#BookReportSunday Dead Reckoning: Spoiler Free&Full Synopsis, Breakdown&Response

Intro and Welcome:

Hey folks! It's your girl, Dom. My #BookReportSunday series on my podcast, Dominique Does Life (available on Spreaker, iHeartRadio, iTunes Podcast, Google Play, Spotify and more!) has really taken off, so I've decided to bring it on over to my blog in written form. While this has taken some time to do, and while at this time, I don't think I'll be going back and doing this for every book I've reviewed on the Dominique Does Life podcast, I do think it'll be worth it to do a corresponding blog piece for each new book I review on Dominique Does Life's podcast. Let me know what you think, and leave your comments about what you liked, loved, disliked, hated or even what you felt a bit 'meh' about in this book in the comments below! As always, please introduce any spoilers with a spoiler alert, so that I don't have to deal with a bevy of angry readers 😂. Read on, be well and have a fabulous day!

Dead Reckoning Spoiler-Free Synopsis

In “Dead Reckoning,” a title which happens to be a play on a mode of navigation for flying airplanes in poor weather conditions with low visibility, Charlaine Harris takes Sookie and company on the wildest ride yet, with her characteristic twists and turns, and with the clear plan to wrap up the deliciously in-depth character arcs she has created throughout the previous ten books and the many vignettes in between. Sookie explores her relationship with Eric, which is pushed to the limits as new foes loom on the horizon, improves her friendship and simultaneously tests the bond between her and Amelia, and helps Tara through her unexpected pregnancy. 

 Sookie begins to understand more about her relationship with her fae brethren and what it means to be part fae herself, while finding new allies in old friends like Mr. Cotaliades and Diantha, and drawing lines in the sand with old flames, like Alcide and Bill. Sookie finds a new depth to her unexpected friendship with her ex-boyfriend Bill Compton, after having assisted Bill in reconnecting with family who had no idea they were descended from the Comptons (in the last book in the Sookieverse, “Dead In The Family”), while finding unforeseen complications which could spell trouble and ultimate doom for her relationship with Eric Northman. Sookie’s friendship with Pam is strengthened, as Pam defies her maker’s orders in order to give her friend [Sookie] a much-needed heads up about a situation that could have grave consequences for Sookie, about which Eric would prefer to keep Sookie in the dark. 

 Sookie cultivates a deepened bond both with her brother, Jason, and her faerie Great Uncle, Dermot, whom she has grown to love and respect. Jason’s relationship with his girlfriend-turned-fiancee, Michele, becomes more serious, and Sookie is incredibly grateful and eminently thankful to notice that her once harebrained, immature, and…er…promiscuous (to say the least!) brother has now grown up and is taking to his life as were-panther, former widower and current fiancee with a finesse that Sookie never realized Jason had. Jason is able to prove himself to Sookie on more than one occasion, being there for her in unexpected ways. 

 Sookie gains some new insight into who her Gran was and why she was so protective of Sookie, above and beyond Sookie’s telepathic “gift.” This window into her Gran’s soul also affects Sookie’s relationship with Niall, Claude, Dermot, Mr. Cotaliades, and her late Grandfather, Finton, as well as the rest of the fae at Hooligan’s, and those beyond the dimensional borders. Sookie’s friendship with Sam is tested, and will apparently continue to be, though she is able to help him in a major way when Merlotte’s heads into a bit of a slump, due to Victor, the new King Regent of Louisiana opening a new bar in his area, and the townsfolk being wary of Sam’s now public status as a two-natured shape-shifter. Sandra Pelt, Alcide Herveaux, and Lily Bard Leeds and her husband Jack even turn up in this book. I really enjoyed this entry into the Southern Vampire Mysteries and would highly recommend giving it a read.

Plot: 5/5

Character Development: 5/5

Setting: 5/5

Narrative Flow: 4/5

Style: 5/5

Editing: 4/5

Total Score: 28/30

I’d categorize this one as a Must Read!

AVAST YE AND DEATH TO ALL WHO ENTER HERE, FOR THERE ARE MANY SPOILERS AHEAD, YE SCURVY DOGS! 

READ NO FURTHER IF YE HAVE NOT YET READ DEAD RECKONING, OR THE ILLS OF THE CURSE OF READING SPOILERS BEFORE YE HAVE READ THE BOOK BE UPON YE! ARGH!

SPOILERS

STILL SPOILERS

SPOILERS ARE HAPPENING

I’M NOT KIDDING. THIS SHIT IS SUPER SPOILER HEAVY.

TURN BACK NOW IF YOU HAVEN’T YET READ DEAD RECKONING.

SPOILERS INCOMING IN…

3…

2…

1…

SPOILER TIME!!!!!

Dead Reckoning Timeline Of Events: Spoilers Included

Sookie, Dermot, and Claude work together to clean out the attic and affect some home improvements so that Dermot has a furnished attic to live in (Dermot loves HGTV).

Sookie decides to sell her old items and old family “junk” to an antique shop called Splendide, in Shreveport. 

Sam told Sookie about Splendide, where, apparently, Janalynne shops. Sam and Sookie make plans to go to Splendide to talk to the owners about selling Sookie’s stuff. Dermot, Claude and Sookie start a burn pile for the rest. 

Merlotte’s is firebombed by a quickly moving supe who Sookie just barely catches sight of out of the corner of her eye before the supe throws the molotov cocktail through the window of the bar, before running away and disappearing. Jane Boathouse, the town drunk, is seated by the window when this happens. Sam gets Jane to safety and Sam and Sookie put out the blaze. Sam quickly recovers from his burnt arm and Sookie has some of the ends of her hair burnt beyond repair. 

By the time Bud Dearborn shows up to investigate the fire, Eric has already arrived, having felt Sookie’s pain and fear, having dropped everything and flown over to rescue Sookie. Bud is surprised that Eric was able to make it over so quickly. Eric tells Bud that Eric has flown over to Merlotte’s, much to Bud’s consternation. Sookie and Eric strategically avoid talking about their blood bond and the implications it has on how and why Eric showed up so quickly when Sookie was in danger. 

Eric and Pam bring Emanuel, a top-notch hairdresser and the brother of Pam’s human partner, Miriam, to fix Sookie’s burnt hair. Eric is in a terrible mood and, in a towering rage, Eric attacks Pam and makes a mess out of Sookie’s kitchen in the process. Sookie ushers everyone out of her house, wondering why Eric is in such an horrible mood. Pam seems to be trying to tell Sookie something, but Sookie can’t fathom what that might be. 

 The faeries come home and wonder what the hell happened. Sookie is too frustrated to explain. 

