Just a Little Respect

Because I'm a media historian and a former broadcaster, I tend to save memorabilia, especially items related to my career. I've got old top-40 surveys from the 1950s (when I first realized I wanted to be a deejay); album rock surveys I created when I became music director at my college station in late 1968; and various other items from the stations where I worked in the 1970s, 1980s, etc. And as you might expect, I have lots of memorabilia related to the 50 years that I've known Rush-- including a large collection of the newspaper and magazine reviews that rock critics gave their shows.  

Suffice it to say that most of the reviews the band got in the 70s and 80s were negative. Many critics hated Geddy's voice, thought the band was "pretentious" or "derivative," and mocked the devoted (and growing) fan base the band had. Needless to say, I was not amused by any of this. I thought the criticism was unfair, and I thought the mockery was unwarranted. (One critic, who thought he was being clever, said he'd rather have a root canal than listen to a Rush concert.) So, I frequently called up some of the critics, and though I doubt I won them over, I hope I at least mounted a good defense for why Rush mattered so much to so many fans. 

Among the folks who really disliked Rush back then were the critics at Rolling Stone, a very influential music magazine; I was told even Jann Wenner himself hated the band, and when they were eligible to be considered for the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, he was opposed and so were the judges. And so it was that year after year, Rush never got a fair hearing and never got taken seriously-- no matter how many albums they sold or how large the venues they played or how enthusiastic their fans were, the critics dismissed Rush. And over the years, I called, I wrote letters, and in the online era, I sent emails, trying to get to the decision-makers, trying to make them see that Rush deserved to be considered. (Although the Rock Hall judges were supposed to be anonymous, some of us suspected we knew who at least a few of them were.) 

Frustration set in. Alex and Geddy and Neil told me they didn't mind not being inducted, but I suspected it irritated them as much as it irritated me. (And it certainly irritated the fans.) Determined to do something, several fans-- most notably two brothers from St. Louis, Kevin and Keith Purdy, worked with me to get Rush some much-deserved recognition: we proposed them for a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. Contrary to myth, it's not an easy process, and no, not everyone gets a star. But with the cooperation of their management, we made an excellent case. And on June 25, 2010, Rush got their star on the Walk of Fame.

Perhaps you were there. I was asked by Rush's management (led by the late, great Pegi Cecconi) to give a brief talk just before they received their star. Billy Corgan of Smashing Pumpkins gave one too. It was such a wonderful day, and one that I will never forget. Neil couldn't attend (but some of his family members did). Geddy and Alex seemed genuinely moved by my little introductory speech. And Neil's friend Craig was there, taking some photos, including this one.      

In the end, a new group of Rock Hall judges came on board, and several years later, Rush DID get inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, as they should have. But for me and for the fans who had believed in Rush for so long, that star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame was our way of showing how much we loved and admired this band; and to this day, it remains a symbol of the respect we have for their music, and a sign of the seminal role Rush has played in our lives.

Knowing When to Let Go

When I was working at WMMS in Cleveland, I fell in love with a guy who was a record promoter. He was charming, a good conversationalist, and we had a lot of interests in common. Unfortunately for me, he worked in New York, in that era before the internet, before Zoom, and even before cheap long distance telephone calls. So, we were only able to call each other a few times a week; we also kept in touch by letter (I still remember hurrying to the post office to get a letter into the mail-- there was a midnight pick-up back then, and if you were lucky, your letter would get to New York in only two days). Needless to say, I was delighted when I got a new job in New York in mid-1975: it paid more money than I made at WMMS, but it also meant I could be near the guy I cared about. 

