My mother died last week. She had been living with lung/brain/bone cancer for about 6 years, and ultimately died due to shit related to the lung cancer part.
I edited her obituary:
Debra Lee Diroll (69) of Ravenna passed away Monday, December 26, 2022 at her home surrounded by her family. She was born July 16, 1953 in Cleveland, Ohio to Thomas and Patricia (Hall) Ebner. Debra was a U.S. Army veteran and worked as an executive secretary for various companies and in the produce department of Giant Eagle.
Debra loved her pets, loud music, NASCAR, wildlife, gardening, baking, and video games. She will be remembered for her remarkable cookie recipes, irreverent humor, expansive kindness, and deep care for her loved ones and people she had barely met.
She is survived by her husband of nearly 50 years Thomas A. Diroll, children Rachel Anne Diroll-Zack and Andrew Thomas Diroll-Black, stepdaughter Stephanie Common-Diroll; grandchildren Sydney, Damian, Nicholas, Zachary, Jillian, Jackson, and Minerva; mother Patricia Ebner; and siblings Judy Shuster, Robin Nolan, Patricia Ebner-Grubb, Charlotte Ebner, James Ebner and John W. Ebner. She was preceded in death by her siblings Terry Anne Kirkpatrick and Thomas Ebner, Jr.
The family would like to thank all of the doctors and staff at University Hospitals Seidman Cancer Center, and all the players around the world Debra met and played with over her 17 years playing World of Warcraft.
Debra requested that there be no calling hours or services–cremation has taken place. In lieu of flowers, memorials should be made to the Portage County APL, P.O. Box 927, Ravenna, Ohio 44266.
The things I didn't say included how she really enjoyed cannabis, hated bullshit, and was a massive hypocrite about almost everything. In a really funny way.
The truth is that this world was cruel to my mother. She had to deal with the things that too often daughters, sisters, wives, and mothers have to endure, for her entire life. The challenges she faced made her cautious about things that she really wanted to do. She would hide candy everywhere because she was afraid people would make fun of her childish eating habits or worse--eat her candy. She made fun of me for being a picky eater my whole life but then refused to even try something that was a clear combination of things she loved (Thai food, lady... THAI FOOD. It's all the things you like, together in a bowl). Her professional and home lives made her vulnerable and shameful for making mistakes. She'd get yelled at or gaslighted for missing a payment or not getting an invoice right. She was always put upon by men who were probably making more missteps than she ever did.
She had to hide purchases from my father because she didn't want to have to explain that she just wanted things. She wasn't buying gold toilet seats, just candy and sweaters and things she liked... but she didn't want to endure the criticism or the questions. She called me up a couple of times to help her pay off her credit cards for this purpose, and I was happy to do so.
Despite all of this, she was so kind. She would put up with almost anyone's shit to a point, tell them it would be OK, that things will be better. She found ways to help people by giving them clothes or buying them a drink or putting them in touch wither lawyer-kid. She would listen to everyone's garbage and moderate Facebook beefs. Oh grodd, the facebook profile my mother left behind is a leftist propaganda wonderland. It's a Daily Kos bumper sticker. So much. SO MUCH.
She was friends with some kid from Brazil in World of Warcraft. She'd give life advice to orcs and night elves and all kinds of weirdos. Some of her WoW friends were people I played with in 2004. It's really odd to see those names in my mom's friends list when I quit playing the game a dozen years ago or more.
So when she died, she didn't leave a massive hole in the world like some celebrity. People will not burn candles and sing in her honor (well, maybe some). She had a small little island that she occupied but it was covered in a kaleidoscope of shiny things. It was a comfortable place despite the sharp edges here and there. It was a reminder that despite the bullshit of the universe, you can still chill out and have fun getting stoned and playing video games.
I feel like I should get back into some routines. I hate routines, but I understand they're good for people of a certain age. So blogging might be a thing.
Let me tell you a bit about music. I don't know that I can live without it. I remember when I was in college, and my girlfriend at the time was trying to take her Catholic faith very seriously and gave up music for Lent one year. I ... I should have known that that wasn't going to work out. But alas. She left the church and I still have music.