 Sam shows up at Sookie’s the next morning, despite the fire the previous night at Merlotte’s, ready to take Sookie over to Splendide. Apparently, Sam is looking to buy Janalynne a birthday present while he and Sookie are at the antique shop. Between Danny the new bouncer, Terry, Sam, and the fire marshall, Merlotte’s has been cleaned up and is ready to reopen the following evening, despite the police have as yet been unable to catch whoever firebombed Merlotte’s. 

I cannot with Sam right now

 Sam acts like a little bitch, being jealous and surly with Claude, and, after visiting Splendide with Sookie, convinces Sookie to head right on over to the strip club Claude runs and Dermot helps manage, to give all of the fae there the hard brace about why they’re really staying at Sookie’s house and what implications being fae has for Sookie on her life (which, why not just ask Claude and Dermot while you were at the house being surly with them when you picked Sookie up to go to Splendide...? Ugh, Sam. I can’t even with you.). Obviously, the fae aren’t super thrilled with this dick move, but they oblige as much as they feel comfortable. Sam then scolds Sookie about Eric needing to fix the mess he made of Sookie’s kitchen, because why not, I guess...?

Eric and Sookie are asked to go to Victor's new bar, Vampire's Kiss, to pay tribute to the King Regent of Louisiana (holding the state for King Filipé de Castro, who is the first vampire king to rule more than one state at a time, or possibly the first vampire king to hold more than one state ever). Pam arrives first, being Eric’s second and lieutenant, and asks to check the premises to ensure Eric’s safety when he arrives. Victor takes offense to this and has his minions beat the ever-loving crap out of Pam.

When Eric and Sookie arrive, Victor acts as offensively and disrespectfully as possible to Sookie and Eric, hoping to make them snap and start a fight, so he has an excuse for Felipe to sanction the killing of Eric, Pam and Sookie. Victor has also kidnapped Pam’s sick human partner, Miriam, Emanuel’s sister, and holds her hostage at the bar, pretending that she came of her own volition. Pam must go through the night pretending that she doesn’t care about Miriam so that Victor doesn’t harm her further. Eric, Pam, and Sookie don’t bite, and maintain their best behavior, and so Victor moves to his backup plan and tries to serve Pam and Eric True Blood that has been laced with faerie blood, which is intoxicating to vampires, again, in the hopes that they’ll lose their minds and go nuts in his club, allowing him license to kill them and not get in trouble with Felipe for killing Eric, who is one of Felipe’s top earners, due to his ownership of Fangtasia. Victor has even primed two of his vampire minions to approach Eric and company in the bar parking lot, pretending to want to overthrow Victor. Back inside of the club, when Victor attempts to spike Eric’s and Pam’s blood, one of the servers, a man named Colton, sends Sookie a message telepathically, in order to warn her that there was faerie blood in their glasses. Sookie sends her concern through her blood bond with Eric and, while she is unable to give him specifics, intimates to him that he and Pam should not drink from the glasses Victor has offered them. Eric then tells Victor that he and Pam have nothing against American packaging and that he would prefer to drink from the bottle. This confounds Victor, but his hands are tied, and he serves them bottled True Blood instead of True Blood from the glasses Victor initially provided.

 Pam is able to escort Miriam off the premises and get her safely home. Pam, knowing that Miriam is ill (she has leukemia), has petitioned Victor to turn Miriam into a vampire. Victor has delayed the process, knowing that when Miriam eventually dies, Pam will be enraged, and hoping that she will attack and give Victor an excuse to put Pam and Eric down and take over Fangtasia himself. While Pam escorts Miriam home, Eric and Sookie follow Colton, the helpful server home to talk to him. Once Colton and his girlfriend Audrina realize that Eric and Sookie are not a threat, they set up a time to meet at Sookie’s house to discuss how they might all go about killing Victor, as Victor has become too big of a threat and too unpredictable to allow him to live. Felipe won’t take any action against Victor, because he doesn’t want his other lieutenants thinking that’s how he normally deals with the vampires who have sworn loyalty to him and rebelling against him. Victor is a pain in Felipe’s behind too, because of his thirst for power and unpredictability, and Sookie, Eric and Pam know that if they do kill Victor, Felipe will need to make a show of imposing some sort of consequence on them, even if it is just for optics.

I realize this is Debbie, but we work with what we've got

Because one attack wasn’t enough, Sandra Pelt sends some blood heads (vampire blood users) to Merlotte’s AFTER Janalynne walks in and becomes jealous of Sookie and Sam, because they are closeted together in his office working on tax paperwork. Janalynne, Sam, Sookie, and visitors Lily [nee Bard] and Jack Leeds who have visited the bar to finish up their involvement with the Debbie Pelt case, and Terry Bellefleur subdue the attackers. Andy happens to be in the bar at the time and he hauls said thugs off to jail. Apparently, Mr. Cotaliades has sent Lily and Jack to Merlotte’s, knowing that Sandra was planning yet another attack on the bar. Mr. Cotaliades is the executor of the Pelt family’s will, and, as we find out later on in this book, Sookie’s sponsor, which essentially means that as Sookie’s Grandfather Finton’s best friend, in addition to keeping an eye on Sookie and keeping Sookie safe, he gave Sookie her gift of telepathy (and Hunter’s too) by giving her Gran some of his blood in some wine, which allowed Sookie and any other descendants of Gran to have the ability of telepathy, an ability which Finton and Desmond Cotaliades both thought would be a boon, and would offer any descendants with the essential spark (a basic ability to empathize with and understand those who were supernatural, an ability which Gran apparently had and passed on to some of her descendants) in an effort to offer them a leg up on their human peers. But Desmond Cotaliades isn’t the only one looking out for Sookie. Terry admits to Sookie, in a state of PTSD shock, that Niall and Eric have coerced him into looking after Sookie and keeping an eye on her when they’re not around. Sookie is displeased at this news but isn’t too terribly surprised. Jack Leeds is shot for his trouble to come out to Merlotte’s and finish his job working for the Pelt estate, warning Sookie of Sandra’s intentions in so doing. Thankfully Lily was able to get Jack to the hospital emergency room and all was well with them after that. Apparently the bar patrons, Andy included, mistook the thugs’ comment about being there for “the blonde” to mean that they had followed Lily Leeds, who also has blonde hair, to Merlotte’s, which allowed Sookie to go home without further questioning from local law enforcement.

