Bletiquette

very month, I write 100 web content articles. My deadline is the 25th of every month. I hate having a deadline hanging over my head, so my normal work mode is to slave at my computer double-time so I can hand in my invoice early. This time I earned four free days--more really--since I have yet to receive my May writing assignments.

I experience a marvelous sense of freedom each time I manage this feat, but rather than rest on my self-congratulatory laurels, I cast about for something else to do. I don't know how to not be busy. It makes me feel guilty to be unproductive. So I get to work on my blog which lies in sad neglect most days of the month.

Yesterday, I worked on a blog entry for hours. At last I decided it was ready enough to publish. Maybe I embedded too many graphics and it looked a bit messy, but I made a point--a heartfelt one--and I was satisfied. I published the blog and then waited in a state of expectant tension for the comments to come in.

I got one comment from a faithful friend who never neglects to weigh in, always with a great deal of valued insight--I suppose he knows how much a writer appreciates feedback--but a big zero from everyone else. I told myself that with the time difference, maybe it was too early to expect much. I went to bed thinking that perhaps in the morning, I would find my in-box flooded with notifications of comments on my blog.

But no. Not a one.

Folks, the writer's ego is fragile. A bruised psyche means we may retreat into a corner to lick our wounds and stop producing words. But encouragement has the opposite effect and makes the words flow from our brains to our fingertips to your screen.

I try to encourage my friends who enter the blogging world by leaving comments and then feel a bit sad if they don't respond in kind. I have decided that just as there exists a code of etiquette for the internet we call, "Netiquette," there needs to be blog etiquette or, "Bletiquette," too. Here's my version of Bletiquette:

1) If a friend takes the time to blog and lets you know of a new entry, take the time to comment. A lack of response is hurtful. Even a simple phrase like, "This was well-written!" can make a blogger's day.

2) Quid Pro Quo--if you comment on a blogger's blog and the blogger doesn't return the favor, you are off the hook and need not comment on their thoughts in future.

3) Be polite. I had a total stranger comment, "good grief - this is the most ignorant thing I've heard in a long while."

4) If you are the blogger who receives the hurtful comment, give a thoughtful response. The writer who called me ignorant had a point as I discovered when I looked into the matter. I apologized and she confessed she'd been a bit rude and apologized in kind. She appreciated that I took the time to research and retract my stance.

5) Always attribute quotes and where appropriate, seek permission before naming names. Do those people a favor by linking their names to their websites or blogs to give them a bit of publicity.

6) If you leave a comment, sign your name or otherwise identify yourself. We want to know who you are!

Conflict Resolution

For months now, I have been watching the relationship between America and Israel crumble. I have listened to what Ed Koch calls, "…the deafening silence," of American Jews to the stance their elected president has chosen to adopt toward the only country the U.S. can depend on without question as a true and unwavering friend. I have been waiting for Americans to speak out.

The wait has been sheer torture for someone like me, who cannot separate politics from the mundane, who cannot maintain the apathy toward the roiling of the Middle East arena that seems to be associated with a certain type of maturity I do not possess.

I know how I appear: I am someone on a soapbox for a cause that is not popular, for a cause that for some, has become an embarrassment. My cause is the 27 state peace plan: 26 states for the Moslems, one small state for the Jews.

I lecture, I become strident, and I plead. I post too many pro-Israel articles on Facebook knowing that my friends may have "hidden" me. Some of my friends comment that there is no point to these efforts. Others just tell me straight out: they are sorry for my pain, but do not share my agenda.

But I feel such urgency that I cannot quit being a nudnik on behalf of Israel. Sometimes I fear my non-Jewish facebook friends find me "too Jewish," and then I chide myself for being a Jewish Uncle Tom. I am this person, this too Jewish person. It won't change and I can't be anyone else.

At last, the Jews made a rally. The attendance was paltry—a mere 3,000. The Jewish population of New York alone, where the rally took place, stands at 1,970,000. It hurts, hurts to the core. They said it was the driving rain. But I don't believe the rain kept too many people away. How can only 3,000 Americans plead the case of 6 million Israeli Jews?

When my friend Ann Goodman's son Yosef was buried after perishing in a military accident, a huge crowd of us did not let the wild storms keep us away from the cemetery. I remember feeling that we were all one, that soaking wet, frozen crowd, and that the rain was an initiation rite of sorts showing our caring for the Goodman family during the worst of an unspeakable tragedy and our devotion to giving Yosef the honor he deserved for serving and protecting us.

