Skim Mocha No Whip

A Critical Step Forward

2010-10-20T21:34:00.000-05:00

Years ago, I was hiking the Bearfence Mountain Trail in Shenandoah National Park. About halfway through the short 1.2 mile hike, the trail winds through a rock scramble where only white paint trail markers and the occasional cairn mark the way.

At one point, the trail seemed to disappear over the edge of a large outcropping. All markers indicated that the only way to continue was to go over the outcropping, but there was no way to see what was on the other side. It was either turn back to the trail head or lower myself over the edge, not knowing where or when my feet would touch solid ground. After dropping my pack on the top of the outcrop, I decided to take the chance. It was a well-traveled trail in a national park. It had to be relatively safe, right?

The fact that I'm writing this today is a good indication that I survived dropping myself over that outcrop. The drop ended up being about eight feet, the entire span of which I couldn't see my feet. When I finally felt solid ground under my soles, I breathed deeply and survey my surroundings. If I had known the narrownness of my landing spot and the height of the sheer drop to my left, I'm not sure I ever would have dangled myself over that edge.

The memory of Bearfence Mountain popped into my head today during my morning commute. It made me realize that sometimes we can't move forward along our life's trail without venturing into uncharted territory, not knowing when and where we will land or if we'll have solid footing when we do. Sometimes we rely on the knowledge that others have successfully walked the same path before us, and that their example can give us the strength to take that critical step forward.

Reflecting Our Reaction

2010-08-01T18:05:00.000-05:00

Today while playing baseball with a friend in our neighborhood park, the kid inadvertently got too close to a nest of ground bees and had one land on his face. He did everything he's been told to do: don't panic, don't swat. The bee still stung him, right in the corner of his eye.

Our initial inclination was to call the park district to have them remove the nest, but my soon-to-be-eight-year-old son told us he didn't want them to kill the bees, because bees are good for us. Despite the pain the unprovoked bee inflicted on him, he didn't want retribution. He wanted the bees to live because of everything we've taught him about how bees are responsible for pollinating the crops so that we can have food to eat.

How often are we stung by others or events, and our immediate reaction is to sting back and inflict as much damage as possible in return? Perhaps we should think before we react and realize the implications before we instinctively strike back.

Next time life bites me, I'm going to remember my son's eyes and understand that most of the time pain goes away and swelling subsides. The lasting effect is how our character reflects our reaction.

The Reason I'm Crying

2010-07-02T22:44:00.001-05:00

Before going the bed last night, I stepped out into our gazebo to make one final attempt to save a tiny life that serendipitously crossed into our family's path yesterday. Earlier in the day, my wife found a field mouse, perhaps less than a few days old inside the gazebo, with no evidence of a nest or mother to be seen. It was a day full of emotion, as her own grandmother lay in an emergency room an hour away, clinging to life.

She called me at work to update me on her grandmother, but also to tell me that she had decided to nurse this new life to the point where it might be able to survive on its own in our garden. But since she was leaving to be by her grandmother's side, the mouse's health would be up to me and my son. Using a medical syringe and a formula for infant mammals, my son and I tried to prevent the mouse from getting dehydrated. The mouse seemed to be swallowing the formula, so we were cautiously optimistic.

When I made my final check on the mouse a little after midnight, it seemed sluggish and didn't respond well to feeding. I fell asleep worried about the fate of both my wife's grandmother and this new life that snuggled between two towels in a shoebox on our gazebo table.

I awoke this morning with my son snuggled up against me. He had crawled into bed with me an hour earlier. Checking my email, I saw a message from my wife saying that her grandmother had passed away shortly after midnight, nearly the same time I gave the mouse the last drop of formula.

While my son continued to sleep on my pillow, I quietly slipped into the bathroom as my emotions welled. My memories of my grandmother-in-law focused immediately on one of the lowest moments of my life when she had been there for me with a warm heart and caring ear. Tears began to stream down my face as I remembered the day at her lake cottage, more than 17 years earlier, a few days before my wedding. I had just gotten off the phone with my mother, who gave me the news that my father had fallen ill and couldn't travel to my wedding, and that my entire immediate family would miss my wedding as a result.

I hung up the old rotary phone that sat at the bottom of the cottage stairs, held my face in my hands and wept uncontrollably. But in my sadness and disappointment, my grandmother-in-law came over to me, without saying a word, and gently put her hand on my back to let me know that I wasn't alone.

All the emotions of that day came back to me this morning, as I tried to collect myself so I could tell my son that his great-grandmother -- the only great-grandparent he has ever known -- had passed away. As I sat on the side of the bed, my hand on his back, I told him the sad news. He didn't cry. He didn't even bat an eye. He was just silent, as if he were processing the news slowly. As we continued on our morning together, he seemed to be pensive, but not sad.

When I checked on the mouse after leaving the bedroom, it lay motionless in the shoebox. I quietly placed its body in the garden, and decided not to tell my son of its fate until he asked. I didn't want to compound the emotion of the day any more. As the day went on, I kept expecting him to ask about the mouse, but it seemed to be out of his consciousness for the time being.

As my son nuzzled his head down for sleep tonight and I sat on the floor next to his bed, brushing his hair with my hand, he asked, "Dad, what did you do with the mouse today?"

I answered, "The mouse didn't live through the night. He was just too little to survive without his mother. We did everything we could do to help him, but it wasn't enough."

He buried his head, as small muffled sobs emerged from his sheets. I slowly rubbed his back and let him express himself at his own pace. After a few minutes, he raised his head.

He looked at me through glassy eyes and said, "I didn't cry for great-grandma because she lived a long life. The reason I'm crying is because the mouse didn't even get to live a week. Maybe less."

All I could say was, "It doesn't seem fair, does it?"

I lay on his bed next to him, as his breathing became slower and more controlled. I don't know what he will feel when he wakes up in the morning, any more than I know how to explain the seeming unfairness inherent in life.

All I know is that I hope he never loses that ability to be moved when life seems unfair. Carrying an expectation of fairness may often lead to disappointment, but he will also expect it of his own actions. And that can only serve him and those around him well.

Focusing on the Imperfections of a Life in Progress

2010-04-28T21:47:00.003-05:00

A while back, I was photographing one of my son's scouting events and a scout leader stopped to make sure that I didn't miss my son's part. I assured him that I'd be there for my son, and motioning toward my camera lens, told him that "this is how I see life."

He smiled and said, "It looks better through there, doesn't it?"

I looked back in a moment of understanding and said, "Yes, it does."

Since that simple interchange, I've been wondering why I so enjoy trying to capture moments of life through my camera lens, even more than I do through my own eyes. I've been wondering why life looks better to me through a tunnel of glass and mirrors.

I hadn't been able to answer that question completely until last week when I took this photo of a half-spent dandelion puff in my garden. As I was flipping through the photos I took that evening, I stopped at this shot and smiled. It was one of those moments where you hold your breath just right as the breeze stops blowing, press the shutter, and capture not just 1/50 of a second of life, but the entire story leading up to that moment and a promised future to follow.

I had captured a single moment of this dandelion's life, perhaps a second before the breeze pried loose another seed whose wispy parachute would ride the wind across the neighborhood in search of fertile ground. The brown specks on the heart-shaped center told the stories of the similar, but unique journey of each seed already gone. Some seeds likely landed on the street or sidewalk, where they might take hold in the shallow soil of the pavement cracks. Others found their way into the neighbor's lawn where they will vigorously compete with the turf for sun and nutrients. Still more landed somewhere barren of soil or water, and withered with no chance of a future.

Since taking that photo, each day I've been attempted to capture a similar moment with other dandelions in our landscape. I've taken a plethora of shots of newly-sprouted dandelion seed heads, in their greeting card-ready perfection -- perfect orbs, the supermodels of weed fashion. While these shots certainly have some aesthetic value, they seem to lack meaning. I can't read the dandelion's story simply by looking at the photo.

The moments that show the imperfections of a life in progress are those that speak to me and read their story aloud. Standing right next to the perfect dandelion puff in our vegetable garden was another seed head, only five seeds still waiting for release. This flower, in the last throes of its predisposed genetic destiny, would soon wither and die by natural attrition or the blade of a garden hoe.

My mind wanders back to my previous agreement that life looks better through my camera lens, and I find myself wanting to renegotiate my assertion. It doesn't necessarily look better. Photography can capture moments of pain and ugliness just as well as it captures joy and beauty.

What a camera can do is freeze and focus an everlasting meaning of a moment in time in a way that our blurry eyes and memories can only approximate.

Watching Him Choose a Reflection

2010-04-10T22:42:00.001-05:00

As my son has grown, I've been fascinated by what things hold his interest for extended periods of time. Kids of his age are notoriously attention-deficient, so it always catches my eye when he spends a lot of time investigating a new topic or working on a project.

He gets this wonderfully intense look in his eyes when he encounters something new that he finds interesting. He'll often sit and just watch something. Early in his life, I interpreted this as timidity, but I now recognize it as his way of investigation. He quietly consumes all the information he can, and then -- often weeks later -- express his interpretation of what he has learned.

Today, we visited the The Children's Museum of Indianapolis to celebrate the end of his three-week spring break from his balanced calendar school. As we walked through the main entrance, my wife and I told him that the afternoon was all his, that he would set the pace and direction of exploration through the museum's many renowned exhibits. Off he ran up the first ramp towards the paleontology area, and he didn't slow down until the museum's close three hours later.

While he experimented at the flow dynamics table in the ScienceWorks exhibit or followed the path of the billiard balls in the Rube Goldberg machine, I could see a young engineer emerging. As he stared marvelously at the Dale Chihuly glass sculpture hanging in the middle of the winding four-story staircase, I could see a budding artist gathering inspiration. With his new handycam in his palm, filming and narrating his way through the exhibits, I had flashes of a future documentary filmmaker.

At one point, I leaned over to my wife and asked, "I wonder what he's going to end up doing?"

In what amounted to a rhetorical question, I had summed up one of the wonders of parenthood. I get to watch my son explore the world and in that exploration find himself. If I manage to let him find his own way, facilitating his journey without imposing my demands and desires too forcefully, I stand to reap a great reward.

My job as a parent is to help him see himself in a variety of different mirrors. In return, I'll get to watch him choose a reflection.

The Looks on His Face

2010-03-28T11:01:00.000-05:00

Yesterday was one of those magical days with the kid.

When he crawled into bed with me as the sun broke through our bedroom windows, my wife was already out the door for a field trip with her class, so it would be a Saturday of just me and my son. I thoroughly enjoy these days with him, when it's just the two of us -- two boys out to have fun and conquer the world -- and when we both are both of one mind about what needs to be conquered.

It doesn't always happen this way. If he's of the mood to just hang out at home and play video games, we tend to both hole up in our own electronic shells and let the day escape us. I don't like letting these opportunities pass uneventfully, but as most parents will attest, forcing a kid to have fun ends up being no fun for anyone involved.

As we lay in bed yesterday, I suggested that we go to the Decatur Zoo, a local zoo that's about a thirty minute drive from our house. It's not the most spectacular attraction in the world, but it would be a way to get out and do something out of our normal weekend routine. When my son said "no thanks..." I thought we were headed for just another Saturday, but he followed it with a better suggestion: "Let's go to the Indianapolis Zoo!"

So after breakfast and a few chores around the house, we hopped in my truck and headed off to Indianapolis. The two hour drive was spent switching back and forth between music on my iPhone and his iPod, with each of us getting a four-song block of our favorites to enjoy.

We arrived at the zoo a little after 1pm, leaving us four hours to see all the animals and -- most important of all -- ride the Kōmbo coaster! Exiting the Oceans and Deserts exhibits, we caught sight of the roller coaster reaching the top of its highest climb in the distance. We rushed over, bought tickets, and made it to the line in time to grab the last open seat.

My son seemed to be enjoying the zoo up until this point, but as soon as the coaster pulled away from the loading station, his face lit up with pure joy. On our second ride on the coaster, I decided to brace myself with my knees and try to capture his expressions as we went around the turns.

After the exhilaration of the coaster, we went from animal to animal, finding lemurs, baboons, lions, giraffes, and rhinos among to zoo's residents. As we made our way back through the zoo following a little elephant watching, my son spied an ice cream stand and immediately looked at me with an enthusiasm that couldn't be denied. I ordered a Butterfinger bar and he decided to try his first Drumstick.

The cool, breezy day wasn't the most perfect setting for frozen food, but my son soon forgot about the cold as he discovered the solid chocolate in the bottom of the drumstick cone. A sense of pure satisfaction came over his face as he enjoyed the scrumptious last bits of his afternoon treat.

On our way out of town, we stopped by Indianapolis Motor Speedway to see if the museum and gift shop was still open, but we missed it by eight minutes. Although we're certainly not the typical NASCAR family, we do enjoy the racing and I didn't want to end the day on a disappointing note. So I drove around the far reaches of the museum parking lot to find an place where we could see a stretch of the track. I threw my son up on the hood of my truck and started snapping away. Even after a long afternoon of walking around the zoo, he still had enough energy to give me his best funny faces with the track in the background.

One the way home and as we were getting ready for bed last night, we constantly talked about how wonderful a day it had been. But I didn't need any reassurance.

All I needed was to see the looks on his face.

Keeping the Wild Things at Bay

2010-03-21T17:03:00.001-05:00

A couple of weeks ago, as I was out taking photographs in our garden, I heard my son tap on the glass of our living room window. I turned around to find him with his arms resting on the lower sash, face up against the glass, looking out into the world with a contemplative look. I don't know what was on his mind at that moment, but I instinctively raised my camera to capture the image.

The photograph of my son behind a pane of glass reminds me of how much our children rely on us to protect them. We help them to navigate the complexities of their burgeoning social relationships, guard them from dangers in the world of which they are blissfully unaware, and help them achieve the independence and resilience they will someday need to live on their own.

Last night, my wife and I watched Where the Wild Things Are, the movie based on the book by Maurice Sendak that was one of my childhood favorites. I have been wanting to see the movie since seeing the first trailer for it, but after reading some reviews and feedback from friends, my wife wanted to preview the movie before showing it to our son.

Without spoiling the film, the wild things represent many of the fears that our children face as they grow into adults. The de facto leader of the wild things, Carol, turns to Max, who is the actual child in the story, to make things be exactly how everyone wants them to be. Carol wants Max to provide the wild things with all the answers. In one scene, Carol and Max are walking along a giant sand dune on the island where the wild things live. Carol talks about how the rock turns into sand, and the sand turns into dust, and then he doesn't know what happens after dust.

I pictured my son reciting Carol's lines, not talking about some island but our own human lives, leaving the conversation with the open ended question of what happens after dust. As a parent, there's the temptation to say something that will calm my son's fears, even though I don't know the answer myself. In fact, despite the numerous allegories of life and death that have been passed through our religious and spiritual traditions, none of us truly knows the answer to Carol's wistful wondering.

