Karen’s Blog

Thoughts on a changing profession and life

Posts Tagged ‘Son

Service is Something We all Need to Do

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My father, Steve, (center) mugging with buddies during WWII. Family Photo

My father, Steve, (center) mugging with buddies during WWII.
Family Photo

This Labor Day weekend I’m thinking a lot about the meaning of labor—and by extension, the meaning of service. The events in Syria and a phone call with my son have focused my attention on the way that we honor some kinds of service in this country, but not others.

When I travel and walk behind those in military uniform, I often hear people thanking them for their service. I want to offer my thanks as well. I come from a long line of military people.  My father served in WWII, Korea and Vietnam. My younger brother served in the first Gulf War. My niece served in Bosnia as an army medic. Some of my cousins or their children serve in the present day conflicts. I’m grateful for what each of them has done.

Yet despite my family history, I feel bothered by our recent show of military deification, constantly thanking soldiers and sailors for their service.

Following in my father’s footsteps, my brother, Stan, enters military service. Like my father he was a teenager at the time. As a child. Stan, decorated his Cub Scout uniform with my father’s medals. Family Photos

In my cynical moments I imagine some of this constant thanking is overcompensation for the horrible way that troops returning from Vietnam were treated. It may also be guilt, since so few people actually serve in the military these days. Or could people think that by thanking soldiers for their service, they are somehow contributing to the security of the country?

The fact is that making our nation a better and safer place for everyone requires service in countless ways. Its everything from paying taxes honestly to making sure our homes and streets are cleaned, our water systems work, our government runs smoothly (sometimes), our cars are repaired and we and our children are fed, educated and healthy.

Yet how often is a police officer thanked for his or her service? In our heavily armed nation, they risk their safety every time they pull a car over for a traffic offense.  What about public health nurses who work long hours and days to combat disease outbreaks? Who thanks the teachers who try to pass on knowledge and skills, often without enough resources or funding? How about the people who maintain electrical lines and water pipes or collect trash? All those who provide the services that makes our country safe, relatively efficient and a place of opportunity and hope.   How often are those people thanked for their service?

It is true that we value service that can be quantified—how many fires were put out? How many battles were fought? How many students made it to college?

My son giving a talk during the swearing in ceremony of new Peace Corps volunteers in Uganda.

My son giving a talk during the swearing in ceremony of new Peace Corps volunteers in Uganda. Family Photo

But often service is something that cannot be quantified.  The results can’t be put into a spreadsheet. For example, my son is in a very remote area of Uganda serving in the Peace Corps. There is no electricity in his village. Water has to be hauled some distance from a well and boiled before drinking. The program conducted by the non-profit to which he was assigned turns out not to exist—he’s had to rethink the purpose of his role in the small community where he will live for the next couple of years.

Most of what he does is teach the non-profit he works with how to quantify—how to keep records of their finances and program spending, how to write better grant applications, or improve the website publicizing their efforts.

My son, far left, receiving a turkey as a gift during a site visit. Family Photo

My son, far left, receiving a turkey as a gift during a site visit. Family Photo

Perhaps ironically those efforts and his presence are hard to quantify. His friendly and flexible personality makes him a good role model of an American citizen to the villagers. He is teaching the young people how to be computer literate.  If one of them eventually becomes a leader in their village or even their country, they will have pleasant memories of that kind and funny American who helped them understand how to work a laptop, build a spreadsheet and connect to the internet. They may not remember his name, but they will remember he was an American. That cannot be quantified.

What he does is without the resources or prestige of other kinds of government service like the military or the Foreign Service. Peace Corps volunteers don’t get paid, receive discounted travel or shopping privileges at government commissaries.  They serve alone in highly stressed areas, often without clean water, electricity or the other comforts we take for granted.  Its anonymous—no one besides his parents will thank him for his service.

My son will return a better man having lived and worked in this village. He will learn as much about living and perseverance from the villagers as they will learn about computers and quantifying data from him.

So on this day honoring labor and service, I can’t help but think how if more Americans took up service, and, whether at home or in another country, shared experiences like the ones he is having—how to cope with strange conditions, how to solve problems without resources, how to stand in the shoes of a stranger, then we might have a world with more connections and fewer conflicts.