The rain over Har Herzl that day felt like the very heavens were crying over the loss of this defender. The more it rained, the more I felt comforted by what it meant that such large numbers would gather as one in spite of the inclement weather. The stormy weather seemed to fit the situation.

I feel let down by those Jews in America who chose not to attend the rally—rain does not come close to serving as a valid excuse for the nonattendance of most American Jews at what might have been a major event, but fell far short of this goal. I feel that their absence, silence, and expressed lack of concern have dealt a huge blow to the cause I hold most dear in my heart: the Land of Israel as a haven for all Jews, everywhere. I feel hurt, ashamed, let down, depressed, and angry.

Even through the gloom of these emotions, I want to thank the 3,000 who did brave the weather to show support for Israel.

Today, I took the time to listen to the video clips of several of the
speakers at the rally. Pamela Geller was the best of the bunch. She spoke irrefutable truths and is a rousing and gifted speaker--a gift from God to my cause! She asked the crowd, "Where does history start? Where should we start history? Who decides? Should it start 5, 768 years ago with the Jewish people? Should it start 1400 years ago with Mohammed when he beheaded an entire tribe, the Jews of Medina, the Qurayza tribe? Who decides?

Does it start in 1921 when the Palestinian Mufti of Jerusalem wiped out the Jews in Hebron? Does it start in 1929 when the Palestinian Mufti of Jerusalem wiped out the Jews again? Does it start in 1941 when the Mufti went to Iraq and aligned with Rashid Ali and wiped out the Jews of Iraq? Where does it start? I am asking you."


Rabbi David Algaze also spoke. His speech could not compare with Geller's for fire and passion. But I received a reward for staying with him until the end. "The Arab Israeli conflict is not about territory. The Arab Israeli conflict is about the destruction of any non-Islamic state in the Middle East. It is not about territory. Territory will not solve it … The only peace the Arabs will accept is the destruction of the State of Israel and that is not going to happen," said Algaze.

As Rabbi Algaze continued his speech, he wrapped up with an important point, one I have often pondered and have been unable to get across in an adequate manner to my friends: Sometimes there is no way to resolve a conflict. That is the case here. The conflict between Israel and the so-called Palestinians cannot be resolved. Pursuing the two-state solution, imposing a peace process, it's all wrong-headed and cannot have a positive outcome for the simple reason that the Arabs will never accept the State of Israel in any form. They will never accept our presence in the Middle East. We will always be an infidel nation. That is the Islamic dialogue. Period.

Over the summer, I took a trip to my hometown of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. While there, I visited an old friend whom I had not seen in 30 years when both of us were teenagers. Leslie taught me guitar and had a huge impact on my musical tastes and preferences. She also woke up my political awareness, though we somehow ended up on opposite sides of the fence as adults.

Leslie and I have since been trying to find a way to dialogue without butting our heads too hard. Sometimes we fail. But there is one thing on which we agree in absolute faith: we will not apologize for Israel's right to exist.

Leslie and I discussed the conflict during my trip to Pittsburgh and at one point, she asked me, "So, what is the answer to the conflict? How can we achieve peace?"

I tried to tell her that there may not be a way to achieve a resolution but I fear I was not as articulate as Rav Algaze. Leslie looked at me in astonishment, like, "C'mon…there has to be a solution."

But Rav Algaze was right on when he said, "…you know the problem that we have in the world…the problem is the people who cannot accept that a conflict has no resolution. Not every disease can be cured, not every social ill can be resolved. Not every problem can be fixed. Sometimes, we have to learn that we are going to live with a problem. And to be able to deal with it, Israel, America, the world, have to accept the fact: we have an implacable enemy and that enemy is called Islam."

Islam is not only a religion. Islam is a political platform to control the world … those who propose a two-state solution are proposing the suicide of the State of Israel."

Red Lines

Last week, I sacrificed the feelings of a friend on the altar of humor. I heard about a Facebook page with a clever name that made me laugh and I couldn't resist signing on as a fan. As my finger hovered over my left mouse, a little voice niggled at me, "Some of your friends may be offended by the sentiment expressed here—Rhonda, for instance."

The idea put forth by the name of that group crossed over societal red lines by expressing the hope that someone holding a hallowed American office would die. But the way it was worded was so clever! I didn't so much care about the meaning of the words, I just liked the wording. So I ignored that little voice and it's been bothering me ever since. Why did I choose humor over the feelings of a friend?