My son and I have already had conversations about life and death, and in these I have admitted my ignorance about what happens after dust. We've discussed it from a scientific standpoint, about what happens as the atoms that make up our bodies are recycled into the world. But at the end of the conversation, I am always sure to emphasize that I don't know what happens to the essence of who we are. I don't know what happens after dust.

As I look back at the photo of my son looking out at me through the living room window, I would rather help him develop his own way of dealing with the unknowns and fears of life by shining light on them, rather than creating an imaginary pane of glass that shatters when he discovers his own truth on his life's adventure. By facing his fears with a light of honesty and discovery, he can create his own way of keeping the wild things at bay.

Just Below the Surface

2010-03-14T17:01:00.003-05:00

One of my favorite plants in our garden is a witch hazel shrub that grows along the back fence. In the decade we've owned the house, the witch hazel has grown more vibrant and beautiful each year, full of flowers in late winter and dense, lush foliage throughout the spring and summer. Its flowering in February and March is an eagerly anticipated signal that winter is coming to a close.

Earlier this month, I did some pruning of the trees and shrubs in our home landscape. It's an annual chore where I go around, taking out any diseased or dying branches. I can't remember ever having to take a branch off the witch hazel -- until this year. The flower buds on one of the branches were smaller and less plentiful than the rest of the shrub, a sure sign that the branch was dying.

After pruning the branch, I could see what was hidden under a perfectly good covering of bark. Only a pie-shaped portion of the heartwood was still fresh and living. Had the diminutive flower buds not given me a signal, I would have never known the branch was so unhealthy.

Under the bark of all woody plants is a layer of vascular tissue that is its lifeline, transporting water and nutrients throughout the plant. In this tissue lies the vitality of the plant. The bark serves as the guardian of this tissue, protecting it from the weather and other environmental impacts. But the bark also hides the waning health of the plant, often until it is too late to save it.

It made me wonder if we are like these trees and shrubs, hiding our lack of health or satisfaction under a facade of health and happiness. How many of us are walking around with great-looking bark, but a suffering vitality just below the surface? How many of us continue to hide behind our bark, as the living portion of our heartwood slowly dies? How many of us never reveal the true state of our vitality until it is too late to save us?

Forever, in Swaddling Clothes

2010-03-11T21:51:00.015-06:00

Earlier this evening, I made a trip to the maternity wing of a local hospital to visit two close friends who welcomed their first child, Ethan, into the world this morning. Non-sibling children aren't allowed into the maternity rooms due to hospital regulations, so Ethan's father graciously offered to sit with my son in the waiting room while I visited baby Ethan and his mom.

I knocked quietly on the door and heard the hushed voice of my friend welcome me into the room. As I caught sight of Ethan's mother, I knew instantly she was absolutely smitten with her brand new baby boy. She smiled broadly and her tired eyes sparkled with the awe that infuses the souls of new parents. As I got closer, I saw Ethan, cradled to his mother's breast, sleeping the contented sleep of the innocent, needing no more protection from the world but the love of woman he has known as home for the last nine months.

Ethan's tiny features brought me instantly back to the day more than seven years ago when my son was born in the same maternity wing. As I looked at Ethan and his mother, I could feel every ounce of the emotion that flooded me as I walked into the hospital nursery and saw my son's feet over the edge of the warming table. He had been born about 30 minutes earlier via emergency C-section, and my wife was still in recovery as I took my first steps toward my new son, unsure of his future or mine, but certain that they were inextricably linked.

As I watched and listened to Ethan's mother glow over him, she matter-of-factly mused about the dichotomy between the simple act of creation and the complex new life in her arms. She was trying to wrap her mind around the astonishing power of creating life -- how an act that honestly doesn't take much skill or intelligence to perform can result in a living, breathing human being.

I can vividly remember having the same thoughts just hours after my son was born, as I sat in a maternity room chair, my son resting his head on my shoulder. I looked at him with the same awe, unable to fully comprehend this new life, but knowing that I had never felt such love, respect, awe and emotion for another human being.

My visit with Ethan and his mother didn't last long, but it was more than enough time to know that he would forever have his mother's heart. His life had just begun, and hers has forever changed. She will soon forget what her life was like before he arrived, as she adds mother to the top of the list of her life's roles.

In some ways I envy my friend and the other women in my life who have children. I can never have that bond that mothers share with their children, a bond fostered as their child has grown inside them.

But perhaps I didn't need that much time. That first day of life -- made of those moments when I was able to just be with my new son -- was all I needed. I just needed to feel the beat of his heart as he slept in my arms, swaddled in a standard-issue hospital blanket, to know that he would forever be a part of me. As much as he carries my genetic imprint in each of his cells, I will forever carry his spirit in my soul.

Signs

2010-03-06T21:27:00.001-06:00

I've always wondered how much metal, paint and plastic goes into making all of the signs strewn throughout our lives -- giving information or directions, offering caution, invoking or prohibiting action, and promoting products or ideas. We can barely walk anywhere in public without a deluge of signs inundating our vision.

The sign in the photo above is located on the University of Illinois campus at the top of a steep staircase that leads to a sunken patio adjacent to the Institute for Genomic Biology. The staircase is narrow, with steps made of slate, and certainly a danger to the careless or those who have never walked on icy or wet stone. Rather than rely on common sense, the university (and its lawyers) determined that a reminder was necessary to warn people of the potential hazard.

So many of the signs in our public spaces warn us of hazards or give us information to find our way from one place to another. But as we make our way from the public to the private, the ubiquity of signs is replaced by scarcity. When we cross the threshold of our homes, signs disappear. With the exception of the handmade no smoking signs my mother had posted at both the front and back door of my childhood home, I can't think of any home I've ever entered that had warning or directional signs once you walked through the door.

Is the dearth of signs within our home because we don't need caution against the pitfalls of marriage and parenting? Could we not use assistance in finding our way through the intricacies of the relationships that comprise our lives?

Certainly, as our relationships evolve, we learn to read our family and friends, seeing signs in their emotion and physical expressions that give us information or warning. But humans are nuanced animals, with complex emotions and expressions that are rarely clear to understand. We don't walk around wearing signs that warn others of our undesirable tendencies or signs with explicit instructions of what we expect in our relationships.

In many ways, I think the lack of warning and directional signs in our personal lives is the source of much of the confusion and disintegration in our relationships. Too often, the warning signs are only realized in hindsight, when it is too late to avoid slipping and falling down the stairs of life.

Hidden

2010-03-04T22:16:00.003-06:00

There are things in life that you can walk past a thousand times and never give them more than a passing glance, taking them as a mundane given in your visual landscape. The sculpture above was one of those things for me. Located on the back corner of Foellinger Auditorium on the University of Illinois quad, facing a group of magnolia trees I have grown to cherish, the sculpture is one of the two Sons of Deucalion and Pyrrha pieces by the late sculptor Loredo Taft. But for me, it was simply another inanimate, nameless statue until today.

We were greeted by a springlike day, with crisp, cool air and blue skies. I grabbed my camera over the lunch hour with the goal of taking some botanical photos of emerging flower and leaf buds on the trees around my end of campus. As I came around the corner of the quad toward my favored magnolias, the statue spoke to me in a way it never has.

The shadows from the overhead sun accentuated the way the man hides his face between his knees, and suddenly the sculpture reminded me how much of our lives we spending hiding our faces, embarrassed, timid or scared to reveal true selves, even surrounded the promised safety of our family and close friends. Many of us remain crouched, with our head between our knees, waiting for the turbulence of life to pass. Like these sculptures, if we remain rigid with our faces hidden, the elements will eventually wear us away to crumbled ruins.

In just a couple of weeks, the magnolias that stand opposite the Sons of Deucalion and Pyrrha will proudly and beautifully reveal their true faces. Their glory may be fleeting, lasting sometimes just a few days. But they give us all of themselves, while the sculpture just a few feet away remains eternally poised in shadow.

A Wish for Tomorrow

2010-03-02T21:21:00.000-06:00

Tonight was one of my two nights each week where my son and I have the evenings to ourselves because my wife teaches a night class at a local community college. Our father-son nights have always been a uniquely satisfying time for us, when we are able to give each other an undivided attention that doesn't happen during the rest of the week.

Our evenings usually end with me sitting on or kneeling next to his bed as he snuggles into his pillow, both of us recounting how we have enjoyed the evening and each other. Invariably, he will make a profound statement or ask a question that has no easy, thirty-second answer. In these moments, I am struck by his young wisdom and challenged to comment or answer in a way that is honest, yet understandable to someone just past his seventh birthday.

Tonight, as I rose to my feet to leave his room, he said, "Being a kid is the most fun part of our lives, isn't it?"

I looked at him earnestly, realizing that answering a simple "yes" to his question might make him dread growing up. I knelt back down, my face just a foot or so from his, brushing his hair back off his forehead with my hand. And I answered him: "As a kid, you'll likely have the most pure fun of your life, free from the responsibilities that come along with being an adult. But as an adult, you will have the most incredibly satisfying experiences of your life, a life that you can truly make your own."

I tussled his hair and kissed his forehead, told him I loved him, and wished him good dreams. I silently wished him a tomorrow made of authentic, pure fun and enough wisdom to bring him one step closer to his experiences of the future.

Finding the Perfect Pair

2010-03-01T22:58:00.003-06:00

I prefer order to chaos. All the way back to childhood, I've held a predilection for making sure everything is just right and predictable. A comes before B, so if something's an A, it should be put before B. But for some reason, this urge for order has stopped at the edge of my sock drawer. My sock drawer has always been a place where I'm content with sifting through the tangled ball of brown, black and white chaos each morning to find a matched pair.

I can imagine each sock as a different emotion, stress or demand in my life, interwoven to such an extent that's hard to decipher where one stops and the other begins. Each morning, I have the choice to pick two that appear compatible, put them on my feet, and walk around in them. Sometimes the morning light is deceptive, and I'll end up with an unmatched pair that clash with each other all day.

My sock drawer may be reflection of the life that few get to witness, a life that I can hide from view by gently shutting the drawer and going about my day, while I try to create a false sense of order on the visible fringe. There must be over one hundred socks in the drawer, but I only wear two at a time. Even then, the socks are shielded by shoes and pants, only visible when seen from certain angles.

But perhaps there is something more lurking in the chaos of my sock drawer. The chaos may be the only way we can see all the possibilities. Each time a clean batch of socks is dumped in the drawer and introduced to the mix, the potential for combination is reset. If the socks were lined up in perfect rows according to color and size, each matched in a predetermined way, the options are instantly limited.

I might lose the chance of finding the perfect pair.

Nothing Less

2010-02-28T12:27:00.001-06:00

As a political science and philosophy major in college, I read more commentary on the human condition than anyone probably needs in a lifetime. But one observation, made by Thomas Hobbes in The Leviathan, has always stayed with me. In his discourse on humanity and war, he penned a phrase that has been repeated often throughout history: "the life of man, solitary, poor, nasty, brutish and short."

Now, nearly 400 years after Hobbes wrote these words and his name is more associated with a cartoon tiger, our world is radically different. We are no longer solitary. The standard of living of most of the world's citizens is at or near its highest point in history. There are certainly pockets -- sometimes large -- of "solitary, poor, nasty and brutish," but in a global sense, we no longer live in Hobbes' world.

What about "short" you may ask? Why did I leave that off the list? Short can't be eliminated from the general list describing life, because that remains the one descriptor over which we have the least control. As much a modern medicine has extended our average life expectancy, our power as individuals over the random events that affect our longevity is minimal at best.

Over the past 24 hours, I've been consumed in thought about the fragility and potential brevity of our lives. A fellow writer, Katie, who I've "met" through Twitter but never in person, was suddenly struck by meningitis, a unrelenting disease that can ravage even a healthy body with little warning. Earlier this week she felt fine. Today, she lies in hospital bed, 28 years old, with doctors aggressively treating her to save her life.

Just seven weeks ago, she wrote in her blog "My new personal maxim is 'nothing less.' That is, nothing less than the best for myself, my friends, my relationships, and my life." Her writings give a window into a person who had finally felt on course and determined to take control over her own pursuit of life -- a life now in jeopardy of ending far too soon.

Although I don't have a truly personal connection with Katie, I have been following the updates on her condition like she was a good friend or family member. I can't explain why, except for simple reason that it seems cosmically unjust that someone who has so recently found a direction in their life would be interrupted so abruptly. Some might say that there is a reason for everything, but I don't buy into such easy comfort.

I keep returning to Katie's words...nothing less than the best for myself, my friends, my relationships, and my life. It is my deepest hope that Katie fights harder than she ever has to beat this illness and she can return to her quest, reinvigorated and more determined to find the best. It is my deepest conviction to never forget the inspiration in Katie's words.

Nothing less.

A Singular Moment of Revelation

2010-02-26T21:51:00.002-06:00

Last night was Cub Scout night. Each Thursday, the first through fourth graders that make up my son's scout pack gather at 7pm in the lobby of their elementary school to open the week's activities. Each week, the Cubmaster will choose one or two boys to lead the others in the Pledge of Allegiance and the Scout Promise. Last night, when the Cubmaster asked for a volunteer, my son's hand shot up and I instantly knew this would be his chance to lead the pack. I could barely contain my pride and emotion as he walked to stand next to the flag, raising his fingers to his forehead in the scout salute.

Just a few months ago when my son first expressed interest in joining the scout pack at his school, I wrote a post highly critical of the Boy Scouts and what I perceived as their organizational culture of discrimination. Based on media stories and policy documents, I concluded that Boy Scouts was an organization to avoid. My son's enthusiasm to be a part of the pack, combined with some very heartfelt testimonials by people I trust, helped me to overcome this conclusion and allow him to join. As I wrote last August, I was hesitantly willing to give "the local scout pack a chance to prove that it stands separate from the discriminatory policies of its bureaucratic parent."

As I began to attend the scout activities with my son (first graders are required to have an adult partner at all meetings), I was on high alert for anything that might prove my misgivings correct and give me a reason to say, "See, I told you this wasn't something we wanted him to be a part of." The skeptic in me was at full attention, looking for the slightest evidence to support my concern.

I found none. From the first day, the pack leadership and other parents have been nothing but caring, supportive individuals whose only visible goals is for their sons to learn how to be responsible citizens, environmental stewards, and healthy individuals. My son looks forward to Thursday nights more than any activity of the week -- a chance to be among his peers, learning and cooperating with them. We've met police officers and firefighters, visited a radio station, attending local sporting events, and played countless games where the boys learn teamwork and leadership. But most satisfying of all, the boys are enjoying themselves as they share the experience and accomplishments of scouting.

But the skeptic in me would not let go. Even as I attended parent leader trainings, I was still waiting for scouting to reveal its true colors -- as I had defined them last summer. Even as I spent a beautiful weekend in October camping with the pack, I wanted to find that justification for my aforementioned conclusion. Even as my son walked across the stage to receive his Tiger badge last week at the annual Blue and Gold banquet, I still held some hesitancy in my heart.

