Monday, August 27, 2009
Driving down the block yesterday I observed some neighbors loading a dresser on the back end of a truck. I smiled as I observed a four year old girl assisting in the effort, giving the final push over the tailgate. I am quite sure the effort was preceded by the “Can I help, Daddy?” that we so often hear from little ones. This wise father said “Sure.“ In so doing, his little girl’s sense of self-worth took another step up the ladder of emotional security.
Offering young people the opportunity to “help” is critical in generating autonomy. The adolescent isn’t likely to ask, “Can I help?” anymore, but being asked to do something useful to serve another continues the process started in the lifting of the dresser. When we fail to generate altruism in our kids, we rob them of another means of building long term mental and spiritual health.
The next time your little puddle jumper is getting in the way, figure out how to let them contribute. The thanks rendered will be a two way street.
Sunday, June 13, 2009
I found this quote in Leo Buscaglia's book, Papa, My Father, by Lafcadio Hearn. "No man can possibly know what life means, what the world means, what anything means, until he has a child and loves it. And then the whole universe changes and nothing will ever again seem exactly as it seemed before."
My backyard is adorned by a majestic old oak tree. Each day through my dining room window I observe the lowest hanging branch on this my favorite tree. This branch long ago bore its last leaf, and I have debated whether to excise it from the trunk. It still is hanging there.
I recently had a heart-rending conversation with a mother about her son's drug use. He is not convinced of the need to change his life style. This branch reminds me of her dilemma. Should she cut off the branch that seems to have died or continue to try and nurture it, keeping it in her picture window on a daily basis. The words of Lafcadio Hearn ring in my ears. Love keeps her from getting out the pruning saw. And for now I am leaving the branch alone as well.
Friday, April 10, 2009
In 1967 the University of Michigan opened Crisler Arena as the home for basketball. Necessity dictated the new arena. A young man from Chicago, Illinois, Cazzie Russell, had been the All-American star for the Wolverines. So many fans wanted to see him play. The old Yost Arena could not accommodate the need. Crisler came to be known as the "House that Cazzie Built."
Patrick Kennedy was born to Jacqueline and John Kennedy in 1963 at a premature age of 32 weeks gestation. He died of premature lung disease. Although President Kennedy is best known for launching the program to put men on the moon, the impetus for the development of neonatal care came from the focus placed on the tragic loss to this famous family. Our neonatal units could be called "the houses that Patrick built."
In 1982 a premature child was born to Scott and Joy Wondergem. Tyler suffered many complications including significant seizures, cerebral palsy, and blindness. His care over the years was substantial. As Scott and Joy pondered the future, they envisioned a place that would care for their son as he emerged into adulthood. They were instrumental in the founding of Harbor House in Jenison, MI which is now the home to many young people who have challenging care situtations. Tyler died due to chronic kidney insufficiency in March. His departure left a huge hole in the heart of the Wondergem family and the staff of Harbor House. He was a beautiful, calm, and winsome young man. As more children emerge from our neonatal units with complicated health issues, the necessity of facilities like Harbor House are evident. Harbor House has become the haven of safe care and encouragement to families. It is "the House that Tyler Built."
We build lots of things in our lives. As parents we shape our children and their environments. And as we ponder our earthly needs and our hopes for eternity, we recognize the necessity of places that fulfill in caring and compassionate ways the needs we all have. Each of us has our own difficult circumstances with which we must deal. What kind of house are we building?
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
This summer Dr. Addy sat with a beautiful granddaughter on her lap reading Bible Stories. She relates that when the story of Adam and Eve and the apple was completed, the three-year-old Sierra paused and said, “Grandma, Why didn’t they just spit it out?” Little did she know that she captured the ultimate question of our human existence. Why is it that every one of us fails to recognize the bad decisions we make and the consequences that ensue? The missteps of the children frustrate their parents. The oppositional nature of the two year old mystifies even the wisest of mothers. The self-destructive nature of teenage substance use and early experimentation in relationships saddens the best father. The narcissistic parent who seeks another relationship beyond the marriage frustrates society as it picks up the pieces of the dysfunctional family that results. The incessant pursuit of the next alcoholic beverage continues to destroy its consumer. Why can’t we human beings make better choices? The good news is that we can make productive decisions that not only better our own existence but those of society as well. It is in parenting that we coax decisions that are not for the benefit of self but for the well being of others. When children capture this concept, it is amazing how they learn to “spit out the apple” and become very fine members of society. It is in that giving that they discover grace.