This week I went to a live show in DC at the 930 club. It appeared to be a full-capacity show, with approximately 1100-1200 people if my group size estimation powers are still good. That's the same capacity as pre-COVID. It was a bit much for my companion, who had to go outside to get some air at one point. The band was IDLES.
In the 90s, when I was growing up, if a band was really openly anti-war, anti-hate, it would have fallen into a weird little sub-genre of acts that were kind of a joke. "positive punk" or some shit. But now, in this world, a band like IDLES can just blast into a tune with the intro of "this is an anti-fascist song" and it flies. Every single song they played felt like the final song. They played the crowd like another instrument. It was glorious, and it was very much about goodness and love. Fucking amazing band. Life changing show.
When I got married in 2007, I decided to hyphenate my last name. My wife planned to do so, so I figured it would be fair and fine for me to do so as well. In Ohio, there is no provision for men to change their names upon marriage, but women are given the freedom to change their names pretty much any way they choose. I had to go through a separate name-change action in civil court, which I completed maybe a year and a half after the wedding.
By that time, I had started my career in federal service. All of my records and credentials included only my original last name, not my hyphenated one. Over the course of years I got my records updated, got new credentials, and in most cases, had to explain why I changed my name in addition to providing the proof of name change from the court.
One thing that has persisted in my federal records is my email address. While my name shows as the hyphenated version, my actual address is still just the original name. This is left over from the mission support guy in NYC who did the change to my Outlook profile--he changed my visible name without changing my email address. He said something at the time like "well, if you decide you want to change it back, this is easier." There was a sense that maybe my wife had put me up to it, or that maybe I'd reassert my masculinity and go back to my proper name.
These kinds of biases have not gone away. Men, however, have always kind of looked at me quizzically when I explain it. My neighbor, who is a pretty liberal dude but about 18 years my senior still calls me by my original last name, even though he's only known me with the hyphen. He even said something like, "yeah, but that's not your real last name." I usually just shrug off the intimations, as most of the men making these comments are either older or from a more masculine cultural background. But it has bothered me.
It occurred to me that this is a form of discrimination. Me choosing to hyphenate my name is a little queer. It's not in line with the regular gender roles of men keeping their names and women maybe hyphenating (with the suggestion that a woman who hyphenates isn't properly subservient to her man anyway). So there's a nuance that I'm not as male as I should be, and therefore, a bit queer. I'm not the poster child for queerness or being discriminated against for who I am and how I've chosen my name. I have not had to deal with any of the shit my gay or trans friends have dealt with, or even the kinds of discrimination that any woman deals with on an average day in America.
But it is discrimination. Women in my organization who have been married have had their credentials and email addresses updated within days of submitting the request. There shouldn't be any reason mine has been held back.
So I'm pushing to get my stupid email updated in part because I want to normalize this kind of change and name use for men (CIS WHITE AMERICAN-BORN MEN, YES) in my organization and just chip away at that dividing line. Me, 5% queer, doing my part.
UPDATE: My organization does one thing efficiently, and that's update people's names in the IT directory. They then deleted my old profile, so ... I was unable to log into my computer all day. I had to dig around and find the actual PHONE number to call our help desk and talk to a PERSON to get it resolved. But eventually we did and it's all good now.
Well. After a year of being safe and teaching my kids to wear masks and everything, I go out and get my first dose of the COVID-19 vaccine and find out that I actually HAVE COVID.
I got my first shot last week and the usual symptoms started up right away--light headache, body aches, fatigue, etc. Within two days, I had a sore throat that progressed to a severe sore throat. My doctor recommended I go get a COVID test just to be sure and BAM. Got COVID. So did the wife, but neither of the kids, strangely.
Fun part, this was supposed to be Spring Break. We were set to go see my kids' grandparents on Monday, but by then we were all confirmed to be in quarantine. The last time we planned such a visit was in November. En route to that meeting, a deer t-boned our Toyota Prius and totaled it. At least this time, we don't have to worry about picking glass out of our hair. (The deer died, btw. Six shots to the skull thanks to the local deputies).