Last night was weigh-in night for the Pinewood Derby, a long-standing scout tradition where the boys make a small car out of a block of pine, four wheels and four nails -- and various accessories of their own design. Each scout had to present his car for weighing, measuring and a test run down the sloping metal track. In my role as pack photographer, I was sitting in a chair at the end of the track, taking each scout's photo with his car after it passed inspection. Of all the parents and pack leaders, I had the best seat in the house. I could see the expression on each scout's face as the track gate released their car, sending it down the track. Each and every one of the boys had the expression of accomplishment as their car sped to the bottom.

But the expression that I will never forget was the one plastered on my son's face, as his car flashed from the top to the bottom. It was pure pride in his creation. He ran directly to me, excitement boiling over, knowing he had done well. He had accomplished something.

There are some things in life of which we are so certain that it is nearly impossible to let them go, even in the face of overwhelming evidence. Sometimes it is not until that singular moment of revelation is served to us on a silver platter that we are willing to smile with black crow feathers stuck in between our teeth.

My singular moment of revelation came as his car crossed the red finish line and he ran towards me. My pride was coupled with a humility that I will never forget. It was a humility that knew I was wrong about scouting, wrong in every way. It was a humility that kicked the last hesitancy out of my heart.

At that moment, I knew that the decision to be a part of scouting would be my son's to make from this day forward. He may decide at the end of this year that he's had enough. Someday he may be an Eagle Scout, or maybe the Cubmaster of his son's pack. But that will be his path to travel, one where I will be his partner and biggest supporter as long as he needs me.

There are countless instances throughout my life where I've been proven wrong and been forced - sometimes kicking and screaming - to swallow the jagged proof of my fallibility. But, last night, after seeing the pure joy of accomplishment in my son's face, I've never tasted a slice of humble pie quite so nourishing and delicious.

Authentic Time Off

2010-02-25T17:27:00.000-06:00

When it was first announced that University of Illinois academic employees would be put on involuntary furlough for four days this spring, I think it struck most of us as bad news. No one wanted a salary reduction at a time when personal economic pressures already stressed many households. Even the prospect of an extra four days off didn't temper the sting, as most of us have more vacation time than we can take due to the demands of our jobs. The furlough program may have been necessary to address major cash flow shortfalls, but it was bad news, plain and simple.

Normally when I take vacation leave, I'll check my work email a couple of times a day. I may not act on the email immediately, but I'll forward it on to someone else in our office if it needs immediate attention. The furlough policy, however, prohibits us from conducting any university business on an official furlough day. In those moments when being uncompensated for my work isn't enough of a deterrent, the furlough policy is an official reminder that I can't participate in work activities.

As a result of the furlough -- for the first time in my career -- I've truly had free time, where I can set my own agenda.without feelings of obligation or worry leaking into my thoughts and activities. They are a time for me to forget about the stresses of my job and focus on those activities and people that truly fulfill me. I've come to view these furlough days as a gift of authentic time off.

Recycling Our Boxes

2010-02-23T23:13:00.002-06:00

A few weeks ago, I made a trip to the city recycling center. We've never been pleased with the quality of our trash hauler's recycling efforts, so we collect our cans, bottles, cardboard and newspapers in the garage. When we can't stack one more item on the growing pile of consumption, I'll load up the truck and head up to the north side of town. It is usually the cardboard boxes that are the earliest to teeter in a threatening pose of imminent revolt.

An urban recycling center in its utilitarian starkness may not be the most suitable place to wax philosophical. But as I tossed box after box through the open door of the large roll-off container marked CARBOARD ONLY, I began to think about the purpose and significance of boxes in our lives. Each and every box that I was recycling was a container of some sort, meant to protect a product from the time it is produced, through the transit, storage and marketing process. Once it has arrived in our homes, the box has served its purpose and can be recycled. While there are likely a thousand ways we could be more environmentally-friendly with our product packaging, the box has proudly earned its place next to the wheel and sliced bread in the annals of human invention.

If the box is such a grand example of human ingenuity, how have the metaphorical boxes in our lives earned such a negative reputation? Somewhere in the second half of the 20th Century, the phrase "thinking outside the box" was spawned in corporate culture to signify creativity and unconventional thinking. If the box is such a wonderful invention, why would we want to crawl out of ours, much less think outside of it? Because we've forgotten to recycle them once they've served their purpose.

Any of the limitations or conditions we face in life can define the walls and shape of our metaphorical boxes. Sometimes we build our boxes for ourselves. Nearly every decision and certainly every commitment and contract we make adds definition and thickness to our box. Other times we agree to live inside someone else's box, for want of trying to satisfy their needs and expectations or as attempt for self-preservation. Even more often, we create neat little boxes in which we expect others to obediently reside.

Not all the boxes we create for ourselves and others are bad. The boxes that we create for our children as they learn and explore are there to protect them from true harm and help them discover themselves within the boundaries of the box. Our most successful and satisfying relationships are those where there is a mutual understanding of trust and boundaries -- where the box doesn't limit one or the other, but allows both to stand on top of the box and reach higher than either could by themselves.

When we hear dissatisfaction from our family, friends and acquaintances, they often describe feelings of being trapped and limited. Of not being able to reach their full potential. Of someone or something holding them back. Each and every one of these people is trapped in a box. It may be a box that they thought would protect and support them in their lives. The problem is that a lot of boxes look quite different from the inside.

Perhaps we need to start looking at our metaphorical boxes like the cardboard boxes at the recycling center. Many of our lives' boxes will fulfill their purpose or outgrow their usefulness. When our boxes become more of a prison than a protective container or a foundation on which to stand, it is time to find a box cutter, slice the box down the side, and fill our truck for a trip to the recycling center.

Return on Investment

2010-02-21T22:52:00.001-06:00

Just a few days ago, I wrote about the concept of transience, or temporal scarcity, and how it creates value in our lives. Since that post, I've been thinking a lot about how principles and concepts of economics have relevance not only in financial affairs, but in my emotional and spiritual life as well. There's a part of me -- the idealist -- that doesn't want to admit that our motivations and desires can be broken down into something that can be easily explained in a few paragraphs of a freshman college textbook. But the more I think about the why questions, whose answers might explain the reasons behind our actions or the secret to finding meaning and satisfaction in life, the more I return to the concept of return on investment.

Return on investment, in economic terms, is quite simply the ratio between the amount of money gained or lost as the result of an investment and the amount of the investment itself. It is a measure of how much a business gained or lost as a result of a certain investment of resources. In most cases, the return on investment in a business situation is definite and quantifiable.

When this concept is applied to non-business situations, however, return on investment treads into murky waters. The quantitative nature of business -- the bottom line -- blurs into the myriad of emotions that populate the human condition. We can't even rely on qualitative criteria, for some life scenarios just defy analysis.

Can we use the economic rationale of return on investment to analyze the decisions and actions of our daily lives? Perhaps our most limited -- and thus valuable -- resource as humans is our time. From the day we are born, we are spending our allotment of time with each second that passes. We don't know exactly how much time we have, but it is most certainly limited in nature. Looking at it somewhat crudely, we can break our lives down into units of time. Our minutes and seconds become our investment currency.

If our time is the investment, what can we count as the return?

One type of return might be more time. If we spend some of our time eating healthy foods, exercising and treating our bodies well, we have a higher probability of living a longer life. So, we might invest some of our life currency hoping to create more of the same currency. In a limited fashion, this type of time investment may even be quantifiably sound. However, this makes sense only if we are using this extra currency to invest in some other type of return. Creating more life capital -- in the form of increased longevity -- only holds value if those extra minutes are put to use in some other investment. Just as creating money from money holds no value unless the money can be converted to something more substantial, living for the sake of living is cyclically pointless.

So how do we measure the true returns for our investments of time? Is there an algebra to help us determine which of our pursuits is worthwhile? What is the unit of return? As humans, our returns come in the form of emotions, both positive and negative. Our gains are described in the emotions of satisfaction, happiness, or euphoria; our losses wrapped in sadness and despair. Scientists may attempt to measure the levels of serotonin released during our happiest moments, but these emotions resist precise measurement. We may try to quantify, but the way we describe our return on investment takes on particularly qualitative characteristic. Does it feel like we're getting something back for the time we've invested?

Years ago in college, I would occasionally throw out the assertion that pure altruism cannot exist in humans because we are perfectly selfish by nature -- that an altruistic human being is an oxymoron of the highest order. I would argue until my fellow debaters would simply tell me I was playing semantic games, breaking each and every example of altruism they proposed down to a basic selfish motive. Twenty years later, I still cannot find an example of human behavior that can't be reduced to a person doing something they think will bring them a positive return on their investment of time, labor or emotion.

Looking at our decision-making through the simplified lens of return on investment is fraught with complication. We make hundreds of decisions each day, an overlapping network of choices whose impact (the return) is not always clear. Often we take actions that provide instant gratification, but have long-term negative returns. Frequently, we are misinformed or predict the wrong outcome and our actions have absolutely no positive returns. Sometimes, we know an action will have immediate negative returns, but take it because of a potential long-term benefit. Just as businesses cannot always predict a return on investment, the calculus of investment and return in our personal lives is far from simple.

I have always been someone who invests myself deeply in the people and activities in my life. Once I have made a decision to start a relationship or pursue a project, I give myself with great intensity. I don't make half-hearted investments -- as long as I am met with returns that match my intensity. It is simply the way I am wired, and despite my best efforts to counter my instinct with logic and reason, I cannot continue to invest myself without a corresponding return. It is most certainly the reason I have a very difficult time finding enduring satisfaction, suffer an almost constant craving for change, and walk on an unending search for something more.

In accordance with my personal spirituality and faith, I cannot seek these returns past the end of my time on this earth. For me, there is no ultimate or eternal return on investment. My returns must be found along the way.

It may sound harsh and calculating, but I cannot afford to invest myself in people or activities that take from me with nothing in return. The return is what gives my investment power. The return is what gives my investment meaning. The return is what gives my investment purpose.

I will never be satisfied until I know in my mind and heart that I have found my return on investment.

Finding a Snowy Lining

2010-02-15T18:02:00.001-06:00

My alarm went off this morning at 6:45am, the same time it usually does on a Monday morning. But as I rolled over to turn it off, I remembered that this wasn't an ordinary Monday. It was the first Monday in more than a decade that I wouldn't be earning any money.

Due to the budget crisis at the university where I'm employed, all faculty and academic staff are mandated to take four unpaid furlough days, one each month from February through May. It's a strategy that many universities and other organizations have taken across the nation to deal with staggering shortfalls of revenue. None of us particularly likes losing about four percent of our salary each month this spring, but if it can help the university stay operational and avoid widespread layoffs, I haven't met a person who isn't willing to take their fair share of the financial pain.

The spacing of the furlough periods has synchronized rather well for me, as I already had four days this semester (one in each furlough period) where I needed to cover when my son was out of school and my wife had work responsibilities. Today was the first of my furlough days, on a day where my son was off school for President's Day.

I'd decided when the furloughs were first announced that I wanted to spend the days doing things I normally don't have the opportunity to do during the work week -- concentrate on my writing and photography and spend more time outdoors with my son. As the hours quickly ticked past this morning after we all rolled out of bed around 8am, I saw my first furlough day disappearing into the familiar cadence of a lazy Saturday at home. I was buried in my laptop, checking the news, Facebook and Twitter. My son feverishly worked on his own computer. As 11:30am came and went, I knew the window of opportunity to make something of the day was narrowing.

Fortunately it didn't take a whole lot of arm bending to convince my son that it would be fun to get outside for a while and go for a hike. After running down the list of our favorite hiking places, I threw out a new locale -- a park on the northeast side of town that we'd never explored before. He was game, and we were off.

Our town was covered by a couple of fresh inches of wet snow late last night. We arrived at the park, my camera in hand, and a determination in his devilish smile to have some fun. The park's 90 acres surround a lake created in the late 1800s by the damming the Saline Branch. Today, the frozen lake was nearly invisible, blending almost seamlessly with the surrounding woods under a carpet of snow. After a quick lesson on how to identify the water's edge, we started out on our hike.

A blanket of overcast covered us today, but there was evidence everywhere of the yesterday's sun. The main bridge crossing the lake was lined with an army of icicles, which the kid gladly dispatched as he ran across the span. Although the snow near the parking lot was powdery and hard to pack, across the bridge we found a couple of acres of fresh snow, ready to easily form into the most perfect snowballs. Hanging up my camera on a nearby sign, we commenced a small pitched battle of frozen zeal.

Throughout the park, there were official warnings to stay off the frozen lake and river. On this grey day, the red danger signs caught your attention at every turn. Judging by the human footprints across the center of the lake, not everyone had heeded the message. So we decided to build a snow sentry to provide further guidance to the foolish souls who were venturing out onto the ice.

On the west side of the park, the river's water ran free, an almost pitch black against the snowy banks. At this point in our hike, the wind had started to pick up and the snow in my son's boots had saturated and frozen his feet to the point where cold trumped fun. Near the main road through the park, we decided to follow its path back to the parking lot.

Along the way, we heard the first animal noise of the day. Coming from a towering oak tree was the familiar tap, tap, tap of a woodpecker. It took us a few minutes to locate his red head moving with each hammer, as his plumage blended perfectly with the shaggy bark of the tree.

We arrived back at the parking lot, cold and wet but refreshed from our short hike along the lake and river that was full of smiles and laughter. It may have been hard to find the silver in an overcast day, but we certainly found a beautiful snowy lining in a day we'll never forget. I may not have earned a dime while on furlough, but I can't imagine a more valuable use of my time.

Live Like They're Melting

2010-02-11T20:32:00.000-06:00

Earlier this week, while the Mid-Atlantic states were getting dumped with record-breaking snow, the deep south was treated to an unusual amount of the white stuff as well. Late Monday night, a friend of mine who lives in central Arkansas related a story (via Facebook) that as she was driving home from the store at 1:30am, a large crowd of kids was still playing at the golf course, building snowmen and snow forts, sledding and sliding, and bringing the mayhem that often results from the combination children and snow. In a part of the country where a few snow flakes can evoke a temporary hysteria, a few inches of snow was manna from heaven for children and adults alike.

The picture she painted stood in contrast to storm that dropped six inches of snow on us in central Illinois the following morning, during which we stayed bottled up inside the house, my son glued to his PlayStation for most of the day. It was just another matter of course in the Midwest, a staple of winter that sometimes cancels school, but doesn't stir the same excitement as it does in warmer climes.

The snow that fell in the south has already started to melt, and children across the region have returned to school. Our streets are nearly clear, but the snow is destined to stay for a while, and may get deeper in the coming days. As I think about the how the snow was celebrated down south, but simply tolerated here, 500 miles north, I am reminded of the strength of transience in the creation of perceived value. Because of its infrequency and lack of permanence, snow in the south is treated as a gift rather than a hindrance.