Debbie again, but close enough

 Sookie knows now that not only does Sandra Pelt dislike her—even hate her, but that she’s gunning for her, and not only is she gunning for her, but she isn’t willing to let any grass grow under her feet; she wants Sookie dead like yesterday. For those who need a primer on why Sandra Pelt hates Sookie Stackhouse so, Sookie was forced to kill Sandra’s adopted sister, Debbie, after Debbie broke into Sookie’s house with a gun, in an angry, jealous rage, after Alcide Herveaux abjured her. This wasn’t the first time Debbie Pelt had tried to kill Sookie. She attacked her hours before she broke into Sookie’s house during the witch war, and before that, Debbie threw Sookie into a car trunk with a blood deprived Bill, who eventually raped Sookie and nearly drained her before he regained his senses. Debbie did all of this because she was jealous of Sookie and Alcide, despite the fact that her relationship with Alcide was on-again-off-again, and despite the fact that Debbie was engaged for a portion of these attacks on Sookie. When Debbie showed up at Sookie’s house after the witch war, wielding a gun, Eric jumped in front of Sookie and took the bullet for her, giving Sookie time to grab the rifle she borrowed from Jason’s house and shoot Debbie in the head. Eric then buried Debbie’s body on the outskirts of Sookie’s property and hid her car somewhere else. Debbie and Sandra’s parents promised Sookie, Quinn, and Eric that they would keep Sandra in check, and told them that they accepted [albeit grudgingly] that Sookie had shot and killed Debbie Pelt justifiably, being that Debbie had attacked Sookie first, with the intent of killing her. Unfortunately, not long afterward, the Pelts died in a car accident, leaving Sandra to go about trying to kill Sookie. 

 Meanwhile, at home, Sookie is given a bag and a piece of paper which were hidden in a hidden compartment in a desk she had sold to Splendide. Sookie reads the letter which is from Gran, which describes the item inside of the drawstring bag, which is called a cluvial dor. It is a mystical item that gives the one receiving it as a gift [of love] one wish. The wish can be as big or as small as the receiver wishes—the only stipulation being that it MUST be used in love i.e. in the service of or to otherwise benefit someone the receiver loves. Gran may or may not have fully believed in this magic and never told Sookie, either out of shame or because she never thought Sookie was ready to hear about it—and her affair with Finton, but Sookie, being more familiar with magic, knows it’s for real and immediately enlists Amelia’s help in figuring out more about the cluvial dor. Sookie ruminates on the possibility that Gran could’ve used the cluvial for to save herself when Rene Leniere murdered her. Sookie hides the cluvial dor in her vanity, disguising it as a powder compact and telling no one about it—least of all her fae roommates. 

 Donald Calloway (the co-owner of Splendide) ends up finding out that the cluvial dor is valuable and wants to steal it back from Sookie. Sookie ends up killing Donald Calloway in self-defense, and Mr. Cotaliades and Diantha help her to cover it up and dispose of his body, giving her an alibi. 

Sookie wonders why Eric has been in such a mood and ends up finding out, through Pam’s insistence, that Eric’s maker, Apius Livius Ocala, had made up a binding contract to pair Eric with Frida, the queen of Oklahoma. Eric has been covering up the fact that he’s been talking to Frida, and that this is basically a done deal. Sookie is hurt, and in the meantime, she enlists Amelia and Bob’s help in breaking the magical blood bond between her and Eric, which enrages Eric, since she didn’t consult him before doing so. Apparently, the blood bond was the thing which was offering Sookie the most protection—even more so than their marriage. 

 Sandra then ends up coming to Merlotte’s herself and freaks tf out on Sookie and is promptly arrested by Bud Dearborne, who can frequently be found at Merlotte’s, holding court and having dinner. Terry subdues Sandra with a baseball bat to the head and his PTSD goes hog wild. Terry is taken to the ER.

Sookie finds her door hanging open when she gets home from work one day not too much later. A were then downs a tree behind her car to trap her, so she gets out of her car, flings her milk jug at the were and runs over to Bills, where she doffs her clothes and shoes, shakes the rain off of her, grabs Bill’s spare key and enters his house. Despite the rain and darkness, it isn’t nightfall yet, and Bill is still dead for the day. Sookie finds his sleeping area and enters it to hide with him. Bill wakes up and falls back to sleep a few times and Sookie hushes him. Once Bill wakes up and sees Sookie naked, he jokes that he wonders whether she concocted this scenario just to be naked around Bill and potentially have sex with him. Sookie isn’t pleased about this and she puts on what she thinks is a table cloth, only to find out that it’s Bill’s late Aunt Edwina’s favorite shawl. Sookie and Bill finally head back to Sookie’s house and they find Dermot injured and bleeding from a head wound, having been attacked by the weres who came looking for Sookie (three guesses as to who hired them). Bill almost eats Dermot and Sookie but is able to leave her house before he does anything too crazy. Sookie calls one of the fae from Hooligans, an elf named Bellanos, who comes to help Dermot. Apparently, the best medicine for Dermot is the blood of the men who attacked him. That pretty much spells the end for them, and Dermot and Bellanos bring the severed head of one of the weres back to Sookie’s house to show her that they took care of the weres who attacked Dermot and tried to attack Sookie. Sookie vomits, but tries to be positive with Dermot and is, of course, glad that he has recovered. Sookie cuts Dermot a little bit of a break on having taken down Amelia’s protection spell (in order to put up an apparently stronger one of his own) since he was attacked and injured because of it.

Sookie lends Sam money to keep Merlotte’s afloat, since it is in a bit of a slump, due to Sam coming out as a shifter and Victor opening Vic’s Redneck Roadhouse. Sam balks at first, but then graciously accepts it. At a later surprise birthday party for Sookie at Merlotte’s, Sam presents Sookie with a certificate stating that she is 1/3 owner of Merlotte’s. Sookie then takes over managerial and ownership duties alongside Sam.

 Sookie plans a baby shower for Tara (apparently in addition to Halle and Tara being pregnant, Porsche is pregnant too) for the day after Eric, Sookie and Pam plan to kill Victor. Mr. Cotaliades shows up afterward, having been chased by some hellhounds, and explains his relationship to Sookie, as well as what it means that he’s her sponsor. Sookie is both thankful for this and a little miffed that he waited until now to tell her all of this. 