So here we are. My symptoms have mostly abated. I'm just really tired and run out of energy every 4 hours or so. And I'm cranky--every little thing the kids do, I just want to throw them out the window. I haven't, not yet, anyway. It's just the worst, longest, stay-at-home weekend ever.
Neighbors and friends have been supportive, though. People volunteering to go to the store for us, dropping off snacks and presents for the kids. It's nice. It would be nicer if we could all just be vaccinated and safe and hang out like normal, but oh well.
How did we get COVID, you ask? Oh, fun story. So maybe it was because our kids are in school and one of them brought it home. Possible. But it could also be because we broke down about two weeks ago and went to a restaurant with the kids. We wore masks and did our best to distance, but we did dine indoors and there were some people around, so maybe that. Yeah, assholes, I know.
We were probably asymptomatic and the vaccine blew it up. We could have been walking around for weeks, contagious, and not known about it. We could have gone to visit the grandparents and gotten them sick. Maybe it's a good thing that we caught it after all. Ugh. Back to sleep with me. I'm not making sense.
Over the last few months, we had been getting signals from our kid's kindergarten teacher that he was having trouble at school. First it was just questions about how to get him to pay attention and focus on lessons (a common problem for kindergarteners, boys in particular). Then it was provoking other kids because he was annoying them. Finally, it was inappropriate touching--he touched someone's butt when they were at the drinking fountain.
We all noticed that he was "self stimulating" in various ways: fingers in his mouth, working spit around his his cheeks, scratching his arms, whistling, humming, and sometimes hands down his pants fiddling with his junk.
When we raised issues like this to our Battlestar Galactica-style pediatrician (sans smoking), he said, "I could send him to a child psychologist who will prescribe whatever you want... or, you could wait and see if he'll grow out of it. He's a five-year-old boy, after all." That seemed reasonable, so we just said, yeah, let's wait and see. We'll work on ways for him to cope with whatever is making him anxious.
"Take a deep breath."
"Fingers!"
"HAND CHECK!"
These things worked, for a time. But they were symptom-specific, and as soon as he'd master one urge, another would crop up. If he was particularly tuned-up, he'd do all the things ALL AT ONCE. One Friday evening, during dinner, he couldn't sit still to eat his food, and as I talked him through eating he was compulsively scratching my elbow, chewing his other hand while whistling, spitting, and humming at the same time all while tapping his feet and rolling his eyes ("googly eyes").
It was clear what was happening: the Wolf wasn't growing out of his nervous behaviors. He was growing INTO them.
We scheduled him for an ADHD assessment in the fall. There are apparently enough nervous parents out there that getting a kid vetted for ADHD takes some waiting.
We also had a 504 conversation with the school--that is, we invoked the kid's rights under the law for equal education. If he was assessed as having a condition that affected his academic performance, then the school was obligated to provide him whatever accommodations he needed to be successful. After that meeting, it was clear that he had some issues, but not so bad that he needs specialized help from the school.
The hard part of getting here was the stigma. Nearly everyone in this process has said "Yeah, but he's a boy." As if boys are supposed to be fidgety. I think they are, but maybe I just believe in the stigma? Anyhow, accepting that the kid might be ADHD has changed how we deal with his more frustrating behaviors.
The Wolf sometimes won't go to bed when he's supposed to. Sometimes being almost all the time. He comes out of his room for about an hour almost every night to TELL YOU SOMETHING or to GET A DRINK or because his ROOM IS SPOOKY. It's just because he doesn't know how to turn off his brain and get some sleep. I can relate. I have been an insomniac most of my life and it's usually because I have some SHIT TO DO or I might need to WORRY ABOUT THIS THING or maybe REPLAY AN ENTIRE MOVIE IN MY HEAD.
So, knowing this, instead of GET TO BED RIGHT NOW it's "tell me about it on the way back." We indulge his weirdness, let it play out, let him unwind the coiled up thing in his skull so he can sleep, maybe.
With food, it's all about bargaining. EAT THIS AND YOU CAN PLAY OVERWATCH.
With mornings it's all routine. Have breakfast and then get dressed.