The difference in the perception of snow is simply laws of economics applied to precipitation. Supply and demand. When something is in short supply, the demand for it -- and its perceived value -- goes up. Scarcity creates value. Transience is simply scarcity wearing the colors of time.

If scarcity and transience create value, what of abundance and permanence? Do they have the opposite effect? Are those things that are plentiful and unwavering in our lives devalued just because of their stable, predictable nature? I think often they are. We somehow grow to expect certain people, things, and occurrences to always be in adequate supply.

When we take the stalwarts of our lives as given, and fail to celebrate and savor their presence in our daily lives, we lower their value. As we look down on what is, and dream of what could be, we devalue the present. When we assume that our loved ones will be there tomorrow, we reduce their importance today.

I found an important message written in the Arkansas snow, a message that forced me look around at all those people, things and events in my life -- especially those that I take for granted. It's made me think that, perhaps, I need to start enjoying them with the vitality of a child sledding on a golf course in the middle of the night, as if I could hear the thermometer rise, each degree one step closer to their demise.

It's made me think that maybe, just maybe, I should start to live like they're melting.

Because I Do

2010-02-07T20:30:00.000-06:00

As far back as I can remember, the logical side of my personality has enjoyed taking my own beliefs, putting them under the critical microscope of analysis, and determining whether they can survive a conversation with the voice of reason. My rationale is simple: If a belief can't stand on its own merits against formal questioning, it likely is flawed in some fundamental way and should be discarded. If my belief cannot be proven, with a rigor that is demanded of scientific hypothesis, how can I justify it a place in my personal foundation?

With a scalpel sharpened by this rationale in hand, I have gone through life cutting deeply into each of my beliefs. I wanted to ensure that each belief is based on provable knowledge. I wanted to be able to answer anyone who challenged me to explain the why behind my belief. I never wanted to be cornered by a question whose only answer was "because I do." I've always wondered why I studied political science and philosophy in college, rather than following my natural aptitude for math and science. Perhaps the liberal arts provided me with a more plentiful playground of beliefs to dissect and reassemble.

This practice of testing my beliefs has seemed rather innocuous over the years -- good fodder for late-night college conversations, but without a great deal of bearing on how I actually live my life. Last year around this time, I saw a book on our public library shelf titled This I Believe: The Personal Philsophies of Remarkable Men and Women. The book includes a series of essay written by people of all walks of life, from real estate attorneys to airport maintenance workers, from famous politicians to advertising salespeople. The idea is borrowed from a 1950s NPR show of the same title. The premise is simple: Write an essay of a few hundred words that describes one of your beliefs.

In his introduction, editor Jay Allison explains what they ask of the authors:

"We make the same requests of essayists that [the original radio show] did: Frame your beliefs in positive terms. Refrain from dwelling on what you do not believe. Avoid restatement of doctrine. Focus on the personal, the 'I' of the title, not the subtly sermonizing 'We.' While you may hold many beliefs, write mainly of one. Aim for truth without accusation, patriotism without political cant, and faith beyond religious doctrine."

The book is a wonderful, insightful read -- but, for me, the take away was the challenge to write my own This I Believe essay. Instead of using the logic scalpel to dissect and dismiss, I was confronted with the challenge to decide and describe in the positive. I no longer could just throw out what I didn't believe. My scalpel was suddenly rendered as effective as a butter knife.

So what do I believe? I obviously had to believe something. Aside from some actions that are simply involuntary reactions, our beliefs are the basis for our decision making. When confronted with a choice, the path we choose in inevitably influenced by how we understand -- what we believe about -- the world around us.

The logician in me, the man with the scalpel at the ready, claims that these beliefs are based on repeatable observation. The sun rises. Living things evolve. If the scientific community has settled on something as fact, through the rigors of scientific inquiry, then it becomes a belief in my foundation.

But these facts, as solid as they may be, cannot comprise the entirety of my decision-making foundation. In reality, they are just the things I take as granted. That I know the sun is going to come up tomorrow doesn't help me decide how to resolve a conflict with a friend. The details of evolution don't give me any reason to trust the people I love. They really just explain how the world works on both a macro and micro level. The trouble is that we live most of our lives as individuals somewhere in between. None of the physical or biological facts discovered by science have ever answered the question, "What will human X do in situation Y?"

So what is it that I believe that helps me as human X to respond the way I do in situation Y?

As much as my logical side fights the notion and craves proof for everything, the answer I have come back to repeatedly over the past year is the concept of faith. I don't speak of faith in a broad religious sense, for the idea of subscribing to a faith that someone else has defined for me is antithetical to my every fiber. Faith is how I deal with the presently unknown -- and the unknowable. It is a faith that I have in the universe. It is a faith that I have in those I love and trust. But most of all, it is a faith that I have in myself, that I will somehow navigate the intricacies of life in a way that gives my existence meaning and worth.

Years ago, as I sat in a high school religion class, I read a single sentence that resonates with me today. My textbook defined religion as "an individual's response to the mysteries of life." As a 15-year-old student, the definition struck me as odd. I'd spent my entire life being taught that there was one faith, yet this book was telling me that I could have an individual response. I think the book was wrong. It is not religion that is an individual's response to the mysteries of life. Religion is humanity's way of attempting to define faith for the masses.

An individual's response to the mysteries of life is faith. Faith is what allows us to get up in the morning. Faith is what allows us to open ourselves up to those we love. Faith is what helps us to make difficult decisions each and every day. Faith is what fills in the gaps between knowledge. Faith is what allows us to simultaneously live with confidence while admitting our ignorance.

As I write this, the man with the scalpel is screaming that my acceptance of faith is an unacceptable concession of colossal proportions. He demands an explanation based in fact. I can't give it to him.

Why do I believe in faith? Because I do.

The Gift of Something That Matters

2009-12-24T21:27:00.003-06:00

A short while ago, as my seven-year-old son and I were talking in bed one weekday morning, I asked him what he was most looking forward to about Christmas. Without a moment of hesitation, he answered "grandma and grandpa." A few weeks earlier, he had added "good luck for my family" to the end of his wish list to send to Santa. In fact, his list of things that he wanted was so short, we had to encourage him to look through some toy catalogs to lengthen it some. He seemed entirely content with receiving a couple of toys, as long as he could spend the holiday time with family.

I have always adored the giving of gifts. The pleasure of finding a gift that the recipient will truly enjoy or find useful is eminently satisfying to me. For me, giving a gift is one of those opportunities where you can demonstrate that you truly have listened to and understood the needs and interests of the recipient. The old phrase -- "It's the thought that counts" -- only partially captures this sentiment. For me, it's never been enough to give a gift of something. I've always tried to give the gift of something that matters.

This year, I've been thinking a great deal about this concept of giving something that matters. And what I've realized is that, in my son's eyes, the greatest gift I can give him is my time and attention. To him, that is what matters. Surely, he will enjoy seeing a tree full of presents when he awakes tomorrow morning. But all those boxes mean nothing to him outside the context of the time shared with family, the foundation of this holiday.

For those who accept the biblical foundations of Christmas, this holiday celebrates the entry into humanity of a child who would someday teach the people around him to give of themselves to those who are least fortunate. In the more secular version, we are inspired by a story of giving where all children are visited by the spirit of the season, who leaves good tidings and gifts in his magical wake. Whichever allegory you choose, the message is not about receiving, but of giving of oneself.

We miss this message as we stand in long lines under the oppressive glow of commercial fluorescents, waking up at 4am to fight our fellow humans for a toy that will be forgotten soon after it is opened on Christmas morning. We miss this message when we stress our families by shuffling our families between five different destinations in a vain attempt to please everyone. We miss this message when we use this holiday as bribery for good behavior in our children.

Tomorrow, as I hear the handle turn on my son's bedroom door, and see his bright eyes peer around the corner into our room, my mind and heart will be completely focused on giving myself to him. Regardless of what waits for him under the tree, his greatest gift will not come from a store, or be wrapped in a box. It will be something that matters.

Wanting To Know Who I Am

2009-12-08T18:19:00.000-06:00

I walked out of the office tonight to perhaps my least favorite kind of weather. The temperature hovered just above freezing. Sheets of large, heavy raindrops marched through the illumination of street lights, buffeted on an increasingly strong wind. My lack of umbrella was practically inconsequential. This was the kind of weather that comes at you from all angles, mocking protection from above.

My path from the front door of my office building to the parking garage can't be more than a few hundred yards, but by the time I arrived at my truck, my shoulders were hunched, my hair glistening with nearly frozen moisture. I hopped in the driver's seat, plugged my iPhone into the truck's stereo system and hit shuffle.

Now I don't often subscribe to talk of fate, but there are times when I think my iPhone has some sort of subliminal connection to my brain. As my finger lifted off the play arrow, the acoustic flourish of the Goo Goo Dolls Iris made its rising entrance through the speakers. Have you ever heard a song and -- from the very first note -- feel as if it were written by someone sharing your soul? Well, Iris is that song for me. It is one of the most instrumentally stirring rock songs ever penned, and its lyrics speak to me like no other. The lyrics and music blend perfectly to convey both desperation and hope, isolation and connection.

And I don't want the world to see me
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand
When everything's made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am

When John Rzeznik sings the chorus, I hear a soul unsure of its place in the world, a soul whose past is peppered with loss and dissolution. But in this desperation hides a soul that has found a kindred spirit, someone to walk with through the chaos.

So tonight, the cold, rainy night outside my truck disappeared, as my ride home was warmed by thoughts of those fellow souls who have wanted to know who I am.

Helping Our Kids Decipher the Message

2009-12-05T21:04:00.000-06:00

Earlier today, I made a quick trip to Walmart to pick up a few things we needed around the house. The store was reasonably busy for pre-Christmas Saturday, and most people seemed to be in a festive, pleasant mood -- from the Salvation Army bell ringer to the handful of guys ogling the flat-screen entertainment nirvana at the back of the store.

After finding each of the items on my short list, I chose the shortest line and queued up behind what appeared to be a grandmother, mother and her elementary age son. The family could have been any of the rural, small town families of the area. The mother had the haggard look of someone who had spent all day with an energetic child. And the boy was clearly not going to wind down any time soon. He jumped around, hands attached to the end and sides of the cart that awaited his family's checked items. He was making an enormous amount of noise, but his chaos seemed unnoticed by his mother or grandmother. Seems they had become immune.

I started to pay closer attention to the boy's words. He was singing what sounded rhythmically like hip-hop, and I soon deciphered the words as "Bow, wow, wow, that's what my baby says." I will admit surprise and disgust that a young boy (or anyone for that matter) would be singing words that had such a disrespectful tone to them. My mind immediately assumed he had heard these lyrics in one of the mysoginistic songs that litter pop radio stations too frequently.

Walking out of the store, I began to wonder if we shouldn't start issuing licenses for procreation. What kind of parents would let their child listen to -- and repeat -- such drivel? Seated in the front seat of my truck, I pulled out my iPhone to post something scathing about this boy and his family.

But first, I checked YouTube to find the song he was signing. Turns out, it's not from plethora of interchangeable pablum that passes for hip-hop today. It's from a Playhouse Disney "tween" show called Phinneas and Ferb, a show that is often promoted in commercial shorts between shows aimed at toddlers and early elementary students.

Perhaps I'm being a little too sensitive on this issue, and I'm just blissfully unaware of what passes as entertainment for pre-teens and teenagers now. But I can't help but feel that we as parents need to take a stand to help our kids decipher the message that is being fed to them.

If we want to raise our sons and daughters with a healthy respect for their friends, their future partners, and the men and women whose lives they touch, we can't become immune to the messages they receive.

We have let them hear, "No, no, no, that's not what your baby says."

The Right Moments to Remember

2009-11-29T16:45:00.000-06:00

I was watching a squirrel out the living room window earlier today, hunched over on a branch of the sugar maple in our side yard. His paws were folded over on his chest, as every ounce of his increasing girth screamed cold. The squirrel's body language mimics my own, as this cold, damp and gray November day has been the kind that saps my motivation and reflects my focus inward. It is a day that lacks color and vigor, as if life knows that winter is coming and has resigned to the prospect.

There is something hidden in these days where the fruitlessness of effort seems obvious, when your to-do list knows it can wait another day. I use these days to reflect and recharge, affirm my bearing or chart a change in course.

Today, what has returned to my consciousness repeatedly is memory -- not the ability to remember facts and figures, but those things from our past that our minds retain and define who we are. A friend recently expressed her gratitude for the difficult times in her life, for they made her who she is today. It is her memory of those times that defines her. Another friend talked of the memory of the smells, tastes, sounds and sights of her childhood and how they affirm her history.

I began to question what I hold as memories of the people, places and experiences that make up my past. Just as a single instance of negative feedback can mar a string of positive encouragement, I wondered if the painful moments of my past have hidden moments of fulfillment.

My friend asked me what sounds reminded me of childhood. The first thing that came to mind was the loon call my grandfather would make by cupping his hands together. The memory brought me right back to the wonderful summers we enjoyed at my grandparents' house and the Sundays after church when their house would be filled with the aroma of bacon and eggs.

So many of these memories I had locked in a secluded cove of my mind, hidden there by more recent, more painful experiences. As an adult, the dominant memory of my grandfather is the letter he sent to all my relatives encouraging them to boycott my wedding, for the sole reason that it was not being held in the Catholic Church. He chose to not even meet the wonderful woman I would marry, instead letting dogma and faith determine his actions. In a single stroke, he severed two relationships -- his with me, and my relationship (albiet tenuous) with the church. I wanted absolutely nothing to do with him or source of his dogma.

I don't bring up this episode to open old wounds, but instead to bury them and resurrect the memories that bring warmth and a smile to my heart. I've let the memory of his betrayal of me define him and me for too long. I've worn the damage as a badge for nearly seventeen years, and it's something that I will never forget, nor forgive. But it's time to bring some balance to my memory, and allow myself to accept this man that betrayed his grandson also gave his grandson a sense of responsibility, toughness and perseverance that he carries with him today.

Today, on this reflective late autumn day, I'm choosing the right moments to remember.

The Transience of Place

2009-11-28T19:59:00.000-06:00

Holidays inevitably become times of contemplation when my thoughts run the gamut from appreciation to apprehension, from memories of the past to the uncertainty of the future. The past couple of days have been no exception to this lifelong trend.

My wife, son and I spent this Thanksgiving holiday with my mother- and father-in-law. Although Thanksgiving Day was cold, damp and blustery, warmer air followed and treated us to a beautiful, crisp day on Friday. We took the opportunity to walk in the wooded area along the lakefront surrounding my in-laws' home. In the late fall, several species of oak and hickory stand as thin spires among a carpet of brown leaves, dotted with bright green mosses and deep red of raspberry and wild rose cane.

When my wife and son decided to return to the house, I continued down through a ravine that empties into one of the many coves that form the fingers of the lake. I worked my way up to the top edge of a bluff that looks out across the cove toward an area that is just teeming with wild aster, goldenrod and liatris in the summer months, but today was colored only by the earth tones of the wildflowers' drying flower heads and stems.

