My two-cents worth and then some. An online journal by LP Brown.

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Corporate America Does Not Want You

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The Following is a “Guest Contributor” Post.

Over the last decade or so it has become apparent that corporations do not want or value employees as much as they did 40 or 50 years ago, when a lot of Baby Boomers were starting their careers. Today’s workplace environment is very different.

Previously, an employee went to work for a company, stayed as long as they wanted, and retired from that company; in some cases after 30 years of service. That employee worked hard and contributed to the company’s growth and when that employee retired, he or she may have received continued health coverage of some type, a pension, and maybe even a retirement party celebrating his or her time at the company.

Now, take a look at today’s corporate environment. A show of appreciation for employees who were loyal to the company is nearly non-existent. Today’s employees who may have already vested 10 -15 years or more with the company, could learn that the pension, retiree health coverage, and other amenities that were promised when you joined the company have been outright stripped away from you or will no longer be funded. If you are just getting out of college or entering the corporate workplace, here is a sad wake-up call for you — a lot of the retirement benefits offered to your Boomer parents, may not be offered by many corporations,  so you have been forewarned.

I didn’t address the retirement party, dinner or other farewell event much, because generally your coworkers, providing you had good relationships with them, will make sure you get some kind of appropriate send-off before you leave. Even if it is an after hours get-together in a nice restaurant.

That said, after a long term relationship, you would think there would be some acknowledgement from the company you helped build. There is often none.

Today’s working person needs to think more about making him or her self as marketable as possible and less about giving blind loyalty to any company. Take advantage of any training made available to you. Think beyond the walls of your current employer by monitoring your industry as a whole versus only paying attention to the company that currently employees you, because in the current climate of employer non-gratitude it is likely that — regardless of how productive you are — you may not be with the organization as long as you would like to.  It is a sad reality that in today’s world, a growing number of companies in Corporate America are showing that they have no interest in long term relationships with the employees.

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Navigating the PC Minefield

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Boomers, pretend for a moment that you are back in the free-spirited era of the 1960s and wiry-haired, soloist Tiny Tim is on television strumming his ukulele and singing “Tiptoe Through the Tulips.”  (If you are having a senior moment, revisit Tiny Tim on YouTube.)

Return now to the present, and instead of a floral field of colorful tulips imagine a societal landscape filled with landmines labeled PC. The explosive devices are buried haphazardly, but because you are familiar with some of the hot spots you side-step intuitively and proceed with caution, but then suddenly you hear “click.” And before you can jump back — KABOOM!  You are blasted for violating PC protocol.

The practice of political correctness (PC) was started in the 1980s to minimize offenses based on race and culture, occupation, gender, sexual orientation, religious beliefs, disabilities, and the list grows on.  PC changed words, terms, and procedures in nearly every sector of society. For example, people previously referred to as retarded or crippled are now described as mentally or physically challenged. Gender specific occupations are gender neutral. Mailmen and airline stewardesses are now postal workers and flight attendants.  Housewives are homemakers, and babysitters are child care providers. Religious factions also did an about-face from the previous norm. “Mankind” became “humankind” and the “sons of God” converted to “children of God.”  Not to be outdone, nonbelievers endorse eliminating the word God and barring religious symbols from public venues.  Enough already!

For the record, I do not trivialize the seriousness of discrimination or prejudice, and I believe that everyone deserves to be treated with decency and respect. However, I also believe that many people practice PC grudgingly, because they fear that one misspoken word – one misstep in the minefield – could cause them to be unfairly regarded as racist, sexist, homophobic, or just obsolete. PC requires self-censorship, but inhibiting free speech does not alter a person’s thoughts nor change their heart. Case in point — In 1987, Oprah, produced her show in Forsyth County, Georgia, in a town that at the time had no black residents. The all white audience, apparently without fear of repercussions, candidly spoke their minds about why they did not want blacks living there; and as far as I know no one was burned in effigy. 

What are your thoughts on PC, has it gone too far?  Do you openly voice your opinion about the issues with which you disagree or hold your tongue instead, pretending to go along to get along?  Human beings are all imperfect, be they black, white or brown; Christian, Muslim or Atheist; straight, gay or bisexual. As long as their actions do not intentionally harm others, people should be free to be who they are, think what they think, and say what they want to say without being made to feel like trespassers on Old Macdonald’s PC farm. Here a trap. There a trap. Everywhere a trap, trap.