But I can’t quantify that.

Written by kasmauski

September 2, 2013 at 10:12 pm

Staying Flexible

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My parents, Steve and Emiko, in their 50th year of marriage.

My parents, Steve and Emiko, in their 50th year of marriage.

Some years back, my husband and I interviewed all of my family members for a video on my parent’s 50th wedding anniversary. I remember asking my father the secret of a successful marriage.  He smiled and said, “Be flexible.”

When we decided to have a child, our lives were transformed.  It was our turn to be flexible, adapting to the needs of our son and a few years later our daughter. Nurturing two small children was a wild ride, especially since I traveled so much for National Geographic and my husband was a full time editor.

Katie, 7, and Will, 9, posing for their annual Cherry tree portrait.

Katie, 7, and Will, 9, posing for their annual Cherry tree portrait.

But all good things must eventually end. Our kids grew up. The familiar chaos of responding to our children—whether hustling them out the door in the morning, or racing home at night to get them before day care closed, or following their college sports and performances—drew to a close.

Or so we thought.

With both kids in college my husband and I became empty nesters—except of course for our children’s monthly trips home to do laundry, raid the food supplies and meet old high school buddies.

Since they were out of the house—sort of—I decided to return to academia. I always wanted to get a masters degree for teaching or managing a visual department. That became possible when I was awarded a Knight Fellowship at Ohio University. I was apprehensive about the decision. While I’ve had a strong freelance career, I feared that disappearing for a year might not be a wise business move. But I approached it with a flexible attitude and my fellowship year turned into one of the best experiences I’ve ever had.

At the end of that year I graduated from Ohio and my son Will graduated from William & Mary within weeks of each other. Pictures of both of us in our caps and gowns are on the Facebook sites of our friends and family.

Katie, me, and Will at my Ohio University graduation in 2012.

Katie, me, and Will at my Ohio University graduation in 2012.

In the fall Will applied to the Peace Corps and was assigned to Uganda. He left this spring. At the same time Katie decided she wanted to come home to finish college. Our daughter, a smart gorgeous girl, turned out to be a homebody!! Go figure, but my husband and I were secretly pleased to have her back. We count ourselves lucky to have a daughter who wants to be near us. We love having children at home. The weekends are lively with their friends dropping by. Will leaving for two years left us deflated, but having Katie move back home pumped us back up again. We couldn’t be happier.

I guess full-fledged empty nesting will have to wait for a while. But we’re flexible.

Being flexible is one of the more important qualities for a successful career in photojournalism. I used to say if something could go wrong it will. I just need to deal with it since there are no second chances in the profession.  If I didn’t return with the pictures on an assignment, I wasn’t getting hired again.

Among other things, being flexible means changing direction if a job doesn’t materialize or a contract can’t be finalized. In the ever-changing profession of photojournalism, flexibility is a mantra. This week another newspaper, the Chicago Sun Times, dumped their staff of 28 hard working and talented photographers.  Hearing about such outrages saddens me and I pray that my fellow photographers who lost their jobs will be flexible and smart about finding something that can keep them in the business, or find something else that makes them productive and happy.

After all the years I’ve spent working as a photographer, I guess I once thought that at a certain point in the profession I wouldn’t need to constantly stay flexible. But I now see that isn’t true. I went back to school for a masters in visual communications to keep my skills competitive. I loved immersing myself in modern multimedia techniques and seeing the energy and creativity of the next generation of journalists.  Seeking out flexibility expanded my horizons.

Will and a few of his buddies at his Peace Corps going away party.

Will and a few of his buddies at his Peace Corps going away party.

I hope that I have passed that trait onto my son. He will need it.  Like a dutiful mother, I gave my son advice as I dropped him off in Philadelphia this spring to join his fellow Peace Corps volunteers. Of course I cried uncontrollably. I’m a crybaby. I admit it. Through my tears, I struggled to give my kind and handsome son a few pearls of wisdom for whatever they were worth. I’m sure he wasn’t listening. He was probably focused on the fear and excitement of embarking on an amazing adventure. But it made me feel useful.

My advice to him echoed what my father said to me years earlier:  Be safe, be kind and be patient. Most of all be flexible.


Written by kasmauski

June 4, 2013 at 4:30 am