The Craic with Petesy Carroll Friday 20250613
14-year-old from Change Islands named N.L.'s first Ocean Hero of the Year
Brody King received the trophy at a World Oceans Day event Saturday morning in recognition of his quick action when he spotted and reported an invasive species on the shoreline of his home island.
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Vogue
11 hours ago
- Vogue
In Motherhood, Can We Stop Using the Phrase ‘One and Done‘?
Just the one? So, are you one and done? Oh…he's an only child? I've been asked innumerable iterations of this question—typically by total strangers—since I had my son five years ago. But after experiencing postpartum depression not once, but twice, I've been ambivalent about having another baby, so my answer to this invasive, all-too-common inquiry is complicated. Some days, the language we use to talk about 'only' children makes me feel judged, or somehow less than mothers with multiple kids. Other days, I feel annoyed that questions about family planning have become as quotidian as discussing the weather. Either way, these conversations have made it clear just how many people still believe that when it comes to children, one is the loneliest number. If we remove emotion from the equation and look solely at the data, it makes sense why more families are deciding to stop at one. A recent study showed that in 2025, the average cost of raising a child until the age of 18 in the US is $300,000. This figure doesn't account for the cost of post-secondary education, which in Canada (where I am from) is expected to rise to over $100,000 for a four-year university education. In Canada, one-child families are already the most common type, representing 45% of households with kids, while the average American family downsized from 3.7 children in 1960 to 1.9 currently. With these economic pressures alone, it seems only logical that the one-child family trend will continue. But logic doesn't seem to be the leading influence when we're talking about adding more kids to the mix. In her 2013 book One and Only: The Freedom of Having an Only Child, and the Joy of Being One, Lauren Sandler writes that the reason the decision is so nuanced is because 'children are a desire, not a calculation.' I've observed how my own desire to do the 'right' thing for my child has made the age-old arguments for a second that much more persuasive. We all know them: A sibling is a lifelong friend for your child, they can keep each other busy, they'll never be lonely! It helps with socialization and learning to share. More children can share the responsibility of caring for their aging parents. There's just as much, if not more, rhetoric about the problematic nature of only children. In the late 1800s, two child psychologists coined the term only child syndrome to describe the negative traits that their research showed only children often possess, including being spoiled, selfish, maladjusted, and anti-social. I want the world for my son, of course—and yet I'm still not sure if I am up for doing it all over again. It's why I've found so much comfort in a viral TikTok video from a self-described 'one & done mom,' who argues that being a mother of one allows women to choose motherhood as well as themselves. The comment section is filled with proud moms sharing what they've been able to do with their lives by deciding not to have a second child—from travelling to reaching career goals and having more time to do the things they love.
Yahoo
20 hours ago
- Yahoo
I was brainwashed into wearing a hijab. But Britain mustn't introduce a burka ban
I can still recall the first tentative day that I stepped outside my home not wearing my usual hijab but with my own pixie-cut hair on display and a breeze on my ears – a completely new feeling to was six years ago when I was 31 and studying for a master's degree in philosophy at the Simon Fraser University in Vancouver, Canada. At the time I was married with a three-year-old son. I had worn the hijab since the age of nine, and had always felt it was part of the package of being a Muslim, but in recent years I had begun to have doubts. Islam has a set of rules which cover various aspects of Muslim life, from religious practices to personal matters. I had always been curious about these laws, and had previously completed a master's degree in Islamic studies. But the more I learnt the more I felt that the methodology of Islamic jurisprudence (the theory and philosophy of its rules) was problematic for women. I couldn't help seeing the laws, including wearing mandatory hijab, as essentially misogynistic. Wearing a hijab was also not common in Vancouver, which made me stand out considerably. For the first time I experienced what it truly meant to be a visible minority and it took a heavy toll on my mental health. One day, my son kept refusing to take my hand as we boarded the bus. The tired driver, concerned about safety, snapped at me that I needed parenting advice. I was deeply upset, but then found myself wondering if such a minor incident would have affected me so deeply if I hadn't been wearing a hijab? I questioned myself. As much as I love Islamic spirituality, did I really want to carry its 'flag' when I no longer believed that flag represented something good?It was a few days later that I wrote a post on social media, relaying this incident to my friends and colleagues and explaining that while I was still explicitly Muslim, I would no longer wear the hijab. The next day, when I walked into the university, I had mixed emotions of uncertainty, excitement and freedom. There were a few awkward encounters with colleagues who didn't recognise me. But most people were understanding, and I have not worn the hijab since. The decision was a key moment for my Muslim identity. For it seems being a Muslim woman today is tiresomely linked to wearing a hijab or burka. There is always a great debate. Should you cover your hair? Your face? Are these items symbols of oppression or merely an expression of faith? Oh, and we know how these topics fire up the public imagination. Sparks flew just recently in the House of Commons when Sarah Pochin, the Reform UK MP for Runcorn and Helsby, called on Sir Keir Starmer to 'ban the burka'.'Will he,' she asked from the back benches. 