Sookie and Eric go through with their plan to kill Victor, which involves Sookie’s brilliant idea of Bill convincing Bubba to perform for Victor at an exclusive concert just for Victor at Fangtasia, being that Victor is a huge Elvis fan. Sadly, by the time the night of the concert rolls around, Miriam has died. Emanuel attends in honor of his sister Miriam, as do Audrina and Colton. Eric, Pam, Sookie and team succeed in killing Victor, despite the fact that he has replaced the two vampires he sent to kill Pam and Sookie (who Pam and Sookie ended up killing in self-defense, instead) in the last book with a notorious fighter called Akiro. This makes it even more difficult to kill Victor, and ends up causing the goofy, narcissistic human couple Victor swings with and drags around everywhere to become casualties. Sadly, Audrina is killed by Jock the bartender, a Victor loyalist and newly hired Fangtasia bartender, who was hired to replace Felicia, the sweet bartender who was dating Bobby Burnham, Eric’s old daytime man, who were both killed by Alexei killed in the previous book. Thankfully Indira kills Jock. 

 Sandra Pelt makes another gambit at freedom and at killing Sookie, when she escapes from jail (Bud Dearborn calls Sookie to let her know that Sandra has escaped from the Bon Temps holding cell she was taken to after the second fiasco at Merlotte’s), holding Sam and Janalynne (does anyone else absolutely HATE Janalynne’s name, by the way? Because holy cow, I have a major bias against that monstrosity of a name!) hostage and coaching Sam to spin a story that someone has dropped off a package at the bar and that Sookie should come out and get it. Sookie, knowing by Sam’s voice and general phone presence that something is not right, casually suggests to Sam that he and Janalynne bring the “package” out to her house, so she can open it there. Sam relays this information to Sandra, who is handicapped by her own stupid plan into acquiescing to Sookie’s request, has no choice but to haul her useless behind out to Sookie’s, with Sam and Janalynne in tow, where Sookie is waiting for them with her shotgun. Sookie, who should at this point be simultaneously kissing the boots of AND investing in Binelli stock, shoots Sandra, winging her so that Janalynne can take her out. Janalynne incapacitates Sandra long enough for the three of them to decide if they should kill her. Sookie decides that they should, and Sam agrees, citing the fact that she simply will not stop coming for Sookie if they don’t. Janalynne kills Sandra with hands interlaced and fisted brought down with force onto Sandra’s head, and they dispose of the body somewhat jovially (I mean, who wouldn’t? Sandra and the Pelt sisters have been a thorn in Sookie’s side for years!) in the faerie hole, where the two dimensions still connect in Sookie’s woods, where they immediately hear creatures fighting overeating the corpse (yuck!). Farewell, Sandra!

 One character I feel the need to touch on before we say adieu to this week’s #bookreportsunday episode is Mustafa Khan. Mustafa is Eric’s new daytime man and a lone werewolf, wary of joining Alcide’s pack because of bad experiences he’s had in the past. Mustafa Khan has had his name changed to reflect personal growth after a stint in prison. His name was originally Keshawn Johnson, which for some reason makes Sookie and Eric keen to muse on whether or not he was related to/descended from Rashawn, the vampire lieutenant who was beheaded by either Ciabert or Waybert, fighting for the King of Kentucky in his doomed bid for power against Sophie Ann LeClair in the sixth entry in the franchise. 

 Another notable mention with regard to the plot of this book is Alcide Herveaux, who has, it is worth noting, turned into a complete jackwad. Alcide, at the behest and coaxing of Amelia, who can’t keep her damned mouth shut sometimes, who HATES Eric, Janalynne, who HATES Sookie and would do anything to see her in an uncomfortable or even potentially life-threatening situation, and Claude, who is a total frenemy to just about everyone he knows, turns up in Sookie’s bed the morning after she spent the night at Eric’s, looking “all sexy and rumpled” (that’s a direct quote from the book)” to entice Sookie into a relationship with him, AND, it is worth noting, to entice Sookie into a relationship with the pack, probably as their Shaman. Sookie is nonplussed and a little bit disappointed, as she had hoped that Alcide was a better person than that. Alcide finally listens to Sookie’s many valid complaints and concerns after she has stated and restated them several times, and leaves in a bit of a huff, leaving Sookie to tell her houseguests Amelia, Bob (who is apparently a complete wuss) and Claude, but not Dermot, as he was not involved, to leave. 

This book was super jam-packed with information, plot development, and character development, but I feel like I’ve covered the lion’s share of what happened in this entry into the Sookieverse. Let me know if you feel I’ve forgotten anything or if you have any opinions or nuggets you’d like to add. If not, have an amazing day, take care of yourself and be well.

Is Being Privileged A Bad Thing?

  So many of my clients, listeners, and readers are horrified to discover something I have known about myself for a long, long time--that they, like me, are...gasp...PRIVILEGED!

The common response to such a charged bit of information is often "what do you mean I'm privileged?

 I have struggled too, after all. I grew up poor/had an abusive relationship/abusive parent/etc." followed by "how dare anyone say I'm privileged?!" followed by the stages of grief, as laid out to such wonderful effect by Elizabeth Kubler-Ross, to describe the grief of a loved one after someone important to them has died. 

 The stages of grief are as follows: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance, and, this tends to be the program that privileged folks follow when they've come nose to nose with an unpleasant fact. First, it's "I can't be privileged," then it's "but I've struggled! How dare anyone call me privileged?" then it's "but I donate my time to charities/volunteer/help the needy, so how can I possibly be privileged?" oft followed by "I guess I'll just go away since no one wants to hear from me," and then, finally, "well maybe I'm privileged, but..."

 Anyone who has been through these stages of grief themselves can identify them in someone else, and certainly, those of us who fall into the non-cis, non-hetero, non-white, non-male, non-wealthy categories can see these stages from miles away when folks who have never been forced to confront their own privileges start experiencing them firsthand. 

 The natural tendency when someone is incredibly privileged and this privilege is not something they are comfortable having pointed out is to simply get snarky, deflect or even deny their privilege altogether. But that in and of itself IS a form of privilege!

 And you know what? It's okay to be privileged.

 Did you hear that?

I said it's okay.

No one is telling you you're not deserving of love, affection, attention, an opinion, a vote, a choice, a voice, or anything else humans are entitled to via human rights. 

Are you with me?

Okay, now that that's settled, let's talk about the nuances of what IS in fact being said when someone has pointed out to you that you are privileged.

Firstly, let's acknowledge something. That pain you're feeling; that anger; that resentment; that guilt; that rage...that IS privilege rearing its head. That's your entitlement telling you that you're entitled to have your privilege go unnoticed--to go without being called out. That's your ego telling you that having an advantage doesn't matter--that having a performance-enhancing edge doesn't change the game at all, and that rather than looking at the performance enhancement you've been using (even if you've thus far been using it without being fully conscious of it--without owning it) shouldn't matter, and that people should JUST look at your performance, without looking at the fact that you've been given performance enhancements. But that argument is fallacious. Having been given a performance enhancement of any kind, while not negating any good you have done or are doing, does matter, and it should be looked at. Lance Armstrong didn't win the Tour de France on his own, right? He did it using performance-enhancing drugs. And if you agree that that isn't fair and that it should be looked at, then maybe, just maybe, you also agree that a frank acknowledgment of game-changing privilege (and, in case you were wondering, all privilege is game-changing) is in order.  