I looked down to see the evenly cut stump and trunk of a tree that had been felled months earlier. Nature had already begun to run its course. The oak's deeply furrowed bark was covered in moss, its ridges lined with rounded white fungus. A slimy black mold weeped from the center of the stump. Although the past six months had changed its appearance, I knew this was my place.

Last spring during our Easter holiday visit, I sat on this same tree trunk. I was in the middle of what is best described as my atheism immersion, when I mistakenly became so militant against religious evangelism that I became equally evangelical for the opposing viewpoint. Sitting on this fallen tree, surrounded by renewed life springing forth from trees and shrubs awakened from their winter slumber, I felt an emotion unknown to me. I felt one with that place, no longer an observer, but an integral part of my surroundings. I felt the wonder in the plants, in the animals, and in the earth that fed both. I may have rejected the belief in an intervening, personal deity, but at that moment I could not deny an underlying connection with that place.

When I returned to that place yesterday, I sat perched on the fallen oak, looking out over the lake. My thoughts returned to that Easter morning, and confirmed the emotions of that day. I can't claim to be any closer to understanding that connection I feel with this place. It is a place of clarity and escape, where my mind can focus on the past and the future, while simultaneously being in the present. It is a place where I can transport those from my past and present who have come closest to knowing me, and feel their presence next to me on that decaying, yet solid oak.

There is a danger in assigning to much importance to a single spot on this earth. It is the transience of place. There is a reason the tree was felled by chainsaw, instead of the natural cycle of growth and demise. The bluff where the tree grew is slowly being undercut by the motion of the lake. Over time, perhaps just within a year, the soil that surrounded the roots anchoring the oak would be gone, and the tree would meet its fate at the bottom of the cove. Whether nature took its course or by human intervention, the tree's fate was sealed.

Soon, the stump will fall into the lake and the tree will be harvested for firewood, and the location will change forever. But long after I no longer recognize it, I will always have my place.

A Solitary Emotion

2009-11-26T04:30:00.000-06:00

I sit here in bed at 4 a.m. on Thursday morning, awakened by the familiar sound of the weekday alarm on my iPhone. However, this is no ordinary weekday, and the alarm was not set for me. The alarm signaled the start of Thanksgiving Day, when my wife would drag herself, after just four hours of sleep, to the kitchen to help her mother make the final preparations for the feast around which this entire day orbits.

While I simply could have turned off the alarm and fallen back to sleep once my wife quietly stepped out of our bedroom, the early morning effort of these two women made me think. My mother-in-law, for as long as I've known her, has never wavered in her commitment to her family. Her daughter -- my wife -- has followed in these steadfast footsteps. Waking up long before the sun to prepare a Thanksgiving feast may not seem extraordinary, unless viewed in the context of this continuum of family dedication. I am thankful that nearly twenty years ago, I was accepted -- no, better yet, invited -- to become a part of this family.

If being a part of this family was the extent of my life's fortune, I would have little right to complain of my lot. But as my mind wandered through each intersecting circle of my life, it became clear that my gratitude should not end at the edges of my home and family.

Over the course of this year, I have seen neighbors lose their homes to foreclosure. Yet I still have a roof (albiet leaky) over my head. I have been shocked as very talented and dedicated people unexpectedly lose their jobs. Yet, my paycheck reliably shows up each month. I have seen friends torn by the pressure of living up to family expectations. Yet, I was born to a family that accepts and supports me for who I am. I have witnessed friends suffer through the end of long-term relationships. Yet, I wake up each day with my life's partner by my side. I have felt loneliness in the spirit of friends and strangers. Yet, my days are filled with the companionship and compassion of friends.

As Thanksgiving dawn raises a sleepy eye and the aroma of our impending feast permeates the house, I am overwhelmed by a solitary emotion. I am thankful.

Of Hope and Daffodils

2009-11-23T20:15:00.005-06:00

A few weeks ago, we instituted a rule in our house where no one is allowed to use electronics between dinner and the time our son goes to bed. We had slipped into a pattern where the kid would play his Nintendo DS all evening, and my wife and I would cuddle up with our laptops, her on Hulu, me doing some form of social media. All of a sudden it would be bedtime, and we'd barely spoken a word to each other.

The no electronics rule has been a wonderful addition by subtraction. We are playing games together, reading books, and generally interacting more than we have in a long while. Despite the kid's occasional "I can't think of anything to do" or the serious temptation to pick up my iPhone just "to check in" with Facebook or Twitter, it has completely changed -- for the better -- how our family weekday evenings function.

One of tonight's activities was reading Shel Silverstein's Where the Sidewalk Ends, a childhood book familiar to most as a unique collection of quirky poems about the sometimes strangest things. Every once in a while, though, Silverstein draws an arrow of poignancy in his bow that strikes dead center. Tonight, it was with 'Poor Angus', a poem about an average guy with an extraordinary perspective.

Oh what do you do, poor Angus,
When hunger makes you cry?
"I fix myself an omelet, sir,
Of fluffy clouds and sky."

Oh what to you wear, poor Angus,
When winds blow down the hills?
"I sew myself a warm cloak, sir,
Of hope and daffodils."

Oh who do you love, poor Angus,
When Catherine's left the moor?
"Ah, then sir, then's the only time
I feel I'm really poor."

In the days leading up to Thanksgiving, I have been publicly thanking those people that make my life the opposite of poor, the people who have opened their lives to me, who support and challenge me, who love me, and who each enrich my life in their own unique way. They are, if I may borrow some of Silverstein's words, the people who fill my days with hope and daffodils.

What Makes Good Knowledge?

2009-11-21T09:20:00.004-06:00

Over the past couple of months, I haven't been taking the time to spend my Saturday morning coffee time over a TED.com for a session of caffeine-coupled brain nourishment. Today, an unscheduled morning at home provided a great opportunity to explore some new ideas and awaken the synapses. Of the videos on the TED homepage, one caught my eye: David Deutch's "A New Way to Explain Explanation" -- his attempt to demonstrate how the way we explain things affects knowledge and progress and how myth has been a common human solution to the unknown.

Deutch's talk was a well-spent 16 minutes, and now has me asking myself this question: What parts of my knowledge and belief could easily be explained in another equally plausible way?

The View from the Top of the Fence

2009-11-15T09:26:00.005-06:00

Yesterday, in support of a blog post by Laura Mathews at Punk Rock Gardens, I tweeted this response: inflexible ideology is always bad. Although Laura's post was focused on the infighting between different factions of the gardening world, it brought to the surface something that has been simmering in the back of my brain for a while.

I am repeatedly struck by feelings of guilt and shame when I disagree with the consensus of groups with whom I am generally proud to identify. As humans, we have this need for group identification. I'm a progressive. I'm a conservative. I'm a Catholic. I'm an atheist. We define ourselves by our group memberships, and often -- when confronted by a decision -- look to the principles (dogma?) of these groups for guidance. When a referendum comes up for a vote, we ask ourselves how we should vote as progressives or conservatives, rather than making our decision based on the merits of issue at hand.

There are few things that gain more scorn from this group identification mentality than being a fence-sitter or a relativist. The worst thing one can say is it depends. For ideologues, there is a checklist -- sometimes stated, often implied -- that guides our decisions. The world is black and white. As a member of this group, you will believe this and act this way.

But there is an inherent danger in living solely on one side of the ideological fence. There's no flexibility, no room for change and adaptation. Our lives are too nuanced for black and white. There is a spectral decision continuum of not only grey, but infinite colors, from which we can choose. Why would we limit ourselves from the outset to just black and white?

I'm not questioning the need for personal principles. These are those things that provide the magnetism for our personal compass. What I'm increasingly wary of is letting the groups I identify with define my decision-making by default.

I'm ready to climb to the top of the fence and enjoy the view.

The Economy of Squirrels

2009-11-03T20:05:00.007-06:00

As I was walking through an old neighborhood taking photos over my lunch hour today, I was struck by the silence that exists in a residential area during the work day. The only sound that broke the crisp fall air was the scurrying of squirrels through fallen leaves, moving acorns collected from oaks that towered over our heads. The furry little guys went about their work feverishly. From a distance, their economy was astounding. They seemed to be getting a lot done, racing the cold months ahead.

Their efficiency was particularly relevant today. As I opened my Facebook Inbox this morning, I was greeted by a wonderful, unsolicited and completely flattering compliment. Although I won't divulge the author or exact details of the message, its content gave me a little extra spring on this beautiful autumn day. As someone who might sometimes be accused of compliment-seeking behavior, this unexpected message was a pleasant surprise, but also one that caught me unprepared for its delivery.

My friend's compliment centered on my time management skills, an area where I feel like a colossal failure on most days. So, I started to think.....and think....and think. In fact, most of the subliminal river that has run through my afternoon and evening has rambled downstream toward answering one question: Why do I appear to be managing my time in such a way that I can pack work, family, friends, blogging, Facebook, Twitter, photography and a variety of other personal interests into this 24-hour package we call a day?

I might be better off just answering simply: "I just do." There is a danger in overanalyzing a system that seems to be working (at least to outside observers). It's like a pitching coach tinkering with the delivery of a 20-game winner. But tinkering and analyzing is something innate in my nature. I never leave well enough alone, and this won't be an exception. There's a value in questioning the why and how -- the method to our madness.

So, back to the original question -- is there a secret recipe for my time management? This question is hard to answer, because most of my days don't feel very efficient. But there are a few things that I can identify:

I don't participate in idle activity. If I'm not asleep, I'm doing something that is engaging my brain or my body, more often the former, but frequently both. Idleness, a more negative term for rest, is my antithesis. If I had to choose one word to describe my personality, it would be restless. When you have a near hatred for doing nothing, you tend to do something.
I do multiple things at once. On the rare occasion when I'm paying attention to TV, I'll also have a book or newspaper in my hands and a chat window or two open on my laptop. In my mind, one of the greatest advatages of communicating through social media is the opportunity for multiple, simultaneous conversation streams. Gaps in one conversation are no longer unproductive. Using 30 seconds here and 40 seconds there that might otherwise be underutilized can lead to having larger chunks of available time later in the day.
My son has reached an age where he's growing more independent each day. At a certain age, kids transform from black holes that demand all your attention into little people who can live on their own for hours at a time. While we still spend and enjoy a great deal of time together, we are certainly past the days of the 24/7 time demands.
My iPhone is quite simply the best tool I've ever had at my disposal. Whether it's a quick check of Facebook while I wait for a work meeting to start, deleting a few extraneous emails while standing in line at the grocery store, or posting a quick Tweet while walking across the quad on my way to lunch, the iPhone has turned each of those past moments of waiting and waste into micro-factories of productive time. I easily save an hour each day by having all my electronic connections with me 24 hours a day.

Is mine the perfect system? By no means. In fact, I found it equal parts humorous and disconcerting when a recent study showed that multitaskers are remarkably bad at multitasking. I have started to feel the truth of that in my own life, and have scaled back some of my ambitions and activities accordingly. I do a lot of things. I'm not sure how many of them I do well. Nor am I confident that much of what I do is aimed in the right direction, satisfying immediate or future goals.

Hopefully, my efforts can mimic the squirrels. Those acorns are either used for winter food, or end up becoming a new stand of towering oaks that feed future squirrel generations. Either way, the system works, right? One can only hope.

Return It Better

2009-11-02T19:09:00.015-06:00

While enjoying a few solitary moments over lunch today at a chilly, basement table in a local sandwich and pastry shop, a cloudy childhood memory surfaced. The complete details escape me, for I cannot remember the exact time, or even the place.

I was helping my grandfather cut the lawn, and the mower engine had mysteriously malfunctioned before the job was complete. Never one to leave a job half-done, my grandfather quickly borrowed the neighbor's mower so we could complete our chore. The yellow mower, although a newer model than our broken machine, did not appear well maintained. Grass clippings clogged its plastic discharge chute, and bits of leaves choked the engine's air filter. Despite its condition of neglect, one pull of the starter cord brought it sputtering to life and allowed us to finish our job.

After completing the last swath of uncut lawn, I stopped the engine and began to push the mower back toward the neighbor's garage. My grandfather stopped me in my tracks, ordered me back to his garage and instructed me to clean every last nook of the mower--engine, blade, deck and all. By the time I finished, the neighbor's mower looked brand new, and I had learned one of the many life lessons my grandfather gave me: Whenever you borrow something, return it in better condition than it arrived.

As I sat there today, more than 25 years after that summer afternoon, it struck me that perhaps my grandfather's lesson could serve as my golden rule of life. While the traditional Golden Rule impels us to treat others as we would have them treat us, the return it better rule teaches us to ensure that the individual lives we enter are better off upon our exit. When we interact with others, from the grocery store clerk to our closest, lifelong friend, we are taking their time and attention and borrowing their spirit. If we would make the effort to return their lawnmower improved, can't we at least do the same for their spirit?

Strolling Along a Pulchritudinous Plank Toward the Sea of Floridity

2009-08-12T20:27:00.009-05:00

I was recently introduced to the beautiful, entrancing prose of Carlos Ruiz Zafón (Shadow of the Wind and The Angel's Game). Each volume consumed my attention over the course of several cool late July and early August evenings. As I turned the final page of The Angel's Game to complete the second novel of his Cemetery of Forgotten Books series, I felt literally spent, exhausted from the immersion in the world of Ruiz Zafón's characters and creation. Simultaneously I was struck by disappointment that I would have to wait perhaps years until his next novel is published in English (the orginials are written in Spanish). I cannot remember the written word ever effecting on me such a complete emotional response; it has me looking at words -- and more specifically fiction -- in a completely different manner.

Fast-foward to the past 48 hours. In this time, I have run across an article that spoke of persons learning English as a second language needing less than a 1,000 word vocabulary to understand the language. Last night, I was asked to "speak English" after using the word incredulous in a chat, and also this afternoon when one of my status updates was considered florid by a commenter.

My sensitivity may be raised by the impact of Ruiz Zafon's novels, but it seems more than serendipitous that the meaning and usage of words have emerged so significantly in the past few weeks. By some estimates, there are more than 600,000 words in the English language, but the average person uses less than 10,000 of them. Why is this? Do we not illustrate our lives better with a greater diversity in our vocabulary? Often the use of more specific, less common terms leads to the criticism of excess implied in the word florid -- the implication that the author is somehow "showing off" or, even worse, elitist.

But what is it that the literary masters do that leaves us spent as we turn the last page? They possess an envious command of the language, knowing that written words, both by themselves and surrounded by compatible partners, have the power to speak to us from the page, evoking our passions, fears and imagination.

Scout's Honor?

2009-08-11T20:42:00.003-05:00

My last 24 hours have been consumed by a serious dilemma, the correct path from which remains unclear. My son has expressed interest in joining the Cub Scout pack based at his elementary school, but I hold serious reservations about allowing him to join an organization that is openly discriminatory (through official policy) against religious non-believers and homosexuals.