What I didn't know was that he was an alcoholic. Yes, he had told me he used to drink, but he also told me that he didn't do it much anymore, and once we were together, he wouldn't do it at all. None of this was true, as I found out the hard way. Today, I understand that alcoholism, like drug addiction, is a disease, and it's a disease of denial: few people who have it want to admit it, and so they claim they can stop at any time. Or they insist they have good reasons for doing it-- they only do it when they get lonely; or they do it because hate their job; or they do it because everyone else is doing it and they don't want to stand out. There's always some excuse, but it's never their fault. And when the addict or alcoholic makes one more promise they can't keep, or tells one more lie, or disappoints you one more time, or tells you it's somehow your fault, it's often the family members or the romantic partner who have to deal with the emotional damage.         

I can't tell you how many times he promised to change. And he did quit drinking for a while. But being with him was a roller coaster ride: some days, it was amazing, some days it was frightening, and I never knew which it would be. At its best, we had a lot of fun together-- we went to concerts, restaurants, movies, even Wrestlemania. But at its worst, it was like walking on egg shells. Something would set him off and he'd start blaming me for every problem in his life (and threatening to drink, which, of course, he said would be my fault too). I was unfamiliar with much of this. I don't drink or smoke or do drugs. I loved him, but the mood swings frightened me, and I worried that he really would go back to drinking. 

So, I began to attend Al-Anon (one of the best moves I ever made, because I learned the "3 Cs": you didn't cause his disease, you can't cure his disease, you can't control his disease. In other words, no matter what he says, his commitment to his sobriety is up to him. If he's not ready, you can't make him quit. And if he chooses not to get treatment, you are not to blame). Eventually, I realized that as much as I loved him, I couldn't continue: all the drama was putting my own health in jeopardy. Ending the relationship was the hardest thing I ever did. And despite the ups and downs, I still loved him for a long time afterwards. Eventually, I made peace with my decision, and looking back on it, I know I did the right thing. 

What brought all this to mind was the online reaction I saw to Hunter Biden's legal troubles. No, this is not a defense of Hunter, nor is any of this partisan, because that's my point: addiction to drugs or alcohol isn't partisan. It can strike Democrats, Republicans, or Independents-- and it does. Some folks were mocking Hunter and saying he should have just quit doing drugs. Agreed. And my ex-boyfriend should have quit drinking. But as I said, it's a disease: it's a compulsion, not a lifestyle choice. Those who have it often wish they could stop, but they can't. They deny, they make excuses, they feel guilty, they apologize, that's all part of their illness. If they get treatment and commit to staying clean, they can turn their life around. Hunter says he has done that, and I hope he's telling the truth. I know many people who have not made that commitment, and the people who love them are desperate to see them make better choices.

Based on the reactions I've been seeing over the past week, a lot of folks still have misconceptions about addiction; they seem to think all the addict needs is willpower; or they think of addiction like some weakness or defect. It's not. It's a disease, and it requires a commitment, and a plan, to get better. Meanwhile, if you are reading this and nodding because you are in a relationship with someone who is addicted to drugs or alcohol, please know that it is NOT your fault. If possible, get some support for yourself, whether through therapy or Al-Anon or some other self-help group with a good track record. In the end, your story may have a happy ending; but then, you may have to walk away, in order to preserve your own health. That's a hard lesson to learn, but it's an important one: sometimes, it's best to focus on your own well-being, and not spend your time trying to rescue the person you love.

Finding My Way (Or Trying To...)

So, as I write this, I am now officially without a job. I haven't been without a job since I was a teenager, and frankly, I don't like it very much. I'm not the kind of person who is eager to retire: I actually enjoy working. In fact, my professional life has long been a major part of who I am as a person. Whether I was a deejay, or a music director, or a radio consultant, or when I reinvented myself and became a college professor, these things all helped to define my identity. In radio, I was that person making a difference for my audience by playing the songs they liked; and I was the friendly voice they heard when they tuned to their favorite station. Later, as an educator, I was that person making a difference for my students by teaching them, mentoring them, and training them. I not only taught whatever the subject was, but I also taught critical thinking, and respect for differing points of view. And I ran the school newspaper: some of my student interns went on to get good jobs in media.  

