Radio each weekday. Her shows are consistently topical and in-depth, with guests who are leaders in their field. The Diane Rehm Show has won a multitude of prestigious awards, including a 2010 George Foster Peabody Award. Over the ten years that I have been listening to the show, I am constantly impressed by the quality of guests, topic selection, and questions. I have discovered several of my favorite books as a result of listening to Diane's show.

I started listening to the Diane Rehm Show when I was an undergraduate student and I immediately responded to her direct interview style, the respect with which she treats her guests and callers, and the way she handles people who become too loquacious. As someone who is constantly striving to learn new things and explore that which is unfamiliar, Diane is a bit of a personal hero to me.

So imagine my intense enthusiasm when I stumbled across her book on iTunes. I immediately uploaded it and started reading (this was obviously before the advent of my 100 Days of Not Purchasing Books- of which I am on Day 11).

One of the things that draws me to biographies and memoirs is the revelation of raw humanity. Everyone wants to feel connected and I love nothing more than realizing, startled, that I can empathize with how Mary Todd Lincoln felt in that situation or that David Sedaris and I have both pretended to do a crossword puzzle while secretly seething at a stranger in a public area.

What I learned of Diane Rehm was nothing short of amazing to me. First of all, Diane started her career in radio in her thirties as a volunteer. I loved to learn this because I also discovered a volunteer position that altered the trajectory of my life. 2 years after college graduation I was frustrated and unchallenged, working at a bookstore and feeling discouraged about my professional opportunities. My mom strongly encouraged me to volunteer in order to explore potential areas of interest. A few months later, I started working with a book club for St. Louis ARC, an organization for people with developmental disabilities. I fell in love with the world that opened up to me. Now I am finishing my master's in Educational Psychology and hoping to write and work with young children with developmental disabilities. I feel a particular kinship for anyone who wanders for a little while and then discovers her life purpose.

Another element of Diane's story that makes me feel an affinity toward her is the honesty with which she addresses her struggles with anxiety. It never would have occurred to me that someone who is so poised, respected and impactful would have undergone the intense and sometimes devastating journey of managing anxiety and depression. Her ability to pursue that which she ultimately loves to do despite emotional and physiological roadblocks has a profound effect on me.

Diane Rehm is someone I have looked up to for so long that I took it for granted that she has always been confident and assertive and professionally successful. I was grateful to learn about her humanity as well.

All There Is: A StoryCorps Book of Love

One of my favorite things is to talk to people who look relatively ordinary and discover that they have a fascinating personal narrative: they have performed in the circus or survived cancer or lived in one of those Eastern European blocs with amorphous names and allegiances. Old people are especially good for this. Upon first glance, they pretty much just look old. However, once you start asking the right questions, you usually get some truly awesome stories.

My sister and I used to visit the nursing home in which my great-grandma lived when we were younger. I would play on the piano the few songs that I had mastered and the religiously inclined would shout "hallelujah!", despite the fact that the only songs I knew were standards filled with dubious double entendres like "In the Mood". A few of the residents thought we were their grandchildren. One woman mistook my sister and I with our summer haircuts as her grandsons, Patrick and Danny.

But once I got over the cringe-worthy humiliation of being an adolescent girl confused as a boy at an age where gender roles are particularly defined, once I stopped noticing the suspect smells and the occasional unfortunate open pajama backflap on an ambulatory patient, I started to listen to stories.

The one I remember vividly was told to me by a woman named Marie. Marie had been a young bride and, without options or education, spent the majority of her life trapped in an unhappy marriage. At some point she embarked on an affair with her mailman, believing herself to be madly in love with him. By the time I met Marie she was widowed and beset by Alzheimer's, a wizened woman in her nineties. She spent every afternoon at the window, waiting for the mailman who had promised to come back for her and take her away.

Now, before you get all teary-eyed and start evoking the trite emotional manipulation of a Nicholas Sparks novel, let me mention that this scenario was actually really depressing. This woman could have been so much happier had she felt that she had more options when she was younger. And there wasn't anyone reading to her the epic story of their romance: the mailman never showed.