Monday, July 28, 2008
Love Also Loses. I know the popular bumper sticker Love Wins has a powerful message and suggests that our living with each other is far greater when we let love preside. But I get a bit uncomfortable with one implication of the slogan. Winning is something that occurs in competition and is almost always accompanied by someone losing. This year’s World Series winner will send 29 other teams home as losers. Living in love certainly has its winning moments, but the nature of living inevitably results in losing. We will lose a prized possession, we will lose money, we will lose opportunities for succeeding, we will lose loved ones, and we will ultimately lose our own life. It becomes incredibly important then to teach children how to deal with losing and therefore how to sustain hope in the face of loss. The key for hopeful living finds an opening in the love extended to another person in the high times of success as well as the low times of failure. Love doesn’t always win; love ends up in the loss column a great deal of the time in life. That’s living. And there is tomorrow, a new day.
Monday, April 21, 2008
It started with a wad of bubble gum imbedded in the sole of a new pair of Nike sandals and it ended with news that my sister-in-law’s brother Ken had been terribly injured in an auto accident perpetrated by two young adults drag racing down 52nd Street. These two events were the objects of a lecture that I was giving to one of my Cadets from church as we endeavored to work the gum out of all the crevices of his sandals. It ended in the point that there are two types of people in the world, those that care about others and those that don’t. I obviously encouraged him to be one that thought about others. How do we create that sense in our children? Preaching certainly has its merits, and some parents seldom take the opportunity to state to their progeny this simple principle of living in a society with other living creatures. However some kids get sermonized to the point of exasperation. But children are also astute observers. Selfishness is something that can be insidious and they see it in us. Our daily decisions about prioritizing the needs of others will do more to mold the child’s decision tree than any sermon. My mom used to admonish us boys about “me-first” attitudes. It is hard not to live life without being so. It takes a lot of hard work and a lot of prayer to convey the “others-first” approach. My mom modeled it.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
Lloyd Carr was leaving the field for the last time on January 1 after a great Michigan Football victory over Florida. My family was gathered around the television having lots of great conversation. I tried to quiet them to hear Lloyd’s last words as an active football coach leaving the field. Last times for things are occurring a lot for us lately. Many of our patients are finishing college and stopping by for the last time. Lately I have contemplated a lot of “lasts.” A year ago I had all four of my kids in the 1991 minivan likely driving in one vehicle with mom and dad together for the last time. They were all home for vacation and recalled the arguments about who got to sit in which seat when. Marilyn Vandermeer sat at the checkout window as a regular employee for the last time this month at Alger Pediatrics. Last times are mixed joy. They reflect our history and how we have developed our values. They are a report card on living. They tell us about how well we love.
In contrast the first time events in our lives are very special. The first child in your home brings lots of great emotions. The first shot, the first birthday, the first day of Kindergarten, the first day of driving, the first college class are all milestones parents keep etched in the memory bank. For many of you reading the website, the first trip to Alger Pediatrics may be coming and filled with some trepidation. And you may also encounter your child's first rejection by a playmate, the first call from school with a concern, their first encounter with death. These firsts bring into focus the reality of living. They are also significant because they remind us about how well we hope.
Between the firsts and the lasts we do our living. We can’t determine tomorrow. And it is for that reason we have faith.
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
Yes I do. I do get overly perturbed whenever I see a fast food bag discarded in the middle of the street or a cigarette butt casually tossed from a window. It perturbs me because it reflects a lack of concern for the rest of humanity that needs to contend with such a disposal. And it reflects on the individual who selfishly disposes of another item having no more value to him. It has been already used, and it joins many other things, including relationships, tossed casually aside. Unfortunately it reflects a societal problem of disposal on a much broader basis. We drive through our inner cities and see the implosion of neighborhoods in large segments of places like Detroit and even Grand Rapids. We observe school districts that have a greater than 50% casualty rate of young people entering those schools. We observe the disintegration of families brought about by the lack of persistent commitment to each other.
The antidote for the “discarding casually syndrome” is long-term commitment through all the tough times. We need to commit to neighborhoods, schools and teachers, places of worship, and families; even when the times are really tough. Our children cannot be the next fast food bag left on the streets of our cities. When we bring them into our care, we commit for life. And by the way, tell them not to throw their McDonald’s bag out of the car window. My lowered stress level might keep me on the planet a few more days.
Monday, July 30, 2007
Dr. Daining has a passion for photography. At Alger Pediatrics there is an array of his incredibly beautiful photographs gracing the walls. There are idyllic waterfalls and mountain lakes. There are photos taken of places seldom seen by the human eye. They are little glimpses of the artist capturing the creation in a unique moment in time. Each of these moments will never be repeated but are kept in our awareness by the exquisite image portrayed. They speak to our quest to find beauty, joy, and fulfillment. They convey a creator that has given gifts of majesty for us to explore.