And then, the university where I worked decided to get rid of a bunch of us, in a move that was ostensibly about budget-cuts. These things happen. I understand that. During my years in radio, I was fired on several occasions-- stations changed ownership, and the new folks wanted to bring in their own people. In this case, there has been a budget crunch and the administration believed that firing more than two dozen professors was a way to save some money. But knowing the reason (whether I agreed with it or not) didn't make it any easier. The bottom line is I'm now unemployed, and that's not something I was planning on, nor something I was looking forward to.

I don't know about you, but I function best when I know where I'm supposed to be and what I'm expected to do. Thus, not knowing what the next thing is for me is very disconcerting. It's also very worrisome, given that, as I've mentioned in previous blogs, I'm 77. Still young and cute, still active, still energetic, but 77. I sincerely don't know if other companies are going to see me as someone with a lot to offer-- someone with many accomplishments who still has much more she can achieve. My fear is that they'll see me as someone who might require a higher salary, or someone who is (gasp) too old, and they will simply gravitate towards folks who are younger.    

A couple of weeks ago, a student of mine told me that someone on Reddit had posted an old photo of me, the one in the studios at Northeastern in 1968, when I became their first female deejay. I'm rarely on Reddit, but I went to check out the site and thank whoever had posted the photo. And while I was there, I found a Rush fan group. I'm not a member of many fan groups (no time, usually), but I saw a post that I thought I could contribute to, and so I joined. Needless to say, some folks didn't think it was really me, but once they realized that it was, we had a nice conversation. It took my mind off of how I was feeling, and that was very helpful.

But the experience reminded me of how grateful I am to the folks I chat with online-- whether it's the people I play Wordle with on Twitter (I refuse to call it X, and I know I'm not alone), or the educators I help to support through charities like Donors Choose, or the fans who respond when I post something about Rush, or those who respond when I post something about politics, or media, or baseball-- and yes, that includes everyone who reads my blog. I have no idea what is going to happen next for me, and that isn't easy to deal with. But I feel a lot better knowing there are people online (some of whom I've never even met) who reach out to me on a regular basis. In difficult times, in insecure times, in times when nothing seems to make sense, I know I'm not going through it alone. I've said this before, but it needs to be said again: to all of you who are part of my extended online community, I appreciate you more than I can put into words.

The Fifties Are Calling (and I Don't Want to Answer)

I still fondly recall the day thirteen years ago this month when I got my PhD, at age 64. (Some folks had said I'd never do it, that I was "too old," but I showed them!) Meanwhile, around this time of year, undergraduate students are eagerly awaiting their turn to walk across the stage and get their diploma. Some graduations feature a famous commencement speaker, while others do not. Depending on the era, the speaker might be greeted with protests and boos, or greeted with cheers and applause. I got my BA in 1969, during the Vietnam War era, but to be honest, I don't recall who the commencement speaker was. Nor did many of my social media friends recall who theirs was: commencements can be very long, and the focus for a lot of people is getting that degree and going home. (In the end, I called the college library at Northeastern University, and they located the name: it was then-senator Ed Muskie. But I'd be lying if I said I remember it.)  

I do remember how excited I was to get my degree-- I was the first woman in my family to get one, at a time when women's career options were slowly expanding. I was still told to be a teacher, or a nurse, or a secretary; but I wanted a broadcasting career, and I fought for the right to have one. As many of you know, I spent four decades in radio. Along the way, I introduced the listeners to lots of new artists (including a certain Canadian rock band named Rush), I met some major celebrities, and I saw some amazing concerts. Unfortunately, I never got equal pay with men, nor did I always get equal respect. That was a common experience for women in the 60s and 70s: many guys were still not pleased that society was changing, and they made their displeasure known by treating us dismissively, or patronizing us, or just being rude. It took time, but I'd like to believe I earned the respect of the majority of the men I worked with. I'm still in touch with some of them to this day.