Some of these tendencies may have been a part of why the Montessori experiment went so poorly, but that doesn't relieve them from my rage. Rather, I feel that they should have recognized this and tried different tactics beyond the exclusion and disappointment they worked on him.
We'll see how the assessment goes this fall. Hopefully he's in a range where therapy or medication will be unnecessary or very limited, and we can just get into a new routine.
The best part of these conversations so far has been when the kindergarten teacher (kind of an anxiety bundle in her own right) explained, she thinks he's doing okay as is, but she thinks he could be above and beyond. Let's just take away this obstacle and imagine what he can do.
Over the last year, a lot has changed. After enduring the bullshit of the Montessori school, we put our son into the daycare that took care of him up to the age of four. The ladies who run the place told us, "that's not our Jackson, but don't worry, we'll take care of him." Within a few weeks his tantrums and night terrors ended, and he was turning into the kid we knew from before.
Last summer, just as he was getting ready to turn five, we put him in the local summer day camp, run by a company called Kids After Hours (KAH). The stupid, yellow and black clock face mascot is a common enough sight, plastered across many a minivan or sedan throughout Montgomery County. Apparently, they have a thing where if they spot your car with the KAH magnet, they'll post on their Facebook and give your kid a free week of daycare or something. I was skeptical at first, because I am always skeptical of organized... anything... but it turned out to be wonderful.
We would drop the Wolf off at an elementary school gym (that was otherwise unused during the summer) and he would just play all day. Play with toys, with other kids, with the big, inflatable waterslides they rented, whatever he wanted. He came home excited and exhausted. He made friends, he got picked on by budding bullies, and became a favorite of some of the camp counselor people. The Wolf has a way with people.
Something we noticed over the spring and summer was that the Wolf had some mental scars from the Montessori school. He became much more eager to please everyone around him. He just wanted whoever it was to like him and... I don't know. Reassure him somehow? No, that's not it. This manifested whenever he thought he had disappointed you somehow. Any perceived failure turned into fearful eyes, tears, and choking apologies for whatever he thought he had failed at. He would throw himself into your belly and his knees would give out and he'd sob that he was sorry, saying "I'm a good boy" in such a miserable croak. It was clear that whatever happened, he was given a pretty heavy dose of disappointment-shaming at that school, and the effect is that he just wants whoever is criticising him to stop and tell him its okay.
We reassure him and tell him whatever the problem was isn't that big of a deal. We aren't disappointed or mad, we just want to know if HE is okay. We just want him to know it's okay to make a mistake now and then, and we use that as a chance to learn or help in some way. If there's something that's broken, we try to fix it or replace it, that's all. And take a deep breath. That's it. Another one. Okay, now can you help me clean this up?
It got better after he started kindergarten. The Wolf got into a summer program to fast-track kids into regular public school. He basically got an extra six weeks of kindergarten for free, with regular teachers. After a week or so of adjustment, he was flying. When he went into the Montessori school, the Wolf could write his name and spell all kinds of things. When he got out of it, he couldn't read but he could set a table (WTF???). After a few weeks of kindergarten, he was singing songs about multiplication.
The Wolf's confidence grew every week. He started getting the best marks you can get, and was identified as a "role model" for other students. He was excited to talk about what he learned and it was clear he was in good hands. Our local public school is staffed by some of the best-meaning people I've ever met in education, and I've known a bunch.
He started regular kindergarten in September and, while not perfect, has had an excellent time. The Wolf can read at about a second grade level already, and he's pretty good at math and science. He has friends who draw pictures for him. He writes notes to people. He looks forward to going to school every day.
A year later, there are still shadows of the damage. He doesn't plead and hope that he's a "good boy" anymore, I think because he knows we love him and have no doubts that he's a good boy, but sometimes he gets overwhelmed. A few weeks ago, he knocked over a cup of chocolate milk and was so embarrassed he started crying and dry heaving, even though we were calmly asking him to go get some paper towels. He got through it, but it was rough for a few minutes.
