Mira and Her Big Brother

Grandchildren in the World

William Sundwick

When they first come into the world, they have no idea what’s in store for them. And it will be a long time before they have much influence over it.

They do, however, influence us, their elders – parents and grandparents. We love them, nurture them, are entertained by them. We raise our offspring in a spirit of optimism. They force it upon us.

Grandchildren, perhaps, even more than the immediately present and demanding children, suffuse that spirit. We must make it good for them for, surely, we have the power!

I have two grandchildren (so far). They are almost four and about 13 months. Big brother Owen is bemused by his baby sister Mira, but his primary concern seems to be to keep her from messing with his creations and toys. She is surprisingly mobile – and curious. He mainly seeks peace.

They both are driven by achievement. Mira is now taking her first steps.

She is tall, can pull herself up on most pieces of furniture in her house and her grandparents’ house. Yes, even walk without holding on. This presents an increasing threat to Owen – whose own achievement motivations require imagination, role playing, and manual dexterity. And he is aware of knowledge – he tells us as much when he says: “I’m almost four, I know lots.” He appears to be contrasting his mammoth achievement portfolio to his baby sister’s trivial level of development.

They each have their own communication styles: Mira by smiling, grasping, pointing, vocalizing (not quite words yet); Owen by his politeness (“Excuse Me!” when he wants to talk) and questions (“Why?” is the eternal question). Both seem to have an urge to share – stories, experiences, objects, food – and both seem to crave attention from adults, including their grandparents! “Play with me, grandpa!” commands Owen, and outstretched arms from Mira indicate she wants to be removed from her highchair.

As grandparents not charged with primary care for these two, we have the best of both worlds. We see them and interact regularly, but then can always send them home with their parents. We welcome them at our house, providing accommodations like training potties, highchairs, car seats, step stools, as the need arises. Plenty of books and toys at our place, too. When we babysit at their house evenings, we’ve learned to nail the bedtime routine for both – as well as feeding them dinner (and playing together). But we’re never required to spend more than a few hours devoted to their care. This is good for septuagenarians.

Even such relatively short stretches, however, remind me of the sense of foreboding we all share these days. That commitment to optimism is being increasingly challenged. What sort of world will they inherit? How much of their future misfortune will be our fault? In extreme cases, it appears that some are foregoing having children altogether. Has guilt and fear consumed them to such an extent?

It’s clear that much of Mira and Owen’s education will be focused on dealing with their own uncertain futures. What will they now need to learn? Instead of success tools, it seems they will be learning mostly survival tools! Even their parents – what will they have to look forward to in their own retirement? Will they even have a retirement? Will lifespans increase, or drastically contract? What about economic resources? Will my two grandchildren grow up conditioned to expect less? It seems the moral choice for them would be … absolutely, yes! Nobody should be allowed to have as much in their future lives as their parents had (or their grandparents). At least, that’s the way it looks from the privileged positions we find ourselves in today.

Perhaps the secret for us grandparents is to spend even more time in direct contact with our grandchildren. Then, we wouldn’t have time to think too hard about these questions. Their wonder at the world – at their own bodies, minds, and capabilities -- might consume us as much as it does them. We might discover some of their innocence. Optimism may then begin to climb out of that pit of anxiety and pessimism.

Grocery Angst

Choosing Where to Shop in Opposite of “Food Desert”

William Sundwick

Retail food shopping is very competitive  in many places these days. If you have access to a car and live inside the beltway in Northern Virginia like I do, there are many choices. No food desert here.

Indeed, there are so many choices that sometimes I make arbitrary decisions. I can easily stipulate that all the stores where I will shop must fall within a ten-mile radius. And even among those, the closest stores get the highest priority when I plan my trips. There are other factors -- quality of fresh foods, certain brand preferences, a friendly, helpful staff. But the clincher is usually that I’m not getting any younger, and gas is not getting cheaper!

I don’t mean to minimize the social/economic problem of food deserts in America. I understand that I am part of a privileged class in this country – the class of people that can afford to live in affluent neighborhoods and communities, places profitable for grocery chains to exploit. There is much competition to provide services for communities that are willing to pay. Not so much, places where there isn’t a sufficient consumer base with disposable income. Food deserts do exist, rural to be sure, and in urban neighborhoods that have not seen much gentrification of their population. Grocery angst comes not only from a plethora of choices for me, but my knowledge that many Americans don’t have those choices.

Having a car also enables far more choice. I would not be in the position of deciding which supermarket to put on my semi-weekly “medium-size” grocery trip if I had to walk or take Metro. Much less a bus. The size of my larder governs the size of the trip more than my ability to transport the goods. Not so for many – although Internet food delivery services are growing exponentially. Competition for my time is the luxury I can afford. With fewer choices, others must just make time!