In the official FAQ from Boy Scouts of America, persons not subscribing to theistic belief cannot be scout members or leaders. The BSA definition of God is admittedly ecumenical and inclusive, but only for those faiths that subscribe to the idea of a personal God who bestows "favors and blessings." A person is prohibited by policy from being a member or leader unless he subscribes to this general concept of God.

Perhaps more troubling is the BSA blatant discrimination of homosexuals. By BSA policy, "a known or avowed homosexual does not present a desirable role mode for the youth" and considers homosexual conduct "as not morally straight." As such, homosexuals are prohibited from participating in scouting.

These prohibitions are so diametrically opposed to my personal belief that my first reaction is to suggest alternative activities to my son. I am sure that if instead of non-believers, we substituted "Muslims, Hindus and Jews" there would be outrage. I am sure that if instead of homosexuals, we substituted "Blacks, Latinos and Asians" there would be outrage.

To make sure I wasn't having an overly reactionary response that would have negative affects on him, I decided to get feedback from friends who had experience (good or bad) as scouting members or parents. A simple post to my Facebook profile elicited a quick and wide variety of thoughtful response.

A more religious friend of mine asked: "Are you going to ban him from saying the pledge of Allegiance? Would you let him go to Notre Dame? Would you let him eat at a friend's house if they were going to say grace before the meal?"

My answers to these questions is "no, yes and yes" -- because I see a vital difference between these scenarios and that presented by scouting.

My son has the choice to say the Pledge of Allegiance at school. If he says "under God" or not, he is still welcomed as a student in his classroom. If he has the inclination and talent to go to Notre Dame, he will be accepted there as a student, regardless of his profession of religious belief. In fact, Notre Dame is the place where I was challenged by faculty and fellow students to ask the questions that eventually led to my adherence as a non-believer. His religious faith or lack thereof will have no bearing on his acceptance or success should he attend. Finally, we are firmly in support of him gaining exposure to a variety of different ways and faiths as he makes his way through life. We would never prohibit him from a friend's dinner table where a prayer of thanks was given, as long as his participation was voluntary. He routinely participates in grace at his grandparents house, as I bow my head in silent respect for the beliefs of my in-laws.

In all of these scenarios, there is a respect for individual choice. In the case of scouting, that choice does not exist (at least by stated policy). Is this the type of organization I want my son to participate in? Is official policy different from actual practice? From the reaction when I posted this question online, it would seem that the official BSA policy is not one that is emphasized or practiced. Two of my more secular friends whose children participated in scouting commented that they didn't "recall any religious overtones" and "the experience was extremely positive and there was little if any religious aspect to it at all."

What good do I do for my son by forbidding his participation? Is he old enough to even understand why my decision was made? As another friend asked, "Is it worth disappointing him to try to teach him that you don't believe in discriminatory organizations?" I understand the positive outcomes that scouting can have in a young person's life. I would love to see him gravitate away from video games and TV and develop new interests, especially those that involve the outdoors, personal responsibility, and community service. Scouting can provide all three. Am I prepared to forbid his participation in all organizations that don't represent my values verbatim? Is this a case where the good can outweigh the bad, and the bad can provide a moment where tolerance can be taught?

I must admit that I'm leaning toward giving the local scout pack a chance to prove that it stands separate from the discriminatory policies of its bureaucratic parent. I hope that it proves my concerns unfounded.

sideways glance

2009-07-20T22:18:00.003-05:00

one path
more worn
but less taken
a sideways glance
to the past
that
desperately embraces
its unsettled future

Comments and Crickets

2009-07-20T19:31:00.012-05:00

Life is a difficult thing to assess when you're in the throes of it, so the painful and uncomfortable moments serve as a non-so-gentle reminder to gather yourself, step to higher ground, and gain fresh perspective on who you've become and where you're headed. Last week, one of those moments made me realize that I needed to step back from a lifestyle that has completely dominated my existence of late. Social networking had become far too serious of an endeavor, and as a result, I had become acutely sensitive to nearly all my human interactions, online or otherwise. I was on edge, overreacting to the simplest nudge, tease or criticism. It was time for a serious break from active, almost real-time participation in Facebook and Twitter -- my social networking drugs of choice.

Five nights ago -- as my head hit the pillow frustrated at my inability to navigate even the simplest social conflict -- I swore to a temporary social networking hiatus until I could figure out why this irritability and discontent had suddenly surfaced. Somewhat coincidentally, the motivation for this "Facebreak" came right before a scheduled mini-vacation with my wife and son (neither of whom is a giant fan of my Facebook or Twitter time). If I were going to take a social networking break, the past few days presented a nearly ideal opportunity.

The first 24 hours of the break were the hardest. I'll admit to the occasional iPhone check for interesting posts, but successfully fought the urge to make comment. I would remain a virtual fly on the wall, watching Facebook and Twitter carry on without me. In fact, after a few expressions of disbelief at my prolonged absence (Still no sign of Chris...should we be glad or worried?), evidence of my online existence slowly evaporated from news feeds and tweet streams alike, dissolved in the incessant, indistinguisable chatter of about reunions, politics, softball games and vacations. In four short days, I disappeared from the collective consciousness.

And on the fifth day, something occured to me. Social networking tools, at their most valuable, sweep away the curtains and provide a unique window into the lives and experiences of others. Only by taking perch above the fray was I able to understand how easily I had turned their value inside out. My daily mood was entirely dependent on the number and intensity of comments on my steady stream of status updates, blog posts, link shares, and comments. Instead of seeing the opportunity for connection, education and insight with and from others, I turned my time online into a narcissistic view not through a window, but into a mirror from which I demanded constant feedback, validation and reassurance. I was stuck in the 37-year old version of playground "pick me" where -- more than at any other point in my life -- I wasn't the last one picked.

So where do I go from here? I know I'm too outspoken to continue silence for long. I'm at my most content when writing, sharing and communicating. Silence and solitude to me is unnatural (often to the chagrin of many of you who thankfully choose to spend a lot of time in my presence). But where I need to focus is on being content with the intrinsic value of my expression, not on the validation or attention that sometimes follows. Because sometimes crickets can make a pretty satisfying audience.

I Read the Obituaries Today

2009-06-26T15:57:00.003-05:00

I read the obituaries today.

Page B-4 of the Champaign-Urbana News-Gazette.

There's Keyth Carter, 52, who "packed cheese at Kraft Inc. for a while before attending BauMonde School of Hair Styling to become a stylist"; John Shedelbower, 74, who "passed away peacefully at 2:48 p.m. at home, surrounded by his family, the day after Father's Day"; Susan Evans, 70, who "was selected to appear on the cover of Playboy magazine and was hired by Playboy Enterprises in Chicago where she befriended Lenny Bruce, Dick Gregory, Paul Desmond and many other artistic celebrities of the era"; and Tami Spilmon, 37, whose "hobbies included racing, especially Dale Earnhardt, Jr. and Unity and Illini sports."

As I read the stories of the lives of Keyth, John, Susan and Tami, likely written by loved ones whose palpable grief is reflected in these disposable tributes, I'm struck by their brevity and humility compared to the overwhelming crush of public expression over the recent celebrity deaths that have filled every form of information media in the past days.

What is it about celebrity that infatuates us so? Why haven't thousands of people sobbed along makeshift sidewalk grottoes for Keyth and Tami? Did "John Shedelbower RIP" appear even once as a Twitter feed? Why hasn't the "Remembering Susan Evans" photo montage preempted regular programming on MSNBC?

These questions give me pause as I read the executive summary of the lives of sixteen local people who I've never met, but wonder how many lives they help fulfill, how much good they did in their short time with us. And yet, they expire with little attention and fanfare, living on only in the memory of those whose lives they touched.

I cannot help but feel we have this all wrong.

Connection

2009-06-24T21:07:00.013-05:00

I've spent a great deal of time over the last year exploring my beliefs, often vainly attempting to define the foundation on which I can build a coherent philosophy to guide and give meaning to my daily life. I've immersed myself in books on science, philosophy and religion, nearly drown myself in self-reflection, and engaged many of you in seemingly endless conversations interspersed with occasional self-aggrandizing black holes of faulty logic. I have tumbled so many thoughts and concepts around in my brain that I have often wondered if I would ever come to any semblance of satisfaction in any of them.

But what I have repeatedly returned to after each circuitous journey of ideas is the concept of connection with others. If I hold any belief as true, it is this: My life is defined and given meaning by the relationships I cultivate with people. It is how I conduct myself in these interactions -- these connections -- that determines my worth and whether my life has lasting meaning beyond my short time on this planet. And where I have found the most satisfaction and meaning is in those relationships underpinned by three things -- an ease of concentration, and inherent benevolence, and a natural affection.

Most relationships suffer from a lack of concentration. We get so wrapped up in ourselves and our things that we end up paying half-hearted attention to our spouses, children, family and friends -- the people we claim to value the most. We are all guilty of it to varying degrees. If someone is unsatisfied in a relationship, you can almost guarantee a large part of the problem is a lack of concentration from one or both sides of the equation. Through the simple act of giving someone your undivided attention, if even for just a few minutes, you send a unequivocal message that their thoughts, emotions and offerings are worthwhile. Relationships that thrive have an unforced ease of concentration, a true desire to pay attention.

An inherent benevolence exists in meaningful connection, where the meaning is derived from a desire to have a positive effect in another person's life. The relationship is not satisfying as a result of what we get out of it, but rather because of what we offer to it. Again, as with concentration, true benevolence requires us to put aside our selfish motivations and attend to others.

Affection is often thought of in its most narrow interpretation, that of the expression of physical attraction. But in every lasting, meaningful relationship, there exists a natural affection between people. Whether the between parent and child or brother and sister, between two best friends or two romantic lovers, deep human connection is affectionate -- emotionally, intellectually and physically. Affection, at its core, is the most tangible expression of what a relationship means to us. To deny affection is to rob our relationships of the energy to thrive.

Over the past few months, it has become clear that I am innately defined by my human relationships. It is through my connection with others that I derive meaning and purpose.

An Accompanying Grain of Doubt

2009-05-17T13:04:00.003-05:00

Over the past few months, I've submerged myself in a crash course in philosophy that might be subtitled What I Believe. I've taken long drinks from the literary fountains of modern proponents of atheism (Richard Dawkins, Sam Harris, and Christopher Hitchens) and secular humanism (Chet Raymo), as well as diving into the cosmological pools of Sagan, Einstein and Galileo. My appetite was primed by a strong desire to expound and solidify my own personal belief about the world and my (our) place in it -- and by the realization that I was dangerously ignorant of what others had written. I dove in with a seemingly open mind and a multitude of questions -- most of which I was unsure even had answers.

Along the way, what appeared to be answers revealed themselves in the pages I was consuming. Slowly, ideas began to coagulate into cohesive foundations for belief -- an underpinning to which I could return as I push the investigative envelope even further.

But as this foundation continued to coalesce, something happened. I stopped asking new questions to challege the strength of this foundation. In the place of the questions that still needed to be asked, I began to believe that I had the answers -- answers that needed to be shared. I became an evangelist of a new foundation, ignoring its cracks and my lifelong distate for one-size-fits-all solutions to complex, inherently personal, challenges. It has taken the insight of those around me to realize that although I may have discovered my own personal source of nourishment, my mistake lies in insisting (either expressly or by way of implication) that others must sip from the same cup.

So now I must refocus on reopening the investigation, continually examining the structural integrity of my own foundation for belief, instead of recklessly or trivially pouring my often shaky concrete below the houses of others. I will continue to share those things that seem poignant to me, that illustrate who I am and what I believe. But I do so with the utmost humility, always with an accompanying grain of doubt.

The Breaking of Buds

2009-03-22T19:05:00.006-05:00

The family and I celebrated our second Sunday Slowdown of the year at Lake of the Woods. The park is situated about a 15 minute drive from our home, north of Interstate-74 along the Sangamon River near Mahomet. Today was a cool, grey day compared to the early spring weather we've had for most of the week, but signs of spring were evident as we walked along the wooded trails.

The bright green of new honeysuckle leaves and the deep burgundy of wild raspberry decorated the trail, casting color on the fading winter-tinged landscape. Empty, broken nut hulls from black walnut and shagbark hickory lay as evidence of a busy winter by the park's resident squirrels. Mottled sycamore still shone in bright textured contrast to the dark, furrowed bark of oaks and maples yet to welcome spring. The buds of numerous trees and shrubs stood in bloated attention waiting for nature's command to burst forth in flowers and leaves.

Wildlife was abundant, including squirrels, Canada geese, woodpeckers and -- of particular note -- a mated pair of Mallard ducks and a lone male Mallard who was vying for competition along the river.

This was our second Sunday Slowdown in as many weeks, a habit I hope we continue as the weather warms and our natural areas come back to life after their winter hiatus.

Testing Our Intuition

2009-03-22T09:15:00.002-05:00

So much of my recent thought has centered on the question of belief -- what I believe, why I believe, what are the foundations of my belief. While these mental exercises often do not result in new beliefs or clarity, they renew my commitment to constantly put my beliefs -- my intuitions -- to a real world truth test of sorts. Are my beliefs correct? Do they stand up to the reality of things?

In a recent TED lecture, behavioral economist Dan Ariely talks about why we behave in certain ways, based on our intuitions.

The Sound of First Steps

2009-03-17T22:29:00.002-05:00

As I have shared with some of you, and now am sharing with the rest, I have decided to try my hand at writing a book. On my List of Things I Always Wanted To Do, this is near the top, if not the summit.

I have received a great deal of feedback on my writings here at Skim Mocha -- some supportive, some constructively critical -- and now feel my next step is to take some of what I have written, combined with some very personal beliefs I've been developing over the past few years, and develop a more coherent view of who I am and what I believe.

These are my first steps....

The Sound of First Steps

"We don't receive wisdom; we must discover it for ourselves after a journey that no one can take for us or spare us." --Marcel Proust

I took my first steps of this journey on September 23, 2001, as the crunch of my hiking boots on the gravel-strewn parking lot sharply broke the dark morning silence. Our goal that day was to hike the nine miles from the Jenny Lake trail head to Lake Solitude, perched atop the northern trail of Cascade Canyon. Normally one of Grand Teton National Park's most popular hiking trails, only our conversation and footsteps echoed through the trees this day. Fall was dawning in the Wyoming, long from the busy season, late enough that the specter of snow keeps most casual tourists away. Our packs stuffed full of enough gear and food to get us to the top and back, we set off along the 1.8 mile trail toward our first significant turn in the path.

My wife and I were seven days into a somewhat spontaneous 4,100 miles excursion through nine states, five national parks, and countless natural and man-made roadside attractions. For us, it was a conscious escape from the incessant gloom and fear that blared from our television, infiltrated our news, and dominated our waking -- and often sleeping -- hours. We had talked about a fall vacation, but had no plans set on September 11 -- the morning a perfectly blue sky became a silent, unmarred reflection of the shock we all felt. A few days later, September 16, we packed our camping gear in the back of our new Ford Ranger and started driving. Our plan was simple. Drive. And so we did. For the first six days, we bounced from Iowa to South Dakota to Wyoming -- from the Badlands to Mt. Rushmore to Yellowstone. And then to the Tetons, one of the youngest mountain formations in the United States, formed 2-3 million years ago when the peaks rose up above the valley floor of what is now Jackson Hole.