Now, he's sitting next to me while I write, learning to play our favorite game, Overwatch, in the training mode. His hands aren't quite big enough to work all the keys at once, but he's moving around the practice area and blowing up robots with a lot of excitement. He wants so desperately to participate in this game that I play, and he keeps telling me "I taught you to play this, right? I'm good at this, I'm good at all the characters!" And so on.
About this time last year, we started noticing that our son, the Wolf, was getting a little bored at his daycare. The daycare was great--run by this wonderful, Guyanese woman who all the kids called "Auntie Joyce." She and her assistant LOVED those kids, and taught them in the old schoolhouse way--repetition, daily routines, spelling your name, working with scissors, etc. They read books like it was bedtime every day and just managed them well as they grew. But our Wolf had grown to be one of the oldest kids in the group and seemed a little... bored.
(On reflection, he wasn't bored. I'm not sure what he was, but it wasn't bored)
So we started looking for proper pre-schools to enroll him in. One of the first we found was Casa de Montessori, just up the street from us. We scheduled visits and open houses and signed the papers. The people seemed to have their shit together and their classes were well-run. It looked like the kind of independence the Wolf needed and the subtle complexities of the work felt like a good challenge.
You can Google what a Montessori school is and how it works. The short version is that it's not like a conventional schoolroom environment. The kids have kind of independent run of a classroom, which is set up with work stations or areas with particular tasks. While there are teachers, the kids just kind of pick up lessons as they go and there's not a lot of central control of the classroom.
For the first few months, the Wolf seemed to be thriving. He was excited to go to his new school and met all kinds of new friends. Hell--we met new friends through the place. A little family down the street is now in our friend circle. He told us about his incomprehensible lessons ("I scooped macaroni! I folded clothes!") and seemed to be picking up on things around the house. He liked to help clean the dining room table and was more interested in helping out with chores and making dinner. His independence certainly spiked--he was climbing up on counters and getting into things like... the dishes. He liked to set the table.
One thing that was wrong was that he was required to take naps. He was enrolled in the half-day program, which meant he went to the "toy classroom"/daycare room for the latter half of the day. In there, he got to play with toys, do dress up, set tables for snacktime, and ... take a nap. At Auntie Joyce's house, he had grown out of the naps and was on a good schedule. But with naps, the guy wouldn't go to bed until late--some nights as late as 11pm. The teachers remarked on those days that he was really cranky when he got up from nap and would be somewhat defiant. We told them--don't let him nap.
In December, though, the teacher called us in for a conference. The Wolf, it seemed, wasn't getting it. He was too unfocused, "didn't seem to be in control of his body," had a short attention span, wanted to talk to kids more than do work, needed adults to help him with work, would spontaneously run over and hug the teacher while she was conducting lessons for other kids, didn't obey class boundaries, used "funny words" like "poop" and "butts," and a list of other frustrations. He would cry a lot if he didn't get something he wanted or if other kids wouldn't share. He always wanted to be at the front of the line, to be the line leader. He talked a lot, asked questions like "are we reading books now?" He would do part of a lesson and get bored, then go talk to other kids.
The teacher waxed thoughtful and told us that he was a sweet kid, maybe too sweet. She mused that the Wolf would get beaten up in school if he acted like that when he went to grade school. She warned that he wouldn't have friends because he was annoying. She suggested that we should have him checked out by a psychologist.
He happened to have a doctor's appointment around that time. The doctor listened to all those concerns and nodded and said, "He's a four year old boy. What do you think he's going to do?"
We went back to the teacher and suggested that he get more one-on-one time, maybe in the afternoons when fewer kids are around. Oh, and don't let him nap. She said she'd see what she could do.
After the holiday break, things changed. At first we thought it was just the long break from the routine, but that changed. More on that later.
In January, we got the first report that the Wolf had hit a teacher. Wait, no, teachers. Hard. He's a pretty big kid, so when he kicks you, it's not a small thing. He was kicking and hitting and saying horrible things. "I'm going to smash the school down!" We had talks with him, worked on anger management techniques--take a deep breath, take another, stomp three times, explain why you're mad, say you're sorry, DON'T HIT, HITTING IS BAD, etc. The teachers seemed to be on board. He was always really remorseful when he calmed down, and a really sweet kid most of the time. His violence was shocking, we were convinced that it was a passing thing.