'In the interest of public safety, follow the lead of France, Belgium, Denmark and others and ban the burka?' Thankfully, the question got rebuffed by both the Prime Minister and Pochin's Reform UK colleagues, who said it was not their policy. But it still left me – now a post-doctoral researcher at the University of Manchester – feeling sad and threatened. I worried I might have been wrong in my perception of Britain as a liberal and tolerant place for different religions. Mainly what I struggle with, however – whenever the issue flares up in Parliament – is how on earth politicians think they can prescribe to women how to deal with such a complex and personal issue. For in my case alone, my perception of being a Muslim has changed considerably over time – and I am only 37. I grew up in Iran's capital, Tehran, a super-crowded city that was beautiful to me in many ways. I was surrounded by a loving, happy family, who were religious, but me especially so. As a child, I donned the hijab (the burka isn't big in Iran), and began fasting and praying. I came to love the three elements of Islam: the spirituality, the practising, and the community. And because I was an anxious child, I found an incomparable comfort from reading passages from the Koran and common prayers, while the rituals and rules calmed my busy mind and gave me a sense of satisfaction. I also benefited from the Muslim community that was shaped around anti-imperialist political ideas in Iran. I studied a chemical engineering degree at Sharif University in Tehran, but then – like so many of my educated friends – got married at 22 and moved to London (we had an almost semi-arranged marriage and are now divorced), and it was here that I first encountered the diversity of religious life. Unlike in Iran, I began to see that being religious could go with all types of lifestyles, and it gave me a new perception of how I could live. When we moved to Vancouver in 2017 (I wanted to study in America but Trump had banned Iranians from entering the US), I still wore my hijab. But my dislike for the misogynistic essence of Islamic laws which shaped the culture of my community began to grow. Politically I was also changing. I came to see the scale of crime and deception from the Islamic Republic in Iran, and I came to detest its version of anti-imperialism and its suppression of women. I did not want to give up on my spirituality but I began to refine my version of being Muslim, starting with removing the hijab. When I moved back to London in 2020, to begin a PhD in philosophy at the London School of Economics, my own beliefs were strengthened by those I met. In the prayer room at the university, for instance, I was very pleased to find Muslims like me with no hair covering befriending women in the full burka, and bonding over their common interest in Islam's spirituality. Now – six years on since I first removed my hair covering – I feel psychologically better. I have begun to think that although I had a happy childhood, I was perhaps brainwashed in some respects and probably missed out on exploring my feminine side and having a diverse social life. Now, I have chosen a version of being Muslim that is true to me, and to some extent I think I have inspired my own friends to do the same. As for the draining debate about the burka, I believe Muslim women wear it for all sorts of reasons. They may think it is part of a package of rules which is meant to strengthen their willpower and bring about a special type of spirituality. While I may think the rule is misogynistic, it does not imply that those who observe it are misogynists. But I also understand why some find it very offensive or dangerous. It is natural, perhaps evolutionary, to want to see someone's face in order to connect. And obviously, wearing a burka highlights that the person is an immigrant, and we know many in the UK do not like immigration. Still, the decision to wear a burka or not must be decided by the women themselves. It is very paternalistic for a government to decide how a person might practise their religion. Also, should it be banned, the Muslim community would be enraged. This is what happened in Iran in 1936 (before the Islamic Republic took over in 1978). The Shah Reza Khan Pahlavi banned head coverings in a bid to modernise the country. But that violation has remained in people's memories for generations. Despite the current hatred towards the Islamic Republic and mandatory hijab, people still rage for having their choice taken away. You have to remember, a ban does not just affect the one person wearing the burka. A large circle around that person will feel violated, regardless of whether they are Muslim or not. Also, even discussing such a ban can, I fear, cause a rise in Islamophobia. If you have a hidden tendency towards Islamophobia, and something public like this happens, it may only embolden you. Hopefully, however, nothing like this will happen. I have always felt there is something special about Britain – in how it treats Muslims and religions in general, and in how diverse and liberal it is in this regard. I really hope it stays that way. As told to Gwyneth Rees Broaden your horizons with award-winning British journalism. Try The Telegraph free for 1 month with unlimited access to our award-winning website, exclusive app, money-saving offers and more.
Yahoo
a day ago
- Yahoo
DEC launches public challenge to combat invasive species impact
ROCHESTER, N.Y. (WROC) — It is Invasive Species Awareness Week in New York State and its all about sharing why people should care about those invasive critters and what people can do about them. Tuesday, News 8 spoke with the Department of Environment Conservation on the topic and they have recently launched a challenge for the public in honor of it. It encourages New Yorkers to report sightings of invasive species like the Spotted Lanternfly. If you want to participate, you can log into the state's database and submit a report. Then, you'll be entered in a chance to win prizes. 'Depending on the species, they can have a huge impact on the environment or economy or agriculture,' Andrea Nieves with the DEC said. 'And they're really a people problem. They wouldn't have been in an environment like New York unless people brought them here, so getting everybody together is sort of the best solution. Having the public report them and work with their local organizations.' The annual week is usually observed the first week of June. Copyright 2025 Nexstar Media, Inc. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.