As we walked along the west side of Jenny Lake toward Inspiration Point, the early morning sun gleaming from the snowy top of Teewinot Mountain filtered through the trees, creating shadows along our path. After reaching the canyon trail head and a short diversion to enjoy Hidden Falls, we embarked on our trip up Cascade Canyon. For the first mile or so, tree cover hid most of the surrounding peaks from view, teasing with the occasional glimpse of Teewinot and Mount Owen. It was early on the trail that my wife's whispered but urgent calls brought my focus to movement in the low scrub. A moose had raised its head to survey the two interlopers disturbing his morning snack in the underbrush. The buck's curiosity evolved to indifference; soon we were back trooping along the trail, careful to avoid turning an ankle on the scree underfoot.

As we left Jenny Lake behind us, the underbrush cleared as Cascade Canyon rose nearly 3,000 feet seemingly straight up on either side of us. Never before and not since have I felt the true insignificance of self that I felt surrounded by those imposing walls. I stood there imagining the giant moving sheet of ice that had carved the canyon, dragging the massive boulders responsible for the striations in the canyon walls. Pockets of ice still dotted the pinnacles of the canyon, small reminders of the massive glaciers that smoothed our path millions of years earlier. Many a human has been overwhelmed by the natural beauty and power of our planet, and I walked in communion with them through Cascade Canyon.

The trail twisted, turned and switched back endlessly, each time teasing us with the prospect that Lake Solitude was right around the next bend. The anticipation was palpable for what seemed like hours. The high noon sun shone warmly, bringing every detail of the canyon alive in sharp contrast with its surroundings. Becoming repetitive, but far from mundane, the switchbacks provided a time for both focus and reflection. As my feet plodded forward and upward, my mind and emotions remained back with the first steps past the low scrub into the canyon clearing. I was overwhelmed by a feeling of universal irrelevance, a tiny speck of fledgling life on this ancient rock we call home. Each footfall brought me closer a new clarity of thought, and further from the foundations on which I was raised.

Early that afternoon, the trail led us around one final set of boulders and to rocky shoreline and crystal waters of Lake Solitude. The sky, a purer blue than I had ever witnessed before, reflected a brilliant, rich aquamarine in the perfectly quiet surface of the lake. The water possessed a clarity and stillness that enveloped me, exposing its furthest depths to investigation.

As we shared a hearty lunch of apples, cheese and bread, the painful reality of the previous weeks was completely washed from my mind; in its place was a serene contentment interwoven with a desire for more. The personal insignificance of the valley floor had been replaced by a motivation -- to find meaning and clarity in my life, to build a new foundation from which I could grow and learn.

In the years since our trek up Cascade Canyon, this quest has remained as a central metaphor in my life. In the pages to come, I hope to share how I have set out along the path, developed and refined my basis for belief, and built my foundation for living meaningfully as I seek the clear, revealing depths of my own Lake Solitude.

The Stifling of Creativity

2009-03-14T17:13:00.004-05:00

I find myself very inflexible when it comes to my son's behavior, particularly in public. He's truly a wonderfully-behaved, polite and compassionate child. But yet, I often react to the ways he expresses himself as if he were a supposed to be an overly serious 50-year old actuary instead of a creative, energetic six-year old. Why am I doing this to him? Am I killing some sort of creative impulse in him?

Ken Robinson's TED talk on how the public education system stifles creativity has me rehashing some of these questions -- not just about the education system, but how I as a parent influence how he develops his talents and creativity.

Perhaps I should lighten up a little and let his creative juices flow a little more freely than I normally do. Perhaps I should free my mind from the constricts of adulthood and my education, and rekindle some personal creativity as well.

Sixth Sense

2009-03-14T08:32:00.003-05:00

Earlier this week, a friend's status questioned how far away we are from having artificial devices think for us. I'm wondering if he had just seen the Sixth Sense demo by Pattie Maes at TED.com.

I can most certainly see myself using a device like this once they hit the mass market. Short of the heads up display, the iPhone serves many of the same purposes for me already. I've always been an information sponge and often incredulous towards people who settle for ignorance when answers and information are easily accessible. While there will always be unknowns in life, why settle for not-knowing when the answers are often right in front of us?

Asking for Thank You

2009-03-07T10:21:00.002-06:00

I just watched a quick three-minute TED talk by Laura Trice called "The Power of Saying Thank You" and am struck by its fresh approach and poignancy. So often we feel unappreciated by those around us -- an emotion that can become self-destructive if kept bottled inside. While I will always promote a proactive attitude towards expressing our appreciation to others, Trice flips the coin and offers a novel solution -- make sure that those around you understand your need for appreciation, too.

Hard Work

2009-03-07T09:25:00.003-06:00

By all accounts, this has been a very long week. Perhaps I should have seen the foreshadowing that lie buried within the quote that greeted me on Monday (in the form of a friend's Facebook status):

Opportunity is missed by most people because it is dressed in overall and looks like work. - Thomas Edison

Throughout the week, this concept of work -- and the attitudes, processes and ethics that surround it -- continually demanded center stage in my consciousness. Several times, I found myself in defense of my work habits; not that they were lacking, but rather that they were too intense.

I have always been dedicated to the task at hand. I love hard work. It is simply how I'm wired. There is something ultimately satisfying in the process and completion of a job. It matters very little what I'm doing, as long as I see the productivity, efficiency and usefulness of the task. My greatest disappointment is ending a day during which I can't say I've done something. I've often thought I would have made a great factory worker, taking pride that every one of my widgets rolled off the assembly line exactly as expected.

It has been very disconcerting to have to defend my work ethic against claims it is too intense. If anything, I've recently felt that my focus has been slipping. With that as a background, I found Mike Rowe's TED lecture particularly interesting. It's not the most coherent logic I've heard on TED.com, but he's struck a nerve with me at the end of a tumultuous week.

If You Can't Fix It, Stop Breaking It

2009-03-04T19:11:00.000-06:00

The Quest for Real Real

2009-02-28T12:23:00.002-06:00

It's Saturday again -- time my weekly mental calisthenics over to TED.com.

Today I listened intently as Joseph Pine talked about the challenges of the authenticity-focused modern economy (full video embedded below), an economy whose goal is to provide authentic experiences for consumers, instead of just providing one-size-fits-all goods and services mass produced from basic commodities. Pine's focus is on the business as the provider of this experience, but he draws on Polonius' advice to his son Laertes in Shakespeare's Hamlet:

This above all: to thine own self be true, And it must follow, as the night the day, Thou canst not then be false to any man.

This advice perhaps applies as much to us as individuals as Pine applies it to businesses. After all, we cannot achieve individual authenticity without being true to ourselves and being who we claim to be to others. Who are you to yourself, and who do you think you are to others? Do they see you that same way?

Potential or Passion?

2009-02-22T20:22:00.005-06:00

How many times have you heard someone accused of wasting his or her talent? Of not fulfilling their god-given potential? Of shirking the responsibility that comes with being able to do this or that? In all of these questions, we imply that being adept at something brings with it the responsibility to use that gift. But we never seem to consider whether these gifted people carry the passion to match their special capacity.

I think that many of us fall into the trap of trying to live up to our talents -- doing what we think our family, our friends and the rest of society expect of us. We fall into a routine of doing what we need to do to please others, to fit into the inflexible stencil of expectations. We allow others to define our success, or lack thereof. The victim in this repeating process is our passion, our energy for doing. After enough time in this societal gerbil wheel, our ambition lays broken and worthless.

For many, the realization that we have abdicated control of our lives comes too late. But for most of my contemporaries, an opportunity exists. Certainly, we all have responsibilities in our lives. I am not suggesting we walk away from those solemn commitments we have made. Our word and our promise, in the end, is one of those things of which we retain control.

What I am suggesting is that we take a break from being cogs in the wheel and ask ourselves, What do I really want to do? What do I want to be known for? Who do I want to be? In the answers to these questions, we may find a revitalizing spark that diverts us from our predetermined vector and reignites our passion for life and for each other.

Learning with TED

2009-02-21T10:16:00.005-06:00

With the goal of broadening my horizons, I've committed myself to learning more about topics that are outside of my professional life, my personal interests, or my general intellectual comfort zone. In just a few months, I've been enriched by lectures, books, and websites I would have previously ignored.

One resource that I return to at least once a week (usually on Saturday morning after breakfast) is TED.com -- a website that aims to be "a clearinghouse that offers free knowledge and inspiration from the world's most inspired thinkers, and also a community of curious souls to engage with ideas and each other." TED invites the greatest minds in the world to give the lecture of their lives in 18 minutes. It is often the most valuable 18 minutes of my week.

Below I've embedded the lecture I watched this morning....

[For the iPhone/iPod Touch users out there, there is a free TED application to watch these lectures whenever you have time -- on your commute, waiting for a meeting to start, whenever.]

A Little Ounce of Immortality

2009-02-17T21:30:00.001-06:00

It has been a few years now since my last remaining grandparent passed away. Both of my paternal grandparents were gone before my high school graduation, and -- although they lived into their 80s -- religion and family politics separated me from my maternal grandparents for the last decade or so of their lives. Great aunts and uncles were similarly unfamiliar to me. So, as an adult, I have barely known a member of what Tom Brokaw coined the Greatest Generation.

In the past month, I've seen my wife's family lose four members of our grandparents' generation -- three friends who had become true family, and one blood relative. And it didn't strike me until today that we are on the cusp of losing what remains of this entire generation. And I began to question whether we -- our parents as Boomers and we as Gen X'ers -- have paid enough attention, so that we might preserve the wisdom of those born before us. I fear that we've been too wrapped up in our present, failing to learn from them, committing their history to our collective memory. For them, our memories become their future.

Our grandparents were part of the last truly unplugged generation. So often, we dismiss those that remain as behind the times, unadaptive to the technologies that channel and record our lives. The grand (and not so grand) ideas of Gen X and the Millenials are being transcribed on server farms across the globe. Our posterity, our history -- our immortality -- is being preserved in minutiae for us. That of our oldest generation has no such advantage.

So I have a suggestion of sorts. Put down your iPod, step away from the Wii, turn off the TV, and find someone over the age of 80 and listen to them for a while. Buy them a cup of coffee, and just let them talk. Pay attention to their every word, commit it to your memory. In return for their time, you have the power to give them a little ounce of immortality.

In Response to a Friend

2009-02-16T17:45:00.004-06:00

A few weeks ago, a friend sent me a message in which she expressed some very personal feelings about religion -- specifically how she had started to question many of the things she had accepted for most of her life.

At first, I was afraid that I might let my cynicism and frustration about religion cloud a truly honest, heartfelt answer to her questions. She didn't need sarcasm and venom after trusting me enough to share such personal feelings.

So I proceeded to answer her....

I think I need to give you a little background before I attempt answering your questions. As you may have guessed, I was born and raised Catholic by my mother, who was a by-the-book every Sunday Catholic. My father was Lutheran by upbringing, although by all accounts he was non-practicing and I can't recall him every speaking a word to me about religion or spirituality. But we were one of the star families of our 5,000 member parish, in the front pew at 9am mass every Sunday, one or more of the four kids could always be found wearing the robes of an altar server. We were the quintessential Catholic family.

Although I don't remember being particularly aware of an overriding conservatism in my beliefs, my political baptism came at the hands of the Reagan landslide in 1980 and looking back at some of my writings in high school, I have to admit being politically and religiously conservative. Despite these inclinations, I always retained a healthy skepticism for those things in life that seemed duplicitous, hypocritical, unsupported, or unjust. And, more generally, I've always questioned my beliefs. Fortunately or not, I've spent most of my 37 years in a perpetual state of devil's advocacy regarding what I believe and what others claim to believe.

I spent four wonderful exploratory years under the Dome -- at the feet of some of the world's best theologians, political scientists and philosophers and surrounded by the hearts and minds of people who have become my lifelong friends. It was in these explorations, those endless sessions of question after unanswered question, that I became comfortable in not knowing while constantly craving more knowledge. I no longer needed a higher authority to provide the meaning for my life. It freed me to question *everything* over and over, and the hypocrisy of the church's actions and the self-contradiction of the church's teachings crystallized in my awareness to the point where I've never been able to even consider a return to any form of organized religion. I honestly and completely feel that human-created and organized religions cannot avoid the corruption that infects all institutions. It's simply inevitable. In most ways, religions are no different than our political and corporate institutions. The instant a hierarchy is instituted, the process of corruption is planted.

Once you eliminate the human institution of the church (Catholic or otherwise), you're left with the question of individual spirituality, morality and creative force in the universe. That's what occupies much of my contemplation at this point in my life. I often wonder how I would answer questions from my son about what our lives mean, or about the existence of a creator. At these times, I realize why humanity created the stories and institutions of religion in the first place -- because they provide easy-to-digest, bullet point explanations to extremely complicated questions. Religious dogma and teaching really is the kindergarten answer to "why are we here?" and "how should I act?" It provides that answer that many of us crave.

But every revolution my mind makes around this often-confusing journey, I come back to the same place. We don't really know. And that's OK. What's not OK is to abdicate our personal intellect and just accept what some other human being (who doesn't know either) says is truth. Maybe searching for "today's truth" is what life really is. That quest to know more, to share life peacefully and responsibly with our fellow human beings, to allow proven facts instead of fairy tales to illuminate our beliefs.

We don't need religion to guide us. Let your mind focus on what is real, what is known, what can be proven. And don't be afraid to let go of the comfort of faith. It's not as scary as it may seem. You will still be good. You will still be driven to serve your community and your country. And you will no longer be ill as you cringe at hate and intolerance covered by robes and a collar.

If you are truly interested in a little exploration, get yourself a copy of The God Delusion by Richard Dawkins. He's a little preachy, especially in the first parts of the book, but if you can break through the initial condescension of his tone, I think he has something valuable to say.

A Valentine's Day Reminder

2009-02-13T23:37:00.006-06:00

Valentine's Day. It's about to dawn. Exactly 19 minutes from now, a day dedicated to celebrating love will arrive, wrapped in all its Cupid-themed regalia.

A few hours ago, I had a conversation with a friend where I mentioned that I was going to write tonight about all I despise about Valentines Day. You know, the standard rant about the over-commercialization, the aisles upon aisles of mass-produced folded contrivance, ready to be signed and stuffed into pink and red envelopes. A poem, a verse, a heartfelt expression duplicated en masse to tell those you love exactly how you feel. You've probably heard this before.

My friend's reaction surprised me. She was able to see what my cynicism hid from my view. To her, a simple card, a small box of chocolate, perhaps some flowers all represented something larger. That her significant other cared enough to take the time, make the effort to say I care.