It wasn't. It was spilling over at home. He'd hit me, Carly, even went over and hit the baby (with a very soft blanket) once. He'd speak horrible curses and find ways to get under your skin. If you told him you liked the Cars 3 movie, he'd say, "I'm going to smash the Cars movie. I don't like it anymore!" Just everything was wrong. It was impossible to get him up in the morning and he would throw tantrums when he got home. It got worse, both at home and at school. Carly was seriously thinking about taking him to a psychologist, worried--partly due to the reports of school shootings on the radio over the last few months--that he might be starting down a dark road. Often, when we dropped him off at school in the morning, he would turn straight around and ask to go home.
It came to a head when he hit a teacher, threatened to pee on other kids' heads, and threw a massive tantrum over a cookie (some kid brought in cookies for his birthday, the Wolf wanted a second one, and was told no... so he blew up). They put him in the daycare room to calm down and called me. When they put him on the phone so I could talk to him, he sounded miserable. "I want to go home, Daddy, will you come get me?" Luckily, I was working from home, so I could come and get him. He was an emotional wreck, but seemed to be in a good mood. The teacher told me he hadn't gotten back to the classroom yet (it had been over an hour).
I packed him up and brought him home. When I asked him about the tantrum he was embarrassed and remorseful. Even though it was only noon, he asked to go lay down and went to his room and cried. I asked him what was going on at school and he said he didn't want to go back. "I don't have any friends anymore."
Then we had another conference with the teacher. This time, it was more of the same--kid's unfocused, doesn't pay attention, gets in the way of other kids' learning, can be emotional--and the teacher added that he'd become increasingly emotional and violent. She said, "now, all we're doing is just trying to get through the day." They would just smile and try to appease him when he was mad. They'd send him to another room if he was disruptive. There was this game he'd play--he'd hide in the coat closet and when kids came in, would take their coats and hang them up, then stay in the coat closet... sometimes for hours. They would let him do whatever he wanted and not try to stop him or interact with him because he'd explode if they did. The teacher said that she was willing to try anything, that he was a good kid, but all this couldn't continue.
I had a revelation at that point. I started to see that the problem wasn't the Wolf--it was the school. They didn't know how to deal with him. He was more outgoing and creative than they were used to, and rather than spend the time to work with him and focus him on things, they just... ostracised him. Where his disruptions used to turn into, "Jackson, stop bothering them and come here to learn things" (the correct way), they turned into "Kids, don't play with Jackson. Do your work." He didn't have friends because the teachers were warning other kids to NOT interact with him. When he was left alone in his closet game, while he might have had fun, it was on his own, and no one participated by trying to get him to come out. Hide-and-Seek only works if someone seeks. He was left alone... no wonder he didn't want to listen to the teacher and saw her as a threat. She was threatening him.
And we started recalling that the times when we dropped him off and he turned right around and wanted to go home--those were the days where this particular teacher was there and no one else. Our schedules were such that he was usually one of the first kids there. If he saw that he'd be alone with the one lady, he was scared and wanted to leave. I don't know what might have gone on with her, but I don't think I want to--it would be bad if I had details.
All of this meant that my kid was sad, depressed, frustrated, and lonely. And it was because of this school. We called our old daycare lady, and Auntie Joyce was happy to take him back, without hesitation. We arranged it, and sent notice to the Montessori school--we will no longer be bringing our son to that place.
It has been a few weeks and the change is remarkable. The Wolf is really back to his old self. It took a little adjustment, but now, he's just damned happy all the time and gives hugs to everyone. He doesn't throw tantrums so often, and when he does, they're short and easily remedied (food). He has recovered pretty well and we're glad we rescued him from that situation.
I've got a lot of residual anger over the situation. I get how my kid might not have fit the Montessori mold, but the effect of ostracising him was that he was depressed. From the way he reacted to the one teacher, I think he may have even been bullied--by an adult. It's a terrible thought that adults would act that way toward a child in their care, but .... it's over now. Kid is safe, and we're all moving forward, trying to get him ready for kindergarten in the fall.