It isn't the first time I've crossed red lines for the sake of humor. I offended another friend around the time of Michael Jackson's death by quoting an MJ joke on Twitter. The same thing happened. A little voice said, "This might be offensive to Viki, for instance," and I stilled the voice and ploughed forward.

I cannot figure out why I ignored the little voice, not once, but twice. I know that people's feelings matter to me. I did not have the intention of hurting feelings. I think I hoped that the humor would prevail over any offense caused. But why was I so misguided? Why did I repeat and compound the error by ignoring the voice a second time?

I decided to explore the psychology of humor with my limited resources to see if I might gain insight. I discovered the work of psychologist Rod Martin whose research involves studying the ways in which people employ humor. Martin says that being funny may not be an expression of social skills, but rather the sign of a personality flaw.

Humor can be used to improve relationships or help the individual to cope with difficulties. But humor can also be self-deprecating or antagonistic. "It's a form of communication, like speech, and we all use it differently," says Martin. The clown who puts himself down has low self-esteem. When the put-down is directed toward someone else however, it may be an adaptive response. The tense air of the office can be lightened by ridiculing a tyrannical boss in his absence.

The world abounds with Jewish comics. Jews have long used humor to cope with oppression. It breaks the tension. Laughing or causing laughter takes away the stress of the situation. Making fun of the enemy knocks him down a peg or two. Remember the scene in Fiddler on the Roof where the Hassid asks his rebbe, "Rabbi, is there a proper blessing for the Czar?"

The rabbi says, "Of course my son, there is a blessing for everything," and thinking a moment recites, "May God bless and keep the Czar…far away from us!"

Humor is a key facet of my personality. I've always loved generating laughs. Sometimes I'm not even aware I'm being funny until someone laughs. Making others laugh involves generating a kind of surprised gut reaction. Socializing involves a certain protocol, being polite and adhering to norms. Laughter, on the other hand, is genuine and comes unbidden. It needn't conform to the standards of Emily Post. It just is.

So making someone laugh is about the nicest thing I know how to do. I like it better than anything. I don't even care about the sense of the words in the joke. I just want to hear those laughs. But maybe there's something else going on.

President Obama scares me. He poses an existential threat to me, my family, my country, and my fellow Israelis on many levels. I feel a sense of urgency that is not shared by many of my friends. Was my joining that page perhaps a way of pushing the boundaries, saying: "Please see my situation: my dilemma?"

I think so.

So, how do I explain away the MJ jokes?

I guess it boils down to how I view Michael Jackson. He had to change anti-Semitic lyrics in the song, They Don't Care About Us. He swore that these lyrics were benign. But then, in 2005, tapes were aired on Good Morning America, "They suck … They're like leeches. … I'm so tired of it … It is a conspiracy. The Jews do it on purpose."

It doesn't matter a bit to me that he changed the lyrics of that song to accommodate the ADL or got in bed with Shmuely Boteach. As far as I'm concerned, Jackson was an anti-Semite—a very talented person, but an extreme anti-Semite. I can never again listen to his music without the thought of his anti-Semitism coming to mind.

It isn't just his anti-Semitism, though. I also think about the baby-dangling incident. To me, MJ was not a good person. The court cases don't have anything to do with these feelings. I only look at facts. The facts makes him fair game as the butt of jokes—but NOT at the expense of my long friendship with Viki.

I think that joking about these two personalities boils down to wishing that my friends would share my passionate beliefs or at least see and recognize my feelings and fears. I crossed their red lines to make them see my own red lines. I think I would rather make my feelings known through humorous asides than by lecturing or being strident. But twice now, all I succeeded in doing was to cause offense.

I think what I learned from these two incidents is that friendship is not predicated on agreement. No matter how urgent an issue feels to me, it does not follow that a friend must agree. It's hard to take this in when I feel the issues are existential. But losing a friend is even harder.

I resolve to listen to those little voices, the next time they whisper a warning. I don't promise not to fail sometimes, but I hope that setting down my thoughts like this will firm things up in my mind and help me avoid future pitfalls that threaten my friendships with the people I love.

They Paved Paradise

This morning, I was standing at my kitchen counter, kneading sourdough for my weekly double batch of Challoh. As I knead, I always keep an eye on the display of my oven, which is situated to my left. Watching my oven clock that way lets me know that ten minutes have elapsed and I can now put my dough to rest, covered with a warm, damp all-cotton dish towel, for a couple of hours before shaping.