So, imagine my surprise when I heard about the commencement address that pro-football player Harrison Butker gave at Benedictine College recently, the one where he told the young women in attendance that they had been sold a "diabolical lie" about feminism, that a woman's true vocation is being a wife and mother and supporting her husband's goals, and that his wife Isabelle only achieved real happiness when she abandoned her dream of a career and embraced her God-given role as a homemaker; in fact, he said that was when "her life truly started," because she accepted what "God's will" was for her life. He also encouraged the male graduates to be "unapologetic in your masculinity," because, he said, it is men whose job it is to "set the tone of the culture."

I had to look at my calendar to make sure it was still 2024, rather than, perhaps, 1954. Okay fine, everyone has the right to their opinion, even one that some folks might regard as controversial. And I am in no way opposed to women being housewives or moms: these are noble professions, and having a career outside the home is not the right choice for everyone. But that's my point-- it should be a choice. From the talk Butker gave, I doubt that his wife really chose; he expected her to be a traditional homemaker, his interpretation of Christianity said that this was God's will, she agreed with what he said (as a good wife should), and that was the end of it. Since I don't know either of them, I don't know if she is as happy as he told the audience she was. I also don't know whether his advice was well-received by the young women in the audience, the ones he basically told that their degrees didn't matter, and that in God's eyes, they were future sinners unless they rejected feminism, and rejected any career other than housewife.   

When I was growing up, that's what the culture's message was to women. My mother wasn't allowed to go to college because the common wisdom was that "girls don't need a college education; they just need a husband." And having a career was presented as an "either-or": either you have a career or you marry and have kids. But you couldn't do both. Then, gradually, society changed, and these days, you can. However, some folks evidently miss those "good old days" when the men went out to work, and then came home and watched TV, while the women cooked and cleaned and raised the kids. I remember those days: while my father helped my mother with some of the household chores (something few men of that era did), I was always told that he was "the head of the house." I had no idea what that meant, but it didn't sound fair, or equal, to me. My mother accepted it, of course, but I often wondered if she ever wished she'd been allowed to go to college, or if she wished her life had given her more options.

I'm glad I had the opportunities my mother did not. I'm glad that I was able to have the career I wanted. And yes, I did get married-- a lot of folks from the music industry and radio attended my wedding, and one of the photos ended up in Billboard magazine. But it worries me that there are some men who believe they know what God wants for women, or who believe it was a better world when men ruled and women obeyed (cheerfully, of course). Frankly, I don't think either men or women should "rule." I think they should be partners and friends, and work together to make the world a better place. And in this graduation season, I do hope we can give female graduates a better message than "be a homemaker, because God said so." I used to be a chaplain, and I think I know my scriptures, and the Bible contains stories of women who held a wide range of roles in their society: wives and mothers yes, but also judges, prophets, teachers, and businesswomen. So, congratulations to all the graduates: may you find the right path for you, whatever it is. And may you continue to have many options-- including the right to choose what your future holds.     

A Failure to Communicate

A friend of mine who watches the evening news asked me how I felt about the growing number of angry and chaotic campus demonstrations. I told him that I was somewhat ambivalent. First and foremost, I support the students' First Amendment right to (peacefully) protest what they believe is an unfair government policy (U.S. support for Israel), or to demand that there be a cease-fire in Gaza. But there's more to it than that: a part of me empathizes with student protesters, having been one during the 1960s.

In 1968, there were many campus demonstrations, as students objected to the government's policies in Vietnam. Nearly every student, including me, knew someone who had gotten drafted and sent overseas. We wanted the war to end, and we also wanted young adults to have a say in policies that affected them-- at that time, the voting age was 21, and we wanted it lowered to 18, the age when young men could be drafted. Many adults accused us of being anti-American; but as we saw it, the government was wrong, and the war needed to end. And I can understand that many young people today are passionate about wanting the war between Israel and Hamas to be over-- just like a lot of us were passionate about wanting the U.S. to get out of Vietnam.    