The unique thing about photography is that seldom is the photographer in the images captured. But the photograph reflects the creative talents of the artist. As parents we are molding and shaping our children. They too reflect our inputs. As they begin to take on the tasks of life, they reflect all the energy their parents have invested in their well-being. It takes wisdom to know when not to continue to insert ourselves into the picture too often. Parents who insist on directing every decision and placing themselves into every situation in which young people live are like a photographer who places his own face in every photograph that is taken. They fail to allow the beauty of their artistry as parents to become manifest.
On the other hand, a good artist will tweak the lens and light settings prior to taking the picture. The outcome of the photograph depends on the analysis of the best way to frame the picture. Similarly a parent volitionally frames the rights and wrongs of good living. Not giving an opinion as to the pitfalls of decision-making is a bit like not focusing a lens or setting the shutter speed too slow. We have a time to prepare the photograph of moral decision-making. It starts early and continues until the photograph is printed.
Monday, June 11, 2007
As I was leaving the Obstetrical Floor at Spectrum Health a few mornings ago, I passed by a young man standing outside a post-partum room door. We nodded to each other, and I asked if he was a new dad today. He stated he was there to see a friend who had just delivered a newborn. He then said, "But I have a four year old son." He paused and said, "And I really love my son."
"That's great." I said and hustled on to the next stop. But his enthusiastic words stuck with me. "And I really love my son." What an incredible statement to make to a passing stranger. I would have loved to have met the boy of his affection. What a fortunate young man to have a Dad who has that kind of love for him.
I revisited those words as I watched my youngest child Scott walk across the platform of his high school graduation ceremony. "And I really love my son." What a privilege to have a son to love. We as parents get a short lease of time to have them in our purview, a brisk moment to shape and mold, to watch and enjoy, to smile and love. I am almost jealous of the young parents who now get to have their child curl up in their lap with a book, who are pulled out to the yard to play catch, who get to hear the words "Watch me, daddy." I would almost take the nights without sleep again.
The next words inevitably will be, "I really miss my Dad." That comes far too quickly as well.
Saturday, June 9, 2007
Alger Pediatrics was the home of Jo Jansma for more than a decade. Jo was one of the Registered Nurses that answered the phones and gave advice to so many parents who had concerns about their children. She retired from Alger Pediatrics about four years ago. As all pediatric nurses do, she heard the worries about illness, sleepless nights, and behavioral turmoil. She also listened to parents who were desparate, lonely, depressed, and on the verge of loss of control. Jo had an incredible ability to listen, console, and create calm in the storms of parenting. She had exceptionally good judgement when it came to assessment of the sick child. She was also a wonderful wife, parent, and grandparent. She was very active in her community spearheading programs through her church and her city.
We lost Jo to the ravages of end stage breast cancer and its complications on May 18. She left a legacy that is best captured in the lives of her family members who have extolled the virtues of her faith and life extensively. I would encourage you to read the tributes, especially from her husband Sid at Caringbridge.org/visit/JoanneJansma.
We miss Jo very much.
Thursday, March 2, 2007
Today was the funeral of Marge Minnema. Marge was a nurse at Blodgett Hospital in the nursery for many years. She was born at Blodgett Hospital and died at Blodgett Hospital and served the Grand Rapids community for all the years in between. Many of her coworkers over the years were at her funeral because she was a dear friend to all of them. Marge however was special to many of the Pediatricians because she was the one who conveyed information about the status of each infant in the nursery. She was smart and had an intuitive sense as to the well being of each of these infants. Many babies had a better start in life because of her care. When she was diagnosed with cancer last July, I wrote a letter to her, which included these words.
"…But what I remember the most about you, Marge, is that you found something very positive to say about every infant that came through that nursery. Whether it was a beautiful physical feature of the infant or something wonderful about the mother, you found the flower on the end of every stem, even if that stem had some thorns. You also treated every physician with utmost respect, often when some of my colleagues didn’t deserve it. What this all boils down to is that Marge reflected her faith in her day-to-day work and living. You reflected your Lord and Savior. Your compassion was utmost."
When we reflect on what we want most for our children, we wish for them good health, good education, good relationships. The morning of Marge’s funeral, I saw a beautiful newborn girl in the nursery. I reflected on her entry into life on the day we remembered Marge’s life. I wondered about what legacy this little one would leave. What chapters will she write? And then I thought about what made Marge special. She was a servant to those around her. If this little girl discovers that being a servant to those you encounter in life is the essence of human joy, she too will leave this earth with a Marge Minnema legacy. As parents it is imperative that we teach and be role models of servanthood and compassion. Our legacy will be reflected in what our children learn.
Dr. Ron Hofman