I was in the thick of my kneading and if you've never kneaded dough, I can tell you that it's about as physical an activity as is possible to perform. I'm not a physical sort of person, but my arms and hands are very strong from years of piano playing. I really do enjoy the workout I get from kneading dough, even though it leaves me as quivering and breathless as my bread dough.

I am not the first person to suggest that making bread is therapeutic and brings peace of mind. Once I'm into the rhythm, the thrust and parry of the at first uncooperative mass of dough, my mind travels to a place where there is no thought. There is only the hard, manual labor of creating art in the form of a homely loaf of bread. Bread, the act of making it as well as the act of eating the finished product, feels to me about as elemental as, well, giving birth. So nothing much is in my mind as I knead. It's just me and the dough, and a sense of purpose.

All at once, the motor of my refrigerator stopped cold, jolting me out of my bread-making induced mental coma/revery. The quiet was so sudden I glanced at the display of my oven to see if the electricity had gone out. But no. It was just my refrigerator motor, at rest. It occurred to me then that the motor makes a background noise I never notice until it ceases it's electronic grumbling.

That got me thinking, even though I was still kneading. I thought: this situation is ripe for a quotable quote.

So I mulled it over: when I knead bread, I realize that I am content. Even though I may moan about being overloaded with work and housework, I am happy to be at my work. It feels right. Maybe, I thought, my contentment is like that refrigerator motor: I don't notice my contentment until something in my life goes south--goes crazy, haywire wrong. Then I look back and think, "What happened to the normalcy of yesterday? Where did it go?"

So here it is: Contentment is like a noisy refrigerator motor. It's background noise until it stalls.
Of course, this thought was immediately followed by, "Nah. Someone must have already written a quote like that."

Yup. It didn't even take long for me to figure it out. It was Joni Mitchell: "Don't it always seem to go, that you don't know what you've got 'til it's gone."

Trumped again.

At least it was Joni.

Visiting Vandergrift

Today, I'm hosting a guest blogger, Israel Pickholtz, with whom I share geographic roots. Both of our families lived in Pittsburgh and in Vandergrift, Pennsylvania. Both of us made Aliyah to Israel a long time ago and are near neighbors. The two of us also share a common interest in Jewish genealogy.

My earliest relative on my maternal grandfather's side to come to the United States from Europe, was Max Kopelman, one of the original settlers of Vandergrift Heights, Pennsylvania. Israel is visiting the States just now with his wife Frances and youngest son Devir to celebrate Israel's grandson's Bar Mitzvah. He decided to seize the opportunity to explore the town of Vandergrift as it is today.




VISITING VANDERGRIFT
11 Shevat 5770 (26 January 2010)

Israel Pickholtz, with Frances and Devir

In the morning, we had gone to the Carnegie Museum to see the dinosaurs. Going to Vandergrift felt much the same. A trip to the very distant past.

We drove into town on Hancock Avenue, just like we did when I was a child. There had been half-a-dozen road signs on the way, not like the long low sign I remember from fifty years ago, but the plain green highway department signs that direct traffic to every other small town in the state. But still, the fact that Vandergrift warranted an official sign at all was something.

We first came down to the old store across from the Casino Theater. I was pretty sure I knew which one was R. Gordon and Son, both from the structure of the outside and from the angle to the Casino. I realized afterward that had I come down the alley behind Sumner Avenue, I would have recognized the store from there, more than likely. I forget what business is there now - it wasn't important. Not much a reporter, I. Probably should have stopped for a picture. There may never be a "next time."

We went around the block towards the bridge to Apollo, passed the other end of Sumner Avenue and came around at it from the VFW end. It was pretty much as I remembered, but of course it all looked smaller. A policeman parked his car not far from ours and we spoke a bit. I told him who I was and that my grandfather and later my uncle had furniture stores in town. "Oh yeah," he said "I bought stuff offa them." Yep, I was in Vandergrift.


Raymond and Sarah Gordon's house, 126 Sumner Avenue
I knew the house at 126 fairly well, having been there many times, including the second floor. I saw though that there was a dormer in the center of the front of the house, so there must have been a third floor too. I'll have to ask Mother about that. The house was shuttered, but in a short-term way--perhaps just for the day. No chance of any occupant's showing up to offer to show us around. I took a few pictures of Devir standing in front of the house. Further down towards the river, there were three houses in a row with "for sale" signs.




