Something that learned from working with incarcerated people.
In prisons, custody officers, prison staff, and outside contractors such as myself aren't allowed to touch incarcerated people other than handshakes. Incarcerated people aren't allowed to touch each other in most cases, too. Some of this is for reasons that make sense (reducing sexual and physical violence), but it's damaging. What do you think it does to you if your love language is touch and you're incarcerated for years? How do you think it would effect you if every time you went to put your arm around someone or hug them, it was met with being screamed at or punished in other ways?
The thing I learned from incarcerated people is that there are a thousand ways to shake someone's hand. There has been so much meaningful communication exchanged through just a handshake. Holding onto my hand for just a moment longer than normal, enfolding my entire hand in both of theirs to shake it as a symbolic way of giving me a hug, squeezing my hand a few times, the list can go on.
When it's the only type of touch a human being is allowed for sometimes 16 years, people will pour their absolute soul into that one method of communication that people outside of the gate do as a just a passing formality. In prison love is exchanged through handshakes.
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one of the things about being an educator is that you hear what parents want their kids to be able to do a lot. they want their kid to be an astronaut or a ballerina or a politician. they want them to get off that damn phone. be better about socializing. stop spending so much time indoors. learn to control their own temper. to just "fucking listen", which means to be obedient.
one of the things i learned in my pedagogy classes is that it's almost always easier to roleplay how you want someone to act. it's almost always easier to explain why a rule exists, rather than simply setting the rule and demanding adherence.
i want my kids to be kind. i want them to ask me what book they should read next, and i want to read that book with them so we can discuss it. i want my kid to be able to tell me hey that hurt my feelings without worrying i'll punish them. i want my kid to be proud of small things and come running up to me to tell me about them. i want them to say "nah, i get why this rule exists, but i get to hate it" and know that i don't need them to be grateful-for-the-roof-overhead while washing the dishes. i want them to teach me things. i want them to say - this isn't safe. i'm calling my mom and getting out of this. i want them to hear me apologize when i do fuck up; and i want them to want to come home.
the other day a parent was telling me she didn't understand why her kid "just got so angry." this woman had flown off the handle at me.
my dad - traditional catholic that he is - resents my sentiment of "gentle parenting". he says they'll grow up spoiled, horrible, pretentious. granola, he spits.
i am going to be kind to them. i am going to set the example, i think. and whatever they choose become in the meantime - i'm going to love them for it.
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could you write something about simon cuddling a stuffed animal for his kid? like the kid leaves the room and doesn’t take the stuffie and gives it to him so it doesn’t get lonely and absolutely refuses to let him set the stuffie on the couch
“you have to hold him, daddy. he’ll be sad if you don’t”
i love the idea of big tough men holding small stuffed animals (bonus points if it’s a dog or a bear) -tea 🍵
ghost + your son's teddy bear
When Simon is home, he's always the one to put the kids to bed.
It's the most one-on-one time he gets with them.
First, your daughter. She's nearly two now. He will sit with her in a chair and just hold her for a bit until her squirming fades, her little cheek turning slack against his chest. "Look at you, dove. Ready for your bed." A kiss to her little hand, a kiss to her cheek. And he'll carefully transfer her into the crib.
Then, your son. You witness some of their nightly routine. Simon will lean against the bathroom door to watch him brush his teeth. "Don't forget to rinse, kid." He will let him pick out the night's attire, supervising as he practices dressing by himself (offers help where needed).
That's all you see of it. Once your son's in bed, you give them their alone time.
But one night, you're tidying up in the living room when you hear quiet murmurs. The door to your son's bedroom left ajar.
"Daddy, my bear gets sad when you leave." Soft, sleepy.
And then a gruff, "Does he now?"
"Mm. He misses your stories."
"Got to tell him your own stories fo' me, bug."
You don't mean to listen, but it's hard not to, a soft smile touching your lips. Curiously, you drift closer to the door.
"Daddy, you're big like a bear."
"Am I?"
A hum, a little giggle. "You're the dad bear. My teddy is the baby."
"Another one now, huh? Can barely handle you and your sister."
More sleepy giggles, but then there's the gentlest of yawns.
"Alright, kid. Time to close your eyes."
And what you don't see is the firm kiss planted on your son's forehead. All you hear: a quiet whine.
"Wait. You have to kiss teddy, too."
"Right,” Simon mumbles. “Give him 'ere."
You peak in just when the bear makes it to Simon’s hands. The behemoth of a man dips his head to give a kiss to the stuffed animal, just as he did to your son. Your heart flutters.
A languid pause.
"Daddy?"
"Yeah?"
"You've got to take my bear with you when you leave," your son whispers. "Or else he will get really, really sad."
Your heart clenches. Teeth grazing your cheek.
You hear your husband's low voice, "Want me to?"
"Yeah, he's your baby now, 'member? You have to tell him stories," your son demands in a sleepy daze. "And give him hugs. Like you do with me, okay?"
"Alright, bug, I'll take 'im."
And the next time Simon is deployed, weeks later, you notice the stuffed bear tucked in his bag. What you won't see, and what Simon wouldn't admit to even you, is how the bear finds home on the cot in his dorm. Simon- Ghost when he's in the uniform- holds this bear every night he can.
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Dear college students,
I really hope that I, your spinster aunt of Tumblr, am not the first person to tell you this, but: please use your university library services. You are paying for them. They are there for you. Moreover, your professors are operating on the assumption that you will use them as necessary.
When I say "library services" I mean not only physical books that will help you with research, but the usually more extensive eBook collections ditto. Novels you've been meaning to get around to and can't afford to buy. Even (quaintly?) DVDs for your entertainment. And perhaps most significantly of all, interlibrary loan.
I'm going to reiterate interlibrary loan in its own paragraph because a student complained to me recently that publishers were "literally incentivizing piracy" by not pricing academic monographs for purchase by college students and my reaction is best summed up as: ????? Publishers typically price scholarly monographs in the pious hope of not losing money on them. Everyone complains about the ones priced at $300, and a lot of them are priced around $30-50. They are priced for purchase by libraries and specialists. And they are priced for purchase by libraries precisely so that libraries can make them accessible to college students. Anyway, use interlibrary loan, good grief.
TL;DR: the library is there for you, that is what it is for, please behave accordingly.
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