Secondly, let's take a look at the emotional component of being called out on your privilege. So often, we look at being called out as a bad thing, when really it's an opportunity--an opportunity for learning, for building relationships, for acknowledging something important that may aid us and others in our development as human beings. And that emotion you're feeling--that feeling of righteous indignation--of anger--of hurt? Well, that's a good jumping-off point to start the aforementioned learning and growing. That reaction is the best way that I know for others to be able to identify with you, and for you to be able to, in turn, identify with others. That reaction is something that lgbtqi+ folks, black folks, brown folks, other non-white and mixed people feel every time a white person, cis person, wealthy person, or a man cuts in front of us in line, takes our seat on the bus, explains something to us that we already know as if we were slow, developmentally deficient kindergartners--every time someone gets a raise or a promotion we were on track for, every time our pain is shrugged off at the doctor's office, every time we get a higher bill for education or medical care than a white person or a man gets, every time we are pulled over and harassed while driving, stopped while walking, every time the police are called on us because we dared to exist in a public space. When you feel those feelings of anger and outrage, you begin to have a small window of opportunity to feel a portion of what we feel on a daily basis. You have an opportunity here. That is a good thing.

 I realize that it can be upsetting and jarring to learn that you may be privileged, with all of the connotations which go along with that loaded term, and I'm sure that takes some time and space to process--some allowance for the engagement of critical thought. We can't expect you to have the reaction that suits us, right off the bat, but not learning--not self-correcting--well that's a real loss. It's not a loss for us. We of the black and brown and mixed skin, of the textured hair, of the gender which doesn't fit your norms--we of the lgbtqi+ persuasion--we already know your privilege. We get it. We just hope you will too because that's when we can really start working together to do some good.

Privilege is, as I mentioned before, not inherently bad. Nobody is asking you to hate yourself because you happen to be privileged. After all, we all exist within some sort of a paradigm of privilege--a personal reality affected by things we were born into. Nobody wants you to publicly whip yourself in the town square. We do not expect your personal apology for the existence of racism, sexism, bigotry, misogyny or hate. What we do want is for you--for us--for everyone to acknowledge our own inherent privileges--those things we were born with which give us a leg up on those who were born without them. We want you, the white man, to stop explaining our jobs and our collective place in society to us, we want you, the white woman to stop speaking for us rather than using your white voice to allow us to step up and use ours. We, the people with privilege and without, want to encourage everyone to do what those of us who have long acknowledged our personal privilege have been doing, and to signal boost for those who do not have the platform you have because of your privilege. We don't need financially privileged cis, hetero, white folks to tell us to think differently or to just be positive and things will change. We also don't need those same people standing in for us to tell others how important our rights and our causes are. We don't want you to acknowledge your privilege to save face--we want you to acknowledge your privilege to save soul--yours, to be exact. 

 The uncomfortable but nonetheless true fact is that those of us with privilege (and I include myself, broadly at least, in that statement) owe it to ourselves and to those without the privilege we have to actively work against that privilege and the damage it has done (and yes, my friend, it has done and does continue to do damage, no matter what good works you do, particularly when your privilege goes unacknowledged), and the damage it continues to do. Doing good things is important, but doing them mindfully is better by far.

 But how? You might ask.

 Well, next time you come off of your plane stressed and ready to do nothing but check into your hotel, go to the pool and relax with a drink, yet you are faced with the choice of checking into that hotel before the black or brown person or the gay or lesbian couple ahead of you who have clearly been waiting a longer time to be served because the white hospitality agent recognizes you first, you can speak up and politely let that hospitality service worker know that you notice that the people ahead of you in line have been waiting for quite some time. Better yet, you could even simply ask the people in front of you if they'd like to go ahead and check-in first. 

 Next time you're in line behind that disabled person in a wheelchair at Starbucks and the barista notices you first and calls you to the register, you can ask the person in the wheelchair if they'd like to go ahead.

 Next time you're out with a group of friends and someone makes a joke that's racist in front of your black, brown, or mixed friends, you can let them know that you'd like to make sure they're comfortable in this discussion and ask them whether they are. 

 Next time that guy at work (you know the guy, so I'll spare you the description) sounds off on building "the wall," you can speak up, or, better yet, if one of your black or brown or mixed ethnicity colleagues happens to speak on the subject, you can support them and make sure they have an opportunity to make the point they need to make.

 A good rule of thumb to use when considering whether you might bear the burden of privilege personally is the following checklist, which is eloquently laid out in the 1986 piece "White Privilege: Unpacking The Invisible Napsack," written by Peggy McIntosh, which I'll enumerate below:

Per Ms. McIntosh:

"I decided to try to work on myself at least by identifying some of the daily effects of white privilege in my life. I have chosen those conditions which I think in my case attach somewhat more to skin-color privilege than to class, religion, ethnic status, or geographic location, though of course all these other factors are intricately intertwined. As far as I can see, my African American co-workers, friends, and acquaintances with whom I come into daily or frequent contact in this particular time, place and line of work cannot count on most of these conditions.

1. I can if I wish [to] arrange to be in the company of people of my race most of the time.
2. If I should need to move, I can be pretty sure of renting or purchasing housing in an area which I can afford and in which I would want to live.
3. I can be pretty sure that my neighbors in such a location will be neutral or pleasant to me.
4. I can go shopping alone most of the time, pretty well assured that I will not be followed or harassed.
5. I can turn on the television or open to the front page of the paper and see people of my race widely represented.
6. When I am told about our national heritage or about “civilization,” I am shown that people of my color made it what it is.
7. I can be sure that my children will be given curricular materials that testify to the existence of their race.
8. If I want to, I can be pretty sure of finding a publisher for this piece on white privilege.
9. I can go into a music shop and count on finding the music of my race represented, into a supermarket and find the staple foods that fit with my cultural traditions, into a hairdresser’s shop and find someone who can cut my hair.
10. Whether I use checks, credit cards or cash, I can count on my skin color not to work against the appearance of financial reliability.
11. I can arrange to protect my children most of the time from people who might not like them.
12. I can swear, or dress in second-hand clothes, or not answer letters, without having people attribute these choices to the bad morals, the poverty, or the illiteracy of my race.
13. I can speak in public to a powerful male group without putting my race on trial.
14. I can do well in a challenging situation without being called a credit to my race.
15. I am never asked to speak for all the people of my racial group.
16. I can remain oblivious of the language and customs of persons of color who constitute the world’s majority without feeling in my culture any penalty for such oblivion.
17. I can criticize our government and talk about how much I fear its policies and behavior without being seen as a cultural outsider.
18. I can be pretty sure that if I ask to talk to “the person in charge,” I will be facing a person of my race.
19. If a traffic cop pulls me over or if the IRS audits my tax return, I can be sure I haven’t been singled out because of my race.
20. I can easily buy posters, postcards, picture books, greeting cards, dolls, toys, and children’s magazines featuring people of my race.
21. I can go home from most meetings of organizations I belong to feeling somewhat tied in, rather than isolated, out-of-place, outnumbered, unheard, held at a distance, or feared.
22. I can take a job with an affirmative action employer without having co-workers on the job suspect that I got it because of race.
23. I can choose public accommodations without fearing that people of my race cannot get in or will be mistreated in the places I have chosen.
24. I can be sure that if I need legal or medical help, my race will not work against me.
25. If my day, week, or year is going badly, I need not ask of each negative episode or situation whether it has racial overtones.
26. I can choose blemish cover or bandages in “flesh” color and have them more [or] less match my skin.