Ethel and Kenny Stull's house,
172 Franklin Avenue
Then we went up Grant to Aunt Ethel's house on Franklin Avenue. Number 172 looked exactly as it did then, the house, the yard, Lafayette Street over to the left. But way smaller. It was depressing to see how badly it was kept up. There was mail in the box, so it obviously was occupied, but the paint looked like it hadn't been redone since Aunt Ethel died in 1976. I didn't look to see if our two mulberry bushes were still in their yard. I took a couple of pictures of the front of the house.
There was a woman delivering mail down the street and we asked directions to the Historical Society, on Sherman. The society operates a museum in an old school that is no longer in use. The sign said they were open until three and by the time we arrived, it was two. I had had some correspondence with Beth Caporeli and I told her I'd be coming either Tuesday or Wednesday, but we hadn't set anything specific. We found a woman named Mickey Thomas, to whom my name was not familiar. I told her who I was and she asked how my cousin David was. I had to tell her that David - who had worked at the store with his parents - had died a month ago.

Mickey had also known my uncle Kenny Stull, Aunt Ethel's husband, and their son Eric had worked for her for a time. I don't think she knew that Eric's mother was a Gordon. Mickey said that it was really too bad that after finally getting all his difficult adolescence behind him, Eric had died so suddenly. (He was thirty and the accident was completely the other guy's fault.)

They have a nice gift shop and I bought a book called "Something Better Than The Best" and a little statue of the Casino Theater. While leafing through the book, I saw a single reference to Max Kopelman's brother-in-law (they married sisters) Louis Landau, who had some kind of business partnership with a Black man named Louis Sutherland long before such things were commonplace. I'll probably send the book to Varda on long-term loan.

303 Longfellow St.

Varda's uncle Max Kopelman had lived at 303 Longfellow. Beth Caporeli had already told me that the building had been taken over by the Italian restaurant next door, but we stopped to look anyway. The restaurant building was sitting on two lots and it was clear that Max Kopelman's house was gone.

Mickey spent more than an hour showing us around. Lots of old things that were not specific to Vandergrift but had come to local people. And alot of other things about the town, yearbooks, sports trophies, maps, city directories and items relevant to local people. As usual, I came away with impressions rather than details. (You want details, send my brother.)

They would like to have additional photographs and artifacts and I hope to get them some of those.

We also met a woman named Lou Smeltzer Gill who works at the museum. She is from Vandergrift but now lives in Apollo and "walks over every day." Lou mentioned that among the Jewish store owners was the wife of long-time Pirates' team physician Dr. Joe Finegold, who had some connection with the Rubins. In fact, she said, "all the store owners were of the Jewish religion back then."

Neither of them knew of Mr Sturgeon, the barber whose shop was next to my grandfather's store. I fussed terribly as a child when in the barber chair and he reached a point where I was not allowed inside.

Mickey says that new people are moving in, mostly New Kensington, because enforcement in Vandergrift is more lax. Drugs, mostly.

We drove around Washington Avenue. The "new store" - where Uncle George, Aunt Esther and David sold furniture - now sells party supplies. I identified Uncle Martin's TV-radio store across the street because it had the living quarters upstairs.

If the museum is any indication, people are trying hard to preserve the past and there may be enough civic pride to enable them to succeed. I certainly wish them well.

Choosing God Over the Tooth Fairy--Dedicated to Bernie Newman

My friend Bernie Newman asked me why I believe in God as opposed to say, the Tooth Fairy. I gave him a very long response and thought to blog it it since it goes to the essence of why I have become religious.

This is from the word I gave at my daughter Malka's Bas Mitzvah:

There's a Midrash that says that when the angels got wind of the fact that Hashem (God) was about to create another human being--Eve--they complained. They said to Hashem, "Why are you going to create another one of those things? They SIN!"

Hashem told the angels, "Don't worry. This new creature will be different. I will create her so that it won't be in her nature to sin."

Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch said that when Hashem split Eve from Adam, Eve/woman was given man's portion of innate spirituality.

Because Adam/man lost this part of himself, he would always be at risk for becoming at sea with his spirituality--would always need to actively tie himself to Hashem by dint of doing many mitzvos (commandments). Without the mitzvos, man loses his connection to his spirituality.

Take the mitzvah (commandment) of sukkah*, for instance. Men are commanded to dwell in the sukkah for an entire week. Women have no such commandment. Men need to enact the drama of living in the desert under the stars for a whole week so as to connect them to the history of their ancestors' lengthy desert-wandering. That little playing-out of ancient history is exactly what they need to get them through another year of their Jewish existence while they live out their day-to-day drudgery.