But on the other hand, some of the recent demonstrations have worried me. I've been saddened to see some of the participants using the protests as an opportunity to make anti-Jewish remarks, or to say that Israel has no right to exist. (They don't say that Saudi Arabia or Rwanda or Myanmar, or other countries that have been involved in brutal wars, have no right to exist-- they only seem to single out Israel.) And I am also concerned that many Jewish students no longer feel safe on campus: they are being taunted, or, in some cases, threatened, for being pro-Israel-- and it's some of their own classmates who have turned on them. Agreed, the majority of the protests have been loud but peaceful; and the haters are a small but noisy minority at most of them. But that's not much consolation to the Jewish students being verbally attacked.

These days, I wonder what my own students think of me. Many have been taught that Israel is a white, colonial oppressor (not true, and quite an over-simplification, but it's widely believed on the left). And since they know I am (a) Jewish, and (b) pro-Israel, perhaps some no longer think I'm okay. I also wonder what my conservative Christian friends are thinking lately-- some of them support Israel without question, because they believe its existence is part of God's plan for the end-times, the place where the second coming of Jesus will take place. Thus, the fact that I vehemently disagree with the current right-wing Israeli government, or that I believe in a Two-State Solution, means I'm probably not okay with my conservative friends either. 

In such polarizing times, I wonder if I'm okay with anyone. If social media is any indication, people seem to have become increasingly impatient and angry. If I post my Wordle scores, or blog about rock music, many people praise me. But if I blog about politics, there are people who tell me to "stay in my lane" and stick to Wordle and rock music. But I can't do that. I've always had a wide range of interests, and that includes politics and current events-- I don't expect everyone to agree with me, but I do enjoy talking about what's going on out there. And I want to continue doing that.

Unfortunately, lots of people these days prefer only hearing from those whose views align with their own, whether it's about Israel/Palestine, or liberal/conservative, or "My favorite band is better than your favorite band." And when a disagreement occurs, it becomes an excuse for some folks to try to shout the other side down. But whether it's online or on college campuses, refusing to talk to "them" is only making things worse. Maybe I'm just an idealist, but it would be nice if the various "sides" could listen to each other more and blame each other less... rather than creating new ways to make conversation impossible.

Where Were You in 1974?

It often amazes me that in early May, it will be 50 years since Bob Roper sent me that album on Moon Records by three guys from Toronto. The band was called Rush, not to be confused with another Canadian band we were playing-- a Montreal-based band called Mahogany Rush (and as a music director, I was concerned that listeners would indeed get the two confused, even though they sounded nothing like each other). 

And because it's the 50 year anniversary of when Rush started getting a lot of airplay in the US (much to their surprise), some webcasts and podcasts have been inviting me on, to look back on that first Rush album and discuss what I recall about hearing it for the first time, and to tell the story of how I got the band airplay on WMMS. And some hosts have also asked me another question: what I remember about my life back in 1974. 

It wasn't a very exciting life, to be honest. I was 27 years old, and I was living in an apartment complex in Warrensville Heights, Ohio, a few miles from downtown. I was driving an old car and it only had an AM radio, but in 1974, that was okay because there were still quite a few stations that played the hits and had personality deejays. And since I grew up with top-40, I could usually find something to listen to. (Eventually, I got a car that had FM, but in 1974, I remember listening to AM stations like WIXY, WGAR, and WHK.)

It was actually a good time to listen to hit radio, whether on AM or on FM. In early-to mid-1974, I remember songs like "Bennie and the Jets" by Elton John, "Jet" and "Band on the Run" by Paul McCartney and Wings, "The Joker" by the Steve Miller Band, "Let It Ride" and "Takin' Care of Business" by Bachman-Turner Overdrive, "Keep on Smiling" by Wet Willie, and "Piano Man" by Billy Joel. "Sundown" by Gordon Lightfoot was moving up the charts, and so was "The Air that I Breathe" by the Hollies. The top-40 charts spanned the gamut from the serious and thought-provoking, like Stevie Wonder's "Living for the City," to a ridiculously catchy song by Blue Swede, the one that began "Ooga-Chucka, Ooga, Ooga" (their version of "Hooked on A Feeling").  