I repeatedly forgot each of the realizations on this list until I wrote it down. For me, white privilege has turned out to be an elusive and fugitive subject. The pressure to avoid it is great, for in facing it I must give up the myth of meritocracy. If these things are true, this is not such a free country; one’s life is not what one makes it; many doors open for certain people through no virtues of their own."

 Do any of these checklist items apply to you? Some of them apply to me. And that's okay. What we must realize, however, is that those unearned privileges with which we are born also come with a high cost and an added level of responsibility to boot. We weren't selected for those privileges based on merit, they were awarded to us through luck and chance. The responsibility we hold includes acknowledgment--but not JUST acknowledgment. Self-hate on behalf of the privileged is, on the other hand, neither required, nor wished for, nor is it helpful. 

 The sum of all parts of this particular social equation is simple. A rising tide lifts all boats. All humans deserve basic human rights. The fact that groups of people who are marginalized culturally, societally and systemically who are rightfully looking for their own rights and freedoms to be supported and upheld is not a challenge to those whose rights are not under attack. However, the shadow side of this equation is that while we acknowledge that certain groups of people are marginalized, we must also acknowledge that other groups of people are, conversely, overly privileged. There are people in our society who are, due solely to inborn, unearned privilege (see the checklist above), granted MORE rights. This is the very definition of privileges that are unearned. Acknowledgment of this fact is essential to moving forward on the path toward equality. 

 I recognize that equality won't happen overnight. Complete equality may never happen, but that doesn't mean that we should stop working toward it, and step one on that path is radical honesty and radical self-knowledge.

The 9/11 Series: Part 1: My 9/11 Story

 On the morning of September 11th, 2001, I was a new college student. I had just graduated high school that spring and had had my 19th birthday five days prior to the morning in question. I remember 2001 acutely and specifically, due to the life-changing importance of the events which occurred in and after September of that year.

 Let me start you off by introducing myself--no, I don't mean introducing myself to you as a fully grown adult, author, radio personality and accomplished musician--I mean me at 18-19 years of age--me as a mess of a human being--someone who was cookies; still baking--or cookie dough, in the immortal words of Buffy The Vampire Slayer.

 At 18, I had barely graduated high school--not because I lacked intelligence or motivation, but because I was a confused, emotionally and physically abused teenager with some serious and painful health issues who had to fight tooth and nail through my years as a student to graduate. I had to fight illness, fatigue and extreme pain, it's true, but I also had to fight other-ism, sexism, and bigotry like the dickens just to keep my head above water, despite having an off the charts IQ and being a beautiful and talented young woman, albeit a troubled one.

 When I finally graduated high school, I was unbelievably proud. I was relieved. I looked forward to limitless possibilities with my name hovering on a stamp just above them, waiting to be pressed. I knew that, in the words of the famous song, "happy days [were] here again, the skies were blue and clear again." I finally felt like I could focus on being the person I had always known I was but had been unable to make pop on paper. I could do anything--nothing--whatever I needed, and I'd have no one but time, myself and natural consequences to answer to. To me, this was a feeling I always knew I would have. I figured, in my still so childlike mind, that all adults felt this all the time--even adults who were wedged into societal corners by things like poverty, racism, abuse or lack of healthcare--and finally, I was able to join the ranks of such adults. I was able to be the person I knew I was on the inside with no fear of judgment.

 I had just enrolled in college, just gotten a new job at an integrated preschool program and had just received an immediate raise, promotion and some excellent feedback about what a fantastic worker I was. I was living at home and commuting to school to save money. My Dad had just taken a job downstate and I stayed at home to fill in and help around the house (though I realize now that, as any 18-19-year-old would be, I was likely more of a hindrance than an actual help) and had committed to living down there during the week, while my Mom kept her upper management job at the local library (she was head of circulation services--a very important job in its own right, and one which she ended up working until she was almost 70, because she loved it so much and was in turn so well-loved and respected by her staff and her manager alike).

 My parents were very independent and thoughtful people. They didn't have time for helicopter parenting, even when I was young, and they always trusted me to act appropriately and maturely and to be an autonomous individual, and, as someone who, while being a smidge over the line into the extrovert zone in Myers-Briggs terminology, enjoyed keeping my own company, I didn't mind at all. I was always popular with my friends, but didn't have any interest in being the leader of a specific group, nor was I interested in following anyone who did, which made for rather a strange brew of being well-liked, but not particularly caring whether or not I continued to be. I had, by the time I graduated high school, sadly, been in a highly physically and emotionally abusive relationship with a young narcissistic, sociopathic man who, like me, possessed an IQ well into the genius zone, and who, unfortunately, unlike me, possessed the EQ and the emotional maturity of a cracked and poorly varnished teacup. In short, my young life was already quite full of duality--of extremes, and by the time I turned 19, just before the events of 9/11, I had been in this abusive relationship for nearly two years. I thought I could handle the worst life had to offer...then came Tuesday, September 11th, 2001.

 On that morning, my alarm clock was set to go off at 10am, since I wasn't working and I only had one class that day. I remember waking up to my bedroom tv on, my Mom standing in my doorway, urgently telling me to wake up while the sun streamed in on a gorgeous summer day in Chicago, birds singing, hardly a cloud in the bright sky. After a few moments, my Mom left my TV on and went back to her room without another word, so she could turn on her bedside radio. I followed her into her room to ask her what was wrong, and she hushed me as we listened to the radio announcer on WBBM Chicago telling us that a plane had hit the World Trade Center in New York City.