Here are my choices in major supermarket chains -- arranged by proximity to my house:

·         BJs Wholesale (0.8 mi. – but, limited selections)

·         Safeway (1.2 mi. to nearest – and biggest)

·         Target (1.4 mi.)

·         Shoppers (1.5 mi.)

·         Harris Teeter (two stores to choose from, 1.7 or 1.8 mi.)

·         Giant Food (2.8 or 3.0 mi. – two stores)

·         Trader Joe’s (2.9 mi.)

·         Whole Foods Market (4.1 mi.)

·         Aldi (4.8 or 5.1 mi. – two stores)

·         Costco Wholesale (6.7 mi.)

·         Walmart Supercenter (8.4 mi.)

·         Wegmans – too far (outside my maximum 10 mi. radius)

Ranked by convenience, BJs should be at the top of my list. I could walk there if I weren’t planning on buying much. But, therein lies BJs greatest weakness – small quantities of many brands (both private and national) cannot be found in their big warehouse store! Also, I don’t have home storage capacity for huge quantities of most items, something that seems to be a BJs specialty.  Target’s grocery department, on the other hand, is developing, but so far has fewer choices and less fresh food than either the local Safeway (in the same mall) or the two Harris Teeter’s within two miles. Hence, if I must drive, the first choice for my semi-weekly trips will either be Safeway, which is a superstore by Safeway standards – virtually all amenities and brands of any competitor – or, one of the two equidistant Harris Teeter stores. It is hard to choose between Safeway and either of those Harris Teeters.

My rationale for consolidating the grocery trips, despite what many would consider extreme geographic convenience, is that I feel that competition for my time. I must include exercise, walking to garner my requisite 10,000 steps, reading and writing (Warp & Woof!), frequent babysitting for my grandson, seasonal activities like yardwork and politics, occasional social interaction – and, of course, eating and sleeping. Don’t want to make lots of annoying short trips to get this or that thing I forgot to put on my last grocery list. The semi-weekly model works well for my schedule and my food storage capacity. 

Neutralizing the convenience factor, I usually choose between Safeway and H-T (my elder son calls latter “The Teat”) based on other characteristics. All the staples of my regular life can be found at either chain. My wife feels that produce at Safeway is often fresher than either Harris Teeter store I frequent, but I tend to consider that evidence anecdotal. There is also no evidence that a longer trip to Trader Joe’s or Whole Foods would significantly increase that freshness probability, either. Farmers markets in the area are limited in duration (one day per week for each – hard to schedule).

Then, there are the intangibles – friendly staff, store organization, amenities. Between Safeway and the two Harris Teeters, I have to say staff friendliness and professional dedication seem equal – with a few extra points given to H-T for having more staff available in aisles restocking while I’m shopping (more opportunity to ask questions, make comments, etc.), and some humanitarian points going to Safeway for employing a couple of special needs baggers (one of whom went through elementary and middle school with my younger son in Arlington Public Schools). My interaction with staff occurs mainly at deli counters, fresh meat and seafood, or checkout, and all three stores excel in those areas.

Store organization is something you get used to in any store where you are a regular customer. However, in one of these three cases, the Harris Teeter at Lee-Harrison Center in Arlington, a recent store remodeling has caused an unnatural (for me, at least) division between upstairs and downstairs – the two-level design of the store may be basically flawed, anyway. Since that redo, this store often loses out to the other two for the semi-weekly staples trips – although its garage does have a free EV charge station!

Amenities are related to store layout and organization, but these days all major chains seem to have wi-fi, café seating area, Starbucks, salad bars, fresh bakeries, and full-service pharmacies. If I were interested (which I’m not), the Broad Street Harris Teeter in Falls Church even features a wine bar and sushi bar!

Even so, I have a small spark of curiosity to try other stores, perhaps farther afield, because I hear so much from friends and family who use them. Perhaps I should try Shoppers? They may have the large tubs of Utz pretzels that both Safeway and H-T are lax in restocking. Could be that Target carries Land-o-Lakes spread in tubs, which Safeway and Harris Teeter seem to have dropped. Trader Joe’s might be fun for snacks or frozen food.

But, it’s unlikely that I would change my regular shopping patterns for any of these reasons, unless my wife gets tired of the choices that the “big two” chains offer. When she accompanies me to any of the main three stores – relatively uncommon – I find we buy things NOT on my predetermined list. Is there a future for more boldness in my grocery choices?