The point is this: I would never have known this woman's tragic, fascinating story simply by looking at her. I never would have known it at all had I not been hiding from people mistaking me for their estranged grandsons.

And that's the raw beauty of StoryCorps. StoryCorps is an organization that helps people share and record the stories of their lives. According to the website, "We do this to remind one another of our shared humanity, strengthen and build the connections between people, teach the value of listening, and weave into the fabric of our culture the understanding that every life matters" (http://storycorps.org). The stories recorded on this website are in turns funny, sweet, heartbreaking, empowering, and hopeful. "All There Is" is a compilation of StoryCorps recordings illustrating the nature of love. A single story will undoubtedly evoke an entire spectrum of emotion.

I am constantly enthralled by that which makes us human. I want to understand how we form connections, how we intertwine our lives and how we impact one another. I want to know everyone's story. I want to be a better listener. I want to learn how to ask meaningful questions.

So read the book. And start talking to old people. They know more than you might think.

Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother

I can think of few books in the last couple years that have elicited as much anger and controversy as "Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother". At the beginning of last year, heated reactions to Amy Chua's parenting memoir pervaded media and bookstores. And yet I wasn't interested in reading it. I was aware that Chua apparently supported rigorous parenting, arguing that an A- is unacceptable, hours of daily instrument practice is necessary, and children are to be subjugated instead of cultivated.

Perhaps my disinterest stemmed from the fact that I was enrolled in an early childhood program that promoted a philosophy that was ideologically opposed to Chua's supposed concept. More likely, I was disinclined to read the book because I have been exposed to parents who believe their toddlers should be drilled in math and pre-literacy concepts. Two summers ago I interviewed for a job working with one-year-old twins. I had assumed it was a babysitting job but was soon informed that the infants had a full-time nanny and I would be their tutor. "I've been looking for toddler flashcards but I can't find them anywhere!" The woman said in frustration. "Maybe that's because one-year-olds can't read," I said helpfully. I didn't get the job.

I passed on Tiger Mother until a friend whose opinion I respect mentioned it as an interesting read. This time, my curiosity was piqued. I am not currently working with high pressure parents or studying early childhood philosophy. Also, I have been on an absolute memoir binge lately.

So, armed with Pirate's Booty and a Diet Coke, I read it in one sitting. And I absolutely loved it. I thought for a while about the intense and wide-ranging emotions elicited by this memoir and here's what I ultimately concluded:

People who say this is a terrible book because of Chua's parenting style are missing the point. Chua admits toward the beginning of the book that she had intended to write this as a defense of "Chinese parenting". However, as she is writing the book the unimaginable happens: Chua's youngest daughter hits puberty and goes rogue. This sets the tone for some truly epic showdowns between a strong, determined woman and her daughter, the opposition who inherited mom's tenacity and stubbornness. From my perspective, Chua writes with self-deprecating humor and a self-awareness that allows for reflection and, eventually, evolution.

I'm intrigued by her explanations and the rationale behind her strict parenting style. While it is not a philosophy to which I subscribe, I find myself agreeing with her more than I anticipated (DISCLAIMER: It is quite easy for me to debate the various parenting styles in my current childless state, as I sit in my pajamas drinking Diet Coke and writing at 10:30 on a Monday morning). Of course I have many questions about the socio-emotional impact of parenting with such high expectations. I also worry about the potential social stigma placed on children with developmental disabilities in environments with that much pressure to succeed. However, Chua's story is not a psychological study or sociological expose. It is the experience of one family. I felt that she is not necessarily defending or critiquing a particular way of life. Rather, she is telling a story of her experience as a parent: The exquisite, the sublime, and the very down & dirty. Chua is unflinchingly honest. I found myself empathizing with her even if I didn't agree with her decisions.

I recommend this book but with a caveat. Read this for what it is: one woman's harrowing journey through parenthood.