 I was startled and shaken and, at the same time, wondering how anyone could possibly think this was anything other than a tragic accident. My Mom and I returned to my bedroom to watch Good Morning America on ABC, transitioning back forth between ABC and CNN, in search of more up to date facts, while the normally consummate professionals, Diane Sawyer, and Peter Jennings struggled to digest what had just happened--what would continue to happen throughout that fateful morning--live; on air. That's when the second plane hit. We quickly got dressed and went downstairs to continue watching the news.

 Reports began coming in that this was, in fact, a deliberate attack on American soil. We heard the Pentagon had been attacked and, later on, that a plane had crashed in Shanksville, PA. Then, as I was at the gym, glued to the tv with the rest of the members who had come to work out and stayed to stand, staring and crying at the tv in shock and horror, the South tower fell.

 I drove to school in a haze. The entire college campus had been shut down, and, upon walking back to my car, I heard the sonic booms of fighter jets overhead. My heart dropped into my stomach. Then I heard the news--the North tower had fallen. America was under attack, and we didn't know what target would be next.

 I called my abusive boyfriend, who for once had nothing negative to say. We told each other to stay away from downtown Chicago. I called my best friends, my family, I called my Dad. I called all of my loved ones. All said the same--stay out of downtown--stay away from crowded places, stay at home. I cannot overemphasize the fact that in that moment--that day, even--none of us knew what was next. The vice president had been moved to an undisclosed location, the president was stopped in the middle of reading a book to school children and eventually taken on board Airforce One. Commercial and passenger planes were grounded. Everything was quite actually up in the air. Nothing like this had ever happened on American soil before. We were under attack.

 That night, we heard that Al Qaeda, a small group of terrorists in Afghanistan, led by Osama bin Laden, black sheep of the ultra-wealthy, broadly philanthropic bin Laden family was claiming responsibility. Was this true, or was this small-time terrorist with big-time ambitions simply seizing an opportunity to claim fame for his group of radicals?

 As the week unfolded, I began to fear that this would lead us to an ill-advised war with a country which, while run by a psychopathic dictator, was in no way responsible for this heinous attack. Facts and figures were cast aside in favor of emotion, opinion and conjecture, all while the person who had claimed responsibility for the attack seemed to be only a secondary concern to those in charge. It felt to me like there would be no closure--no healing of the wounds which were inflicted on my soul--on the collective soul of the nation that September day.

 Living through September 11th and having it come at a time in my life which was so formative and so crucial was arresting. My world changed. My sense of safety was taken away. It never returned. I doubt that it ever will...

 I did, however, come to the realization that when we all grieved together--when we all acted together to respond to the worst things humanity has to offer, that we could, collectively and individually, make things just a little bit brighter, and that through concerted effort and continued action, we could rebuild and re-emerge a stronger, more empathetic, compassionate and intelligent people with a lasting bond that transcended belief, opinion or personal experience. That day, we as Americans lived through something together, and while our experiences were individual and unique in their pain, their awe and their scope, they were also collective. This sense of collective experience is what I aim to capture, both by telling my story and by reaching out to all of you to collect yours. I believe something happened that day, aside from, yet irrevocably connected to the tragedy of the attacks which took place from New York City to Washington, D.C. to Shanksville, Pennsylvania. I believe we experienced something profound together, and that we have been acting on that collective experience ever since.

 I'd be honored to tell your stories in the segments of this blog post series to follow. Please feel free to reach out to me here in the comments section or privately via the Dominique Does Life Facebook page, and subscribe right here to the Dominique Does Life blog.


 Together, we rise.

Teaching Through Improv

Something re-occurred to me today. This thing...this elusive idea which clicked back on inside the crowded confines of my personal gray matter was about teaching--but it wasn't just about teaching, it was about comedy and improv--but it wasn't just about comedy and improv, it was about kids and how to relate to them. This is how my chaotic brain works, but I'm an adult with fully developed intelligence and sense of self, and this idea...this errant thought...well...it was about something a bit different. It was about minds less developed, less synchronistic, less cohesive, but somehow more important. You may have guessed by now that the brains I am describing are those of children.  

 There is an incalculably important aspect of child development which is, sadly, widely overlooked and underestimated. I am talking, of course, about humor. Humor is a touchstone--a lighthouse along the path to the development of the core concepts of empathy and compassion. Humor allows one to look at things both critically and creatively. It allows us to step back from the ego and to move away from the unfortunate and blatantly false development of our own deeply serious person mythologies, which so often handicap us and trip us up on the path to success and the pursuit of happiness. 

 Because the appreciation of humor and the ability to be funny are governed by different parts of the brain, while empathy is governed by yet another, however, humor and empathy are quite actually governed by portions of the human brain that touch. 

 You see, children’s brains are malleable. New neural pathways are constantly forming and re-forming. Kids begin learning well before they ever develop a solid sense of self.  It strikes me that during this formative period, children are incredibly empathetic. Empathy and compassion are deeply important aspects of the human condition. In fact, I would go so far as to say that they might be the single most important part of the human experience. And this ability to step outside of the subjective experience that is the “self” is somehow miraculously formed before any sense of “self” takes hold. 

Children are sponges. It is to our own detriment as well as theirs when we saturate them with only the worst life has to offer. But alas, many of us do just that. It is my belief that the American school systems provide a good portion of the quantity and quality of what our kids are exposed to while their brains are in this critical stage of development.  The formation of a solid foundation for the personality and sense of self a child will experience for the rest of their lives starts at 8 years of age. Imagine what damage—or what opportunities for beautiful, bountiful growth and a world of endless possibilities could be opened within the mind of a child at this tender age. 

I am of the firm belief that while our country’s teachers absolutely and unequivocally deserve excellent pay and compensation, and while there are some truly excellent teachers out there, changing American kids’ lives for the better (shout out to Mr. Kingston over at Crystal Lake Central High School for cultivating an environment wherein a young woman with an invisible illness and the ‘wrong’ genes in her family tree felt for the first time ever like her writing voice was worthy of being heard.), we are, by and large, missing the mark.  Many countries have surpassed the United States by leaps and bounds with regard to how they are educating their kids.Shame on us for doing our kids the disservice of failing to follow in those countries’  progressive footsteps with regard to education.   One of the lessons the American educational system seems to willfully refuse to learn is that quality and quantity are two utterly separate concepts. 
Kids, like adults, learn, in large part, through humor, through hands-on experience, and through play.  If you’re beginning to wonder whether I am a student of Piaget right now, let me tell you—I am. However, I am also a fan of firm boundaries and of being (and teaching our kids to be) assertive and authoritative, rather than dominant, authoritarian, passive-aggressive or passive.  

