In 1978 when the teen smash hit “Grease” danced onto the silver screen, I was the only fifth-grader in the free world who wasn’t allowed to see it. (This is how I remember it and I will be sticking to this version.)
My mother had learned the plot’s end prior to opening night and was fearful I would turn into a brazen hussy if I saw Olivia Newton-John shaking her tight black pants. They are the same pants I gaze down upon, but today I refer to them as my “mommy yoga pants.” Not a whole lot of shaking going on with my version. And to be frank, mine haven’t seen the light of downward dog either, but I’m hopelessly devoted to them.
Today’s generation of parents strive to be perfect so our children will have perfectly wonderful lives and grow up to be perfectly perfect people. So when we all fail to obtain that lofty, unobtainable goal our self-esteem and our children’s feeling of worth is squelched. Perfect.
How is perfection defined? A state of flawlessness and completeness, or being without fault or defect. I don’t know about you, but I sure feel like a steaming cup of that today — and while I’m at it, I better insist my kids take a big old gulp, too.
The media isn’t any help with this fictitious “perfection” model. Television and print ads show us anorexic models and movie stars who supposedly exemplify perfect health for our kids. Dating services flood the web asking single persons if they’ve found their perfect match. In a perfect world, you could travel to the perfect getaway to show off your perfect body, just before you finish off that perfect martini and perfect steak. Sound perturbing?
Earlier this week, the East Coast was dealt a horrific storm. And possibly to boost ratings for the Weather Channel or make weather appear sexy, someone initially decided to name this one the “Perfect Storm.” It could potentially devastate millions of homes and property, and they truly believe that’s without fault or defect?
Then the storm began to wreak havoc on New York City. “Perfect” was no longer good enough for such a glamorous town. It was upgraded, or super-sized, to a “Superstorm.” NYC mayor Michael Bloomberg must be thrilled with those meteorologists, who I assume created this ingenious name, for giving Saturday Night Live tremendous material regarding Bloomberg’s recent ban on supersized soft drinks.
How is any of this storm’s destruction super? None of the footage or commentary appears to be outstanding or exceptionally fine.
Live footage by any random weather reporter of this storm: (shouting into microphone) “Here I am standing under a bridge with water rising all around us! Ten minutes ago we realized we should have left the area, for there is no apparent escape route.” Pause. “Hi, kids! Mommy loves you!”
With this superstorm comes flooding, hospital evacuations, threats to nuclear power plants, a rising death toll, and millions of homes left without power. Let’s cut the hype and start telling it like it is. We don’t need to pretty up this storm.
My mother had it right, back in ’78.
Sandy is a brazen hussy.
But do you know what would be really super? If the rest of the country reached out to get these communities’ feet back on dry land.
My prayers and thoughts are going out to everyone affected by this storm. Please note that needed donations are being accepted at www.RedCross.org. They’re also requesting blood donations, since over 300 regular blood drives have been cancelled due to the storm. To schedule blood donations, call 1-800-RED CROSS or go to www.redcrossblood.org.>
Stacey Hatton is a pediatric registered nurse, writer and public speaker. Her humor blog can be found at http://nursemommylaughs.com.>