1974 was the year when "Happy Days" made its TV debut, and while I had grown up in the fifties and never thought of them as particularly enjoyable, the show was entertaining-- and to this day, I'm a big fan of Henry Winkler. Looking at my old TV Guide magazines, I note that "All in the Family" was still very popular--#1 in the ratings-- and so were TV detective shows like "Kojak" and "Columbo." But I didn't watch a lot of TV-- I worked crazy hours, and VCR's wouldn't come onto the scene till 1975, so I often missed my favorite shows and had to wait for re-runs. 

The big news event of 1974 was Watergate, which led to the resignation of Richard Nixon in August; he was the first American president to have to resign. A lot of us in album rock radio were not surprised. Nixon had long been a polarizing figure in politics, and on college campuses. Ever since the late 1960s, college radio stations, along with a growing number of FM "progressive rock" outlets, had played music protesting the war in Vietnam, and criticizing the policies of President Lyndon Johnson, and Nixon, who had succeeded him. (I certainly played some of those songs when I was on the air at WNEU at Northeastern University-- I recall being among the first to get a copy of "Ohio" by Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young, and if you remember the lyrics, songwriter Neil Young was not fond of Nixon at all. Neither was I-- Nixon had a long history of casual antisemitism, making him one of my least favorite presidents. I wasn't sorry to see him go.)      

I was still adapting to living in Cleveland, to be honest: I had never lived anywhere other than Boston, and I recall having a difficult time making friends. Fortunately, work took up most of my time. In fact, my life back then revolved around WMMS. I was the station's music director-- my boss first called my job "music coordinator," but everyone else in the industry called me the music director, and eventually, my title was changed to reflect that. My duties included calling or writing the various record promoters, seeing them when they came to the station, listening to the new albums, choosing the ones that seemed right for us, and then, sitting with my boss to discuss which of the new songs we liked-- the announcers could choose their own songs back then, but my boss and I were the ones who put the new albums in the studio and included our recommendations. Sometimes, I would meet up-and-coming artists when they came by the station-- that was another fun aspect of the job, as I met a lot of folks who went on to become famous. I was also working on the air (they had me on an overnight weekend shift, but I was also expected to be there Monday morning for meetings). And I still remember answering a lot of letters from listeners-- it was still an era when people wrote letters, and WMMS got plenty of mail. I tried to answer as much of it as I could. 

Of course, everything changed when "Working Man" by Rush began to be one of the audience's favorite songs, leading to the guys coming to Cleveland for an early gig at the Allen Theater in late June 1974. I would be lying if I said I expected we'd all stay in touch-- I never expected that we would. And yet, 50 years later, while so much in my life is different from how it was back then, I am still in touch with the surviving members of Rush, along with their families, and even some of the folks who worked for their record company. 2024 is very different from 1974, but I am so grateful that Alex and Geddy (and the memory of Neil) remain a part of my world... a world that was changed forever (for me, for Rush, and for so many of the fans) 50 years ago, in 1974.       

Try a Little Kindness

I haven't blogged much recently, since, as many of you know, I've been recovering from pneumonia, and it has been taking a while for me to get my energy back. I'm grateful for so many good wishes from folks who reached out to me by email and on social media: on the days when I get frustrated, it's nice to hear some words of encouragement.

And that's what I wanted to write about -- the difference that kindness and encouragement can make. In my most recent blog post, I wrote about a couple of turning points in my life, both of which did not seem monumental at the time but turned out to be life-changing. This time, I'd like to tell you about some moments of unexpected kindness; and even years later, I still remember how much they meant to me at the time, and how much I recall them fondly even now. 