 My strategy for co-creating learning experiences with children centers largely around humor—and not just humor in the broad sense, but specifically around the art of improv. Facilitating lessons through improvisation and play allows us, as the adults, to be rather a senior partner in the 60/40 partnership of getting children off to a good head start in life.  Below I will describe an instance I recently experienced while out shopping, which reminded me of the importance of empathetic improvisation and play in developing good relationships and good foundations for future learning with our children (and make no mistake—it does take a village to show a kid what the world is like. Kids get enough bad, upsetting and scary input as is, so it is up to us as fully capable and mentally and emotionally developed adults to create opportunities for true empathetic and compassionate learning about themselves, the world around them, and those in it, for the children in out communities and in our country).

My Mom and I were at Homegoods today. We saw this little kid who was using a grabber as a laser gun. No one was playing along and he looked sad, so I walked up and was like "pew-pew AHHH! You got me! I'm shot! Argh!"  He was SO happy someone actually played along. My Mom went to the back to use the restroom, and I was standing in one of the aisles while this kid and his family were leaving, and he legit did not want to leave the store. He kept going "but she's my friend! She's my friend!"  He just needed someone to act like they were hit by his invisible laser gun and play along with him. His whole face lit up.  I love doing bits and improv and yes and games. They're really great for kids' brain development, and the beautiful thing is that kids remember the adults who play along and join in the fun.  It becomes a way for them to address problem-solving and to learn through play. Kids have an instinctive sense for comedy too. They are hilarious--and not nearly as often by accident as they are on purpose. If you don't believe me, Google the police officer who plays Barbie's with the kids on his beat. Kids learn through play. Their brains do not function the way ours do. Countries like Denmark, Iceland and Germany know this, as their school curriculums consist mainly of play and only last for a couple of hours a day. Shame on is for not following their lead. Shame on us for forgetting about the plethora of opportunities gifted to us through the simple innocence of childhood. Shame on us for trying to force our kids to be little adults or carbon copies of the idealized versions of ourselves. Shame on us...Shame on us for forgetting to laugh at the silly things... I say laugh with your kids, play along, take things to their logical extreme--even for discipline. I was a teacher in a former life. I took a whole extra course load in college to supplement my psychology education so that I could become a qualified, bonafide, highly credentialed teacher of kindergarten and pre-k. 

One of the most important things you can do with kids—not just your own, but all kids you interact with—is to laugh, to play, and to facilitate lessons learned through play. For instance, when a kid in my class saw a classmate take their favorite toy or classroom pencil and throw themselves on the ground crying and wailing and howling like a dying animal, pretending to be grievously wounded both emotionally and physically, I would stop the entire class, throw down whatever I was working on and yell just as loudly as the screaming kid "OH MY GOD! IT MUST BE A COMPLETE EMERGENCY! EVERYONE STOP EVERYTHING THEY ARE DOING RIGHT NOW SO WE CAN ALL FREAK OUT!" Sometimes I’d get really silly and turn in circles or roll around on the ground like Chris Farley in a particularly high energy take of an episode of Saturday Night Live. 
If this didn't do the trick and get everyone laughing, I would continue the bit and get the kid who was crying in on it (making sure that everyone held onto the understanding that we were laughing WITH and not AT one another). I'd say something like "are you okay? Do you think you'll live?!? Can you hear me?! DON’T GO INTO THE LIGHT!" At which point I'd pretend to check them over for mortal wounds and perhaps even ask if I should call for an ambulance.  This would always get the entire class laughing--especially the kid who was so upset about the crayon, toy or pencil. The thought of their minor upset over the pencil or toy or crayon would be obliterated by my histrionics, and even if they were trying super hard to hold onto that façade of anger and not crack a smile, they could never last more than a few seconds. In fact, oftentimes, the child in question would have only to look at me before they cracked up laughing.  

To take things down a few notches, I'd start a discussion that would go something like this:  "Kimberley*, I wonder how you felt when Lucas* took your favorite pencil. How did that make you feel?"  Then Kimberley would tell me how she felt. I would ask her if since the pencil meant a lot to her in this moment, she thought it might be kind to share with Lucas for a while and in the interest of fairness, to make a deal that she’ll switch with Lucas when he’s finished drawing this last picture and that if Lucas chose not to keep his word and switch up with Kimberley, I would step in. I would often allow my kids to come to these decisions on their own, simply prompting them to formulate their own solutions via trial and error and open-ended questions. 

 Then, all the kids would feel heard, we would all have learned a lesson and had a laugh, and I’d try to help them to establish context by asking them if, while it can be so upsetting when our neighbor uses the pencil (or toy, or crayon, etc.) we planned on using and REALLY REALLY wanted to use, if there was anything else Lucas, Kimberley, and class could think of that might also be upsetting—perhaps equally or more upsetting than the pencil situation, or perhaps a reason why a friend or neighbor in our classroom might really need to use the item we originally wanted to use.  I’d have the class take turns with a talking feather or just raising their hands and I’d facilitate a discussion with them about things that hurt our own and others’ feelings, and what each student could plan on doing if such a situation occurred. 
Often times, our discussions would get really silly, and everyone would get to laughing (which is WAY better than crying, screaming and rolling around like we’re on fire as may have been done initially by the upset student), but I’d always try to bring things back around to acknowledging our own and each other’s feelings and boundaries, and to engaging our problem-solving skills.   I think every story should end with something silly that will cement the lesson in place. Play around with those logical extremes. Kids are great partners for that.  Do everyday improv.  I used to do this with the kids in my classroom when I was teaching Pre-K and Kindergarten. I would even challenge my kids to do over the top impressions of me when someone else in the class misbehaved (making certain that we were always learning together and laughing with one another and not at one another). Everyone would end up laughing, no one got angry and no one had hurt feelings--and the lessons stuck.  

 My kindergartners would get time toward the end of the day to do impressions of Ms. Dominique for prizes, high fives, laughs and video game time. I would start them off with something silly and then have them decide how I might react (somehow it almost always ended with a neck roll, hands on the hips and the death stare--see what I mean? Kids pick up on things--especially through humor!). And then, something happened. My classrooms began disciplining themselves. My kids began regulating their own behavior and even working together to find solutions to problems they might otherwise not have felt empowered to solve. So... Try it. Put my expensive education in psychology, early childhood education and philosophy to work for you at no cost, today! 😂And remember, we were all kids once.