Recently, I made the discovery that reduced fat peanut butter is not healthier, or lower calorie, than regular peanut butter. My research was prompted by the disappearance of all reduced fat varieties of chunky peanut butter from both Safeway and Harris Teeter shelves – this made me wonder. Indeed, the Internet provided the answer. “Reduced fat” was a scam for peanut butter, all along! I might similarly be surprised by further research into other disappearing products from my favorite store shelves. Do the major supermarket chains know best? Could be …

Fed survey -- 40% of American adults couldn't come up with emergency expense of $400, without selling something or borrowing -- see my post: "Maybe I'm Not So Great, After All?"

Maybe I’m Not So Great, After All?

Coming to Grips with Privilege

William Sundwick

“If they had to walk in my shoes." How many times have we thought this to ourselves? Even if we don’t verbalize it, we’re looking for sympathy.  Often, the burdens placed on us by real or imagined expectations and barriers seem overwhelming. We want that sympathy. Life is hard.

But, do we have a good understanding of just how hard we have it? Do we even know what it’s like to walk in our shoes? What if we stepped back far enough to see our daunting task objectively -- compared to the tasks of others?

We think life would be easier if we could claim some disability, or disadvantaged status. Something that would reduce expectations. But life really is easier when we have no disadvantages. That condition, called “privilege,” makes us special. It is not earned. It’s a gift. Since we don’t deserve it, conscience sometimes rears its head and motivates us to do something for others whom we call “special” – as compensation for their disadvantaged status.  At best, we may transition from wishing that they could “walk in my shoes” to walking in their shoes.

There are many measures of privilege. It consists of wealth, gender, race, ability. Some data:  if your annual household income is higher than $214,000, you are in the top 5% of U.S. income distribution. If your net worth (wealth) is $1M or more, you are not yet “wealthy” (you need at least $2.4 million to meet that definition now), but you are in the top 10 per cent of wealth distribution. You are financially privileged. If you are disabled, you are in a cohort that comprises 12.6% of the U.S. adult population (if you live in West Virginia, your cohort comprises nearly 20 per cent of that state’s population). You are definitely NOT privileged in this group, although the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) has made some compensation.

If educational attainment is a sign of privilege, only about a third of U.S. adults have a bachelor’s degree or higher. But, it was only 5 per cent in 1940. Men are no longer more privileged than women in that statistic (in fact, the age 25-34 cohort has appreciably more women than men with bachelor’s degrees or higher). A higher percentage of Asian-Americans than any other ethnic group have attained this level of education – and they are more likely to be in a higher household income level than other ethnic groups, too – including non-hispanic whites. Are Asian-Americans privileged?

We learn about privilege from interactions with our fellow human beings. What sort of social contact do we have with people of a different ethnic group than us? With a disabled person, if we are able-bodied? With people in a cohort either much more educated, or less educated, than us? Do we even interact socially with the opposite gender, beyond our spouses? Whatever contact we have with different demographic groups, do we know what makes them happy? Sad? Angry? (The last is, of course, the trickiest – it may be us that makes them angry!) We know what elicits those feelings in us, but can we assume the same things motivate them? And, even if we can, how easy is it to come up with those ego strokes for somebody who is clearly different from us? Beauty? Brains? Strength? What flattery can we provide – while still appearing sincere, and not obsequious?

Privilege, it seems, is a scarce commodity. If you have it, you’re inclined to hide it from others – for fear they may steal some of it. If you confront someone whom you think enjoys more privilege than you, your approach is more likely to try inflating your privilege – to seek equal footing -- and committing the error of confusing social status with privilege. Social status is self-assigned, privilege is a gift. You are born with it.

Unequal privilege positions make social interaction very difficult. Sometimes, the tension can best be resolved by simply knowing when to sigh and give up. Inequality exists, full stop. It’s always easier not to walk in somebody else’s shoes, but desire to do so can be conditioned by either competitiveness or guilt (depending on whether you want to go up, or down, in social status).

If the challenge is too intense, and continued attempts at gratification fail, one typically finds the desire to alter the status differential, “to walk in their shoes,” diminishes over time. Desire tends to dissipate if unreinforced. Privilege, since it is bestowed rather than earned, is usually immune from desire.

Need does not dissipate. We may mourn our own lost desires, but that does not diminish the needs of our fellow humans -- in our neighborhood, our country, our world -- to obtain some privileged status. Surely, exercising some of our privilege to help others should not threaten our position. If we are part of a demonstrably less privileged group, we owe it to our children, if not ourselves, to seek improvement or empowerment.

If I were great, I would take a deep breath and start focusing my attention on groups who have real needs – the truly marginalized -- rather than assuaging my conscience about my own privilege. There are venues for action – churches, community organizations, politics. So, what’s stopping me?