Let me take you back to October 7, 1971, at a venue in Boston called the Music Hall, where there was a live performance by Neil Diamond. But I wasn't there to watch the show. I was there to interview him, and to be honest, I was terrified. I had just graduated college not that long ago, and now I was working as a free-lance writer. I was involved with writing a segment for the ABC radio network, and thanks to a deejay friend of mine, I was able to talk to Neil backstage, before the show. I had my list of questions, and I knew what I was supposed to do; but there he was, and there I was, and I just blurted out that he was one of my favorite performers and I was really nervous. To my surprise, he was very understanding. Before the interview began, he asked me about myself, and I told him how all I wanted to do was be on the radio, but few stations were hiring female deejays. I don't recall word-for-word what he said to me, but I do remember that he gave me a hug and told me not to give up. And he told me that one day, I would succeed. I did my interview, and I hope I didn't make a fool of myself. And to this day, I have never forgotten that Neil Diamond took the time to encourage me-- something he did not have to do.   

Or fast forward to an evening in 1978-- I don't recall the date, but I do recall the event. I was working in radio in Washington DC, and there was a party for Bruce Springsteen, where local deejays and music directors and program directors could meet him and chat about his new record. Record companies held these sorts of meet-and-greet events often, and I always enjoyed them. But this one was a problem for me: I'm a non-drinker, and there was absolutely nothing for me to drink, except perhaps water. The local promotion man was quite dismissive of the fact that I didn't drink; in fact, when I asked him why there was nothing for non-drinkers, he suggested I go across the street to the 7-11 and buy myself something. So I did. I was sitting at the event, drinking some orange juice, and in walked Springsteen. Interestingly, he said he didn't want anything alcoholic either, and the promotion man pointed to me, sitting there drinking my orange juice, and suggested I'd be willing to share. Lucky for me, Bruce figured out that the environment wasn't exactly welcoming to non-drinkers, and he came over and sat with me. We had a wonderful conversation about the music industry, as well as about hosts who don't seem to understand how to make everyone feel welcome. I was so impressed with how friendly and down-to-earth he was. And at a time when others weren't so tolerant of those of us who didn't drink, Bruce was fine about it. (And it was fun sharing my orange juice with him!)

Over the years, I've met a lot of celebrities. Some were arrogant jerks who were rude and inconsiderate. Others were kind and generous (the members of Rush fall into this category, as you might expect). But let me conclude by telling you about someone who isn't famous, isn't a celebrity, but is certainly important to me: my husband. I've written about Jon before, but here's something that really impressed me about him: his compassion. Since 1984, I've been the advocate for an adult with autism; his name is Jeff, and I love him like a son. And whenever I would date anyone, I was always interested in how that person felt about Jeff. Some guys were resentful. Some put up with the volunteer work I did, but they failed to see why I did it. But Jon understood, and he embraced the idea. He helped me teach Jeff. He willingly spent time with Jeff. He took Jeff swimming, and hiking, and on nature walks. And Jeff, who was afraid of most folks he didn't know, really began to feel comfortable being around Jon. To this day, he loves Jon and enjoys being around him. And for me, the fact that Jon saw Jeff's possibilities, the fact that he showed Jeff love and kindness, was one of the reasons I knew Jon was the right person for me.  

So, if there's any message to this blog post, it's that I believe whenever we show compassion to someone else, it's time well-spent. It may not get an immediate result, it may not seem to make a difference, and it may not earn you praise. But I can assure you that in the greater scheme of things, how we treat others really matters. So, in times like these, when all we hear about are the people who are angry or polarized, let's not forget the people who are caring, the people who try their best to be kind. I know from experience that being empathetic isn't always easy, but it's worth the effort. In fact, the way I see it, being kind, being welcoming, being encouraging makes life a little better-- not only for others but also for ourselves.