Life seemed much simpler in those bygone days when Tiny Tim, in his high falsetto voice sang, “Tiptoe through the tulips with meee.”

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The Name Game

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In Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, Juliet says to Romeo, “What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.” Unfortunately, during the past decades too many contemporary children have been encumbered with first names that are not so sweet. When will someone cry foul?

Ordinary people who “blessed” their children with unconventional names applaud the fact that celebrities joined the nontraditional name game. Gwyneth Paltrow’s daughter, Apple Blythe Alison Martin, is the fruit of her eye. Nicole Kidman delivered Sunday Rose, a weekday flower. Jermaine Jackson has a seasonal child, Autumn. He also fathered his royal Jermajesty. True, is one of Forest Whitaker’s daughters. The other has the poetic name of Sonnet, and Ocean is her brother. Sylvester Stallone’s son, Sage Moonblood, is the spice of his life. And seen in videos whipping her hair like windblown tree leaves is Will and Jada Smith’s daughter, Willow.

Celeb children are unlikely to be negatively affected by their names, but underprivileged children who get stuck with names like Mercedes, Lexus, or Electra may not fare as well. What’s more, children whose parents modify the spelling of their child’s name from the norm place a burden on them as well.

In 2005, Steven Levitt and Roland G. Fryer published a research paper titled A Roshanda by Any Other Name. The two economists collected data from birth certificates and other sources for every child born in the state of California beginning in 1961. Covering more than 16 million births, the study examines the dissimilarity in names of children in different cultures and raises the question of whether or not a person’s name could be instrumental in determining their fate. In addition, the report reveals significant variation in the spelling of some names. One example is Unique, spelled on different birth certificates as “Uneek, Uneque, and Uneqqee.” There was no indication of whether the children’s parents elected the distinct spelling or just did not know how to spell the word.         

Do you believe that giving a child a tongue twister forename or a string of co-joined first names, or a name that is totally bizarre could ultimately prove detrimental to the child? Think about it – how many professional males (excluding athletes and hip hoppers) do you know named DeAvante, Baccardi, or Andarius? Know any prominent career women named Shaquintah, Qweeta, or Saneika? No, I did not make those names up. And as hard as I tried to validate that an infant reportedly born November 7, 2005, in Wilmington, NC was named Ah’Justice Armagedon, except for a few slight references on questionable web sites, I found nothing.  But if it is true — God help Armagedon.

Some people call even an examination of this topic racist, but whether people are willing to admit it or not, so-called urban names raise a red flag that invites stereotyping and – right or wrong – elicits questions about a person’s socioeconomic status. Whether or not a person’s name determines one’s fate remains debatable.  As you contemplate that, picture this – an employer receives two resumes for an open position.  Education, skills, and other factors show that both applicants qualify. One job seeker is named William E. Johnson; the other is Appollo Adamari Aijon Falcon Smith.  Honestly, who do you think will be called-in for an interview?  Depends on the employer, some would say. Right.

While riding on public transit one day, I overheard the couple seated behind me discussing ridiculous names that people give their children. Seconds before they burst out in muffled laughter, one said to the other, “If you want to see where people with names like that end up, watch Jerry Springer’s show.”

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My Last Class Reunion

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A few years ago, I attended the 35th reunion of my high school  graduating class. It was the first and last reunion I would attend.  Of the 350 students in our class, I considered only about 15 of them to be friends. Among those 15, two were my very best friends. In the years following graduation, my best friends and I remained in touch, and  shared the highs and lows of our life experiences including intimate details about our careers, marriages, children, deaths in our families, and divorce.

One of my best friends was Valerie. Unlike me, she kept in touch with former classmates, and attended a number of their get-togethers. As the 35th reunion approached, I resisted her attempt to persuade me to attend. “Come on,” she insisted, “You’ll enjoy it.” My efforts to convince her that I could easily live out the rest of my life and not miss seeing former classmates or revisiting a period that I was happy to move beyond fell on deaf ears, so I relented.    