Women, on the other hand, have no need of all of those commandments because they have a direct spiritual tie to Hashem. It's inborn. Men have to strive, women are already there, close to Hashem every second of every day.

In the morning service, there is a series of blessings called the Negative Blessings. We say thank God I'm not this, and thank God I'm not that. Many feminists get P.O.'ed about the blessing that men say: Thank God I'm not a woman.

Rashi explains that men are thanking God for having more commandments--that the more commandments we have, the greater our quality of life. So, a free man has more commandments than a slave, and so forth. A man has more commandments than a woman. That's the real meaning of those blessings: we express our gratitude for what we get out of living a Torah life and fulfilling the mitzvos.

Within all those negative blessings, there is a single affirmation. Women say (channeling Popeye??): Thank God I am what I am.

I love that. Woman is saying: Thank you for creating me with innate spirituality, for making me a special kind of human being with a direct tie to You, for making me someone who isn't so inclined to sin. I am happy with my portion, even grateful!

Man, on the other hand, is lucky to have those many commandments because he needs them. It helps him alter his life from one of humdrum toil to a life that has meaning. So a man who strives to follow the mitzvos is joyful for having this constant tool for attaining the spiritual.

A woman is every bit as joyful because of her unique position of having been born spiritually whole.

As I explained to Bernie, either you buy it or you don't. There is nothing one can say about the Tooth Fairy that will speak to my soul. The reason is something inborn, because I'm a woman--a Jewish woman.

It's much harder for a man to come to and maintain faith and spirituality. It requires striving. This is what I believe with all my heart.

*Sukkah-a temporary hut that is central to the holiday of Sukkos.

Gardasil Victory

The following is the text of an editorial I wrote about the 2010 vaccination schedule issued by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC). The topic doesn't apply to my own sons and daughters because Israel does not routinely vaccinate children for HPV.

I became aware of the Gardasil vaccine controversy during research for a series of articles I was hired to write on the topic of sexually transmitted diseases (STD's). The implicit message of the drug company and the American governmental bodies responsible for creating and distributing the Gardasil vaccine as something for women only, aroused my feminist ire. I was thrilled to discover that the 2010 vaccination schedule includes boys and men on the Gardasil roster.


"Those of us who felt anger that our daughters had to be vaccinated against the HPV virus (and not our sons) have been handed a victory. The newest vaccination schedule issued by the CDC advisory panel in October 2009 now recommends that boys receive the vaccine, too.

The Gardasil controversy has many factors. For one thing, vaccinating youngsters is seen by many as the equivalent of tacit approval for sexual activity in children as young as 9 years of age. Of course, as parents, we'd like to protect our daughters against STD's contracted during sexually violent encounters such as rape, but does vaccinating a young girl give her the impression that it is safe for her to become sexually active? Will she get the wrong impression that this vaccine means she has the permission of her parents and her government to have sex?

Why Daughters?

Then again, the feminists among us had other fish to fry: why are the girls being vaccinated and not the boys? Aren't boys every bit as responsible and even more so if one considers the act of rape, for spreading the human papilloma virus (HPV)? Why should our daughters submit to this vaccine and its risks and not our sons?

Drug manufacturers and our government tried to tell us that the vaccine was not proven effective in boys and men but underestimated the ability of the public to reason. The thing is, the effectiveness of the vaccine in girls and women was known because it was TESTED in girls and women (and not in boys and men), until at last, angry parents hammered the idea into the heads of the people who run the drug companies that boys and men be tested, too. Parents were not surprised to discover that the vaccine was found to be just as effective in boys and men as it is in girls and women.

So, we can see the new 2010 vaccination schedule as a victory of sorts for American parents, who have learned better than to shut up and put up with whatever the drug companies and the government wants to do to their children. Yes, we are grateful as parents that medical interventions have been found to protect our children from HPV and its effects, but we have issues in the way this solution was presented to us and our children.

Carte Blanche

We don't want our boys and men to think that they have carte blanche to engage in any sexual behavior they choose and that it's the girl's job to protect her person against a boy's undeniable urges. Boys and men must also take responsibility for their pleasures. We need equal rights to apply to our medical care every bit as much as we need these rights to apply to our employment situation.

As parents, no matter whether we are mothers or fathers, we need our children to think outside of gender stereotypes that permit boys and men to be all-empowered when it comes to sex while women must be protected from them. We must teach our children the concept of equal responsibility."