Upon arrival at the hotel ballroom, pre-registrants  received a name tag bearing our picture that had been copied from the year book. Valerie and I sat at a table near the door “to see and be seen” she said jokingly. As former students and their spouses or companions arrived and took their seats at tables round the room, Valerie pointed out to me those people who she recognized. A couple of alumnae arrived in wheelchairs, while some others leaned on a cane or walker.  Occasionally, one of our former pals like Phil, walked in, spotted Valerie and me and joined us at our table. When we were students, Valerie and I were lumped into the group with others labeled as the poor, shy, quiet kids.  We were often shunned by the in-crowd, because we lacked their brash assertiveness, stylish clothes, and haughty attitude. Although, overall the crowd that evening looked pretty good,  it was clear that the youthful faces from our yearbook were now etched with age.  But what was more evident was that after all the years the cliques remained intact. The birds of a feather from high school days past still flocked together.

The mistress of ceremony and the souvenir program acknowledged some of our classmates who were deceased. Some had died in the Vietnam War; and death claimed others under various circumstances. It was good to see in the mix at least two couples who had been high school sweethearts. They had married immediately after graduation, and there they were, still together like Will and Jada Smith. Well, maybe more like Ossie Davis and Ruby Dee.

When the DJ began playing oldies from our heyday, the best dancers from our class got up and showed that they could still strut their stuff. It wasn’t a wonderful night to remember, but it wasn’t a bad experience either. In spite of the fact that a few faces in the crowd triggered flashbacks of days when I endured teasing, rejection, and longed to fit in, my self-confidence that evening was a million times greater than it had been in my youth. I had grown from a timid, introverted girl into an outspoken and confident woman, who no longer needed the approval of my peers to elevate my self-esteem. I remain grateful that I yielded to Valerie’s wishes and joined her at that reunion, because three years later my dear friend died of breast cancer.

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Valentine’s Day for Love and Nostalgia

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Many Baby Boomers can recall when they were in grade school, and the teacher requested that on Valentine’s Day each student bring Valentine’s Day cards to exchange with all of the other boys and girls in class, assuring that everyone in the class received a card.  We usually exchanged, brightly colored, flat paper cards, imprinted with simple one line words of endearment, or catchy verses like “Roses are red. Violets are blue. Sugar is sweet and so are you.”  In addition, each student made cards for our moms by cutting red construction paper in the shape of a heart, and then gluing white paper to the heart to create a lacy border. We also made valentines which were taped on the door and walls around the classroom. 

Fast forward to the years following my high school graduation, when Valentine’s Day brought me gifts of candy, flowers, concert dates, and dinner at nice restaurants — or nothing at all –depending on who I was romantically involved with at the time.  Whether people like Valentine’s Day or not, many will honestly admit that it is a day when one can easily get caught up in memories of relationships past and present.

As I have matured, Valentine’s Day has come to mean more than flowers and evenings out.  From the wisdom acquired with age, I realize that I received my best Valentine’s Day’s gift ever, some decades ago, on February 12th , when my now grown son came bouncing into the world at 8 pounds and 5 ounces.  Although my 20 year old self, was ecstatic about his birth, I thought that the date of his arrival wasn’t as cool as it would have been had he waited two more days to make his grand entrance on the 14th.  But my husband and I told ourselves that his arrival on Abe Lincoln’s birthday could signify that he was destined to accomplish great things, and might even grow up to be President of the United States.  Well, the closest my son came to the U.S. Presidency was when he proudly stood beneath the Jumbotron on the National Mall during the Inauguration of Barack Obama.  So, I didn’t raise a Commander-in-Chief, but my pre-Valentine’s Day baby grew up to be an entrepreneur, an upstanding citizen and a wonderful son, and he will always be my Valentine.

My only other child, my lovely daughter wasn’t a Valentine’s Day baby either, but regardless she too is my forever Valentine. In addition, my parents who raised, nurtured and encouraged me throughout my life are my Valentines; as well as my grandchildren, siblings, special aunts and uncles, cousins, my dearest friends, and especially my Boo.  Mine is not just a one day affair on February 14th, I have every day Valentines.

 
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