I wanted to write tonight about how Valentine's Day is a cop out -- a way for us to put off showing our affection until Hallmark tells us it's time. I wanted to write that we think Valentine's Day gives us a free pass -- a way to erase all the hurtful things we've done to those close to us and make up for those days where our words sting and degrade instead of comfort and uplift.

But maybe that's not what Valentine's Day is all about. Maybe we need this reminder every year to open our eyes to how we treat our loved ones -- our lovers, our friends and our families.

And so, after standing a moment in someone else's shoes, I can see Valentine's Day for what it should be -- a day where we examine who we are and how we show our love. It should be that day each year when we make sure that we are sending the right message to those we love -- not just on this day, but on every day.

In this past year, I have been overwhelmed by the number of people with whom I have grown closer, creating new bonds and memories while rediscovering emotions and experiences from the past. Each one of you has taught me how to love in your own unique way. Each one of you occupies your own special corner of my soul -- a space that is yours forever.

Happy Valentine's Day, my friends.

Welcome, Mr. President

2009-01-19T20:55:00.003-06:00

The news media and social networks today are filled with stories of ordinary people filled with and inspired by the promise of tomorrow -- a hope that change for this country will be arriving in the form of President Obama. I read these stories with a trepidation that exceeds simple worry. Obama, in many of these stories, is cast as our presidential knight in shining armor, a superhero, a wizard who can wave a magic wand and make our nation's ills disappear overnight. But we are not living in a fairy tale. Our country faces the harsh realities of a faltering economy, two major theaters of war, and a government power establishment that is built to resist sudden structural change.

What we need more than this noble knight is a true leader who can implore and inspire us to make the needed changes in the details of our everyday lives, helping us to realize that the change we need starts with us. We must be the ones that raise our children to be responsible and compassionate citizens. We must be the ones to make ethical decisions in the workplace. We must be the ones who demand that our government be accountable to its citizens, rich and poor. And if you listen very closely, over the din of those who would appoint President Obama as our national savior, you will hear a man -- Barack Hussein Obama -- imploring us to do just this.

As I was watching some pre-inauguration coverage earlier today, I witnessed President Obama as he spoke and met people at the National Service Luncheon in Washington, DC. After speaking about the importance of volunteer service to the crowd that filled the room, he proceed to walk around, meeting each of the hundreds who had gathered there. What struck me was the look on the faces of the young people as he made his way, asking each one of them their name, engaging them and thanking them for their service today. To a person, each face had the look of "I am a part of this, I belong. Together, we can do this."

From the point that Barack Obama rose to national prominence during the 2004 Democratic National Convention, his central theme has been togetherness. WE as a nation, WE as a group whose strength lies in its diversity of background and opinion, WE as a collective voice in the world, WE are in this together. There is no national savior, no knight perched on his trusty steed. There is simply a man whose insight, compassion and determination have inspired millions to believe that WE can make a difference in charting our nation's future.

So, tomorrow, I will stand in unison with those millions and gladly welcome Barack Obama as our new president -- a president who needs us as much as we need him.

Building Our Cupboards

2009-01-10T19:52:00.002-06:00

I don't know what shape, volume or ingredients my life's cupboard will eventually assume, and maybe that's the wonderful mystery of it all. Maybe we don't need a plan, an answer. Perhaps the quest revolves around building our own cupboards, as we continually marvel in the beauty and creativity constructed by those whose lives we share.

Let It Be Written, Let It Be Told

2009-01-08T21:15:00.001-06:00

Something poetic about this responsibility belonging to Dick Cheney.

16 Random Things About Me

2009-01-08T16:12:00.003-06:00

I just ran across a interesting idea on Facebook. The spouse of one of my FB friends posted a note called "16 Random Things About Me" and although I've never met her, it was an entirely fascinating read. So much more revealing than those "answer these 20 questions" chain e-mails.

So I thought I'd give it a try...

1) I love to read garden journals. There's something so intimate in the way dedicated gardeners relate to their landscapes. It's an intimacy that leads me to feel the "underlying balance" in the world, our connection with the earth.

2) My grandmother taught me how to shop -- and to this day I've never met another guy who likes the process of shopping as much as I do. I could spend an entire day browsing stores, and not buy a thing. Bookstores and small clothing stores are my favorite. Although there is something about the lighting in today's big box stores that throws my equilibrium off and dampens the enjoyment of the quest.

3) I had an excessively nervous stomach from age 13 to 21 -- especially in social situations. Think Stan from South Park when he sees Wendy Testerburger. It plagued me up until the point my best man and I walked up out to the altar on my wedding day. The nerves disappeared, and have never returned.

4) I never had corned beef until I married my Irish wife. As a kid, the name disgusted me because I thought it was some sort of roast beef that had corn kernels infused in it.

5) I have had exceptional luck with traffic stops. I've been pulled over for violations five times in my driving life (and was admittedly guilty each time), but have never received more than a warning. The latest warning came because the officer had given my wife a ticket just an hour earlier and didn't want to hit the same family twice in one day.

6) The first election that I remember was in 1980 when Reagan was elected. For the early years of my political awareness, I was a Christian conservative. I still cannot get over the irony that I went to college at Notre Dame, and graduated somewhere far left-of-center, practically agnostic -- a political-religious attitude where I remain ensconced today. And no, my conversion was not artificially induced.

7) I have a baseball card collection in an upstairs closet that exceeds 30,000 cards -- and I haven't touched in years. Really not sure what to do with it. I missed my opportunity to sell it years ago, so I guess I'll just hang on to it and let the kid decide if it gets sold in the estate sale when I die.

8) I won the Math and Science Award in my high school for the highest cumulative math and science average over four years and took enough advance placement courses to avoid all but one math class in college -- where I majored in political science and philosophy. Now that I've finally come to realize that scientific research and reason is the key to understanding our world, I truly regret not following my early inclinations toward science.

9) There aren't many things I enjoy more than being surrounded by the people I love. But there is nothing more rewarding that those one-to-one moments with family and friends. That is when I feel I'm at my most open, expressive, generous and satisfied.

10) I'm OCD when it comes to things being in the right order -- books, CDs, you name it. I can't even fathom the number of hours I've spent trying to create classification/organization systems. It's probably why I ended up being a programmer.

11) There's something I do every year at Christmas. Once the tree is completely decorated, I turn all the lights out, slide under the tree on my back, and just stare up through the tree at the lights and ornaments. I've done it since I was a kid, and ever year I'm still in awe.

12) I would love to play an instrument well. Listening to music is a great passion of mine, but I don't think I have the natural talent nor patience to transform from a consumer into a creator. My utter lack of rhythm is likely the major deterrent, though.

13) In my opinion, the greatest flaw in my character is a tendency to mentally drift when listening to a conversation/subject that doesn't engage me. I'm either thinking about something completely different or anticipating how I'm going to contribute instead of really paying attention to the current speaker.

14) I'm a political junkie. Through and through. I can even watch CSPAN for extended periods.

15) I don't like the smell of animals in human residences. In a barn, it's almost natural. In a house, yuck.

16) Information is my friend. Whether it's the latest sports scores, global news, or what's happening in your life, I love to know. Ignorance creates this disabling sense of insecurity in me that I try to avoid at all costs. I think that's why I've basically become one with the 'net. If I need an answer, it most likely has it.

Crisis in the Senate

2009-01-07T22:07:00.001-06:00

Thought I'd share a little piece from Jon Stewart. Some great lines, and a very disturbing section on the man who would be junior Senator from Illinois (if Harry Reid caves in).

The Daily Show With Jon StewartM - Th 11p / 10c

Crisis in the Senate - Deliberative Disorder

Barack Obama Interview
John McCain Interview

Sarah Palin Video
Funny Election Video

You Didn't Descend from Primates, You Are a Primate

2009-01-06T22:31:00.003-06:00

Last fall, I read Richard Dawkins God Delusion on the recommendation of a friend. For those unfamiliar with Dawkins, he's the world's most famous (infamous to some) athiest. Many of the concepts that Dawkwins presents in his work were fascinating, and I hope to blog at length about them in the future.

I ran across a related item tonight, that I'd thought I'd share.

Hitting Home

2009-01-06T21:37:00.002-06:00

One of the last places I'd expect to get a little tug of the heart strings is over at Deadspin.com, but a headline caught my eye as I was voting for Baby Mangini as the Sports Human of the Year. It was a link to an article titled If You Can, Everyone Go See Your Grandmothers, Right Now.

For some reason, this article brought me right back to my maternal grandmother -- a great woman who I had a spectacular relationship with for most of my childhood and early adult years. I always felt like we had a special bond, ever since the time she spent caring for me when my mother recovered from hip surgery when I was an infant.

I stilll remember fondly hopping on the city bus down at the corner and doing a quick scan to see my grandmother's smiling face; she'd get on near her house and I'd get on near mine. We'd take the bus downtown and spend the day shopping. Of course, she's always slip some money in my pocket on the way there. Yes, for those of you who've referred to my 'Martha' ways, it's likely my grandmother's influence.

I always admired my grandmother's steadfast nature, and one of my life's major regrets is that I let family politics rob me of sharing her final decade. So, take the advice of the article, and, if you can, go see your grandmother, right now.

Cleaning the Slate?

2009-01-06T21:09:00.002-06:00

The Daily Show With Jon StewartM - Th 11p / 10c

Strip Maul

Barack Obama Interview
John McCain Interview

Sarah Palin Video
Funny Election Video

Since the rest of the American media seems inept to present some balance in coverage of the Gaza invasion, leave it to John Stewart.

First Day Back

2009-01-05T22:24:00.004-06:00

The first day back to work in almost two weeks was rather uneventful, although productive. I've never been a good "relaxer" so the return to the grindstone was a welcome respite from the holiday down time. It was, as they say, good to be back -- in a place with clear goals and measurable outcomes. Call me a workaholic if you must, but that's simply how I'm wired.

Did get a chance to read an article by King Abdullah of Jordan written in 1947 regarding the Palestine question. Certainly raises some interesting questions and ideas in light of the ongoing Israeli incursion into Gaza.

Ready or Not, Here I Come

2009-01-04T23:03:00.000-06:00

I sit here 15 minutes from my self-imposed weeknight bedtime, after a night of working on a web project I should have started long ago -- a victim of short staffing and its relative quiet in a world very squeaky wheels. This project, along with many others, looms large on my immediate and long-term horizon. But I find myself wondering what my year will hold, good and bad.

If pressed to reveal my wondering, I'd admit the following things will occupy my thoughts and actions in the coming year (in no particular order of significance):

Developing better work habits and strategies to more efficiently and effectively turn out real products.
Digging deep within myself to find the "good father" -- something that I know will require finding a way to subjugate an overarching selfishness that influences me far too often.
Following the new Obama administration with keen interest as it struggles to meet the challenges of a failing economy and a furthering intractability of conflict in the Middle East.
Surgically removing the time-wasting activities in my life so that I can spend more quality time with my family and friends while still meeting the real and unavoidable responsibilities in my life.
Focusing on being there for those priceless, irreplaceable friends without whom my life is unfulfilled.
Being serious about developing a healthy lifestyle -- both physical and mental.
Engaging those around me in serious discussion about real issues, without regard for political correctness or stepped-on toes. A time has come when we can no longer ignore "big issues" and need to work together to find solutions.

And there we have it, I'm three minutes late for that appointment with my pillow. Good night, my friends.

Resisting the F5 Urge

2009-01-02T23:18:00.003-06:00

If I were to track my laptop keystrokes, I think the F5 key would certainly rank as one of the most used. Even I would likely be surprised -- perhaps disgusted -- by the amount of time that I've spent hitting F5 to refresh my Facebook news feed or to see if there are new postings on Reddit and other news sites. And on most occasions, I'm left unsatisfied because F5 failed to bring me anything significantly new.

Just a few days ago, as our family went around the room declaring our new year's resolutions, I promised to wake up and go to bed each with my back feeling both flexible and healthy. And while satisfying that promise will require a good bit of exercise and the discipline to get up out of my office chair on a regular basis, I think resisting the F5 urge may truly be the key to honoring this year's resolution.

Personal Faith with a Healthy Dose of Skepticism

2008-11-12T17:45:00.002-06:00

I continue to be inspired by Barack Obama's words, especially his one-on-one, in-depth exchanges. I just ran across an interview he did with Chicago Sun Times columnist Cathleen Falsani in 2004. I am generally skeptical of anyone who claims to be a person of faith, particularly those who aspire to be our political leaders. But I don't believe I've ever heard a politician give such a nuanced and understanding vision of faith than Obama does in this interview.

Understanding Nuance

2008-11-09T10:01:00.002-06:00

I was treated to a wonderful -- if somewhat unexpected -- conversation about politics last night with an old friend. The concept of nuance repeatedly weaved its way in and out of the discussion. Ever since I first became a supporter and vocal proponent of Barack Obama, I've held two of his qualities above all others: 1) his insistence that the solution to problems lies in all of us collectively and 2) his ability to understand the nuance and complexity of our national challenges.

This morning, Nicholas Kristoff's New York Times op-ed "Obama and the War on Brains" examines the challenge of being an intellectual president throughout the history of America. Kristoff wonders if Obama's election signals a shift in American anti-intellectualism. I have my doubts, simply because Obama's victory is rooted more deeply in the GOP's complicity in and inconsistent response to the economic crisis. But I am hopeful, like Kristoff, that perhaps the American public -- at least the voting public -- is more appreciative and accepting of a leader who does not see the world in black and white, but rather in its true shades of grey.

Our Task at Hand

2008-11-05T21:22:00.008-06:00

I sit here, a day removed from the raw and overwhelming emotion of watching Barack Obama's victory speech in Chicago's Grant Park. Tears flowed freely from my eyes as he spoke, humbly accepting the mantle of president-elect. Our country's prognosis was clearly written in the seriousness of his tone. Our country's future reflected in the determination of his eyes. He spoke eloquently of our history, but it was his promise of the future that has been swimming continually in my thoughts:

There will be setbacks and false starts. There are many who won’t agree with every decision or policy I make as President, and we know that government can’t solve every problem. But I will always be honest with you about the challenges we face. I will listen to you, especially when we disagree. And above all, I will ask you join in the work of remaking this nation the only way it’s been done in America for two-hundred and twenty-one years – block by block, brick by brick, calloused hand by calloused hand.

Just today, an old college friend -- a self-described conservative -- asked me if I had played an official role in the Obama campaign. In a strict sense, I would have to answer in the negative. I did not organize, canvas, fundraise or perform any of the other activities generally considered official. Certainly, I took every opportunity to engage others in conversation about the importance of this election. But my efforts paled in comparison to the tirelessness of many that shared and fueled this campaign.

But then why did I feel like I owned part of this quest? Why did I make the transition from being politically aware to being politically active?

Simply, it is because I was invited to become part of the solution. Never before had a candidate for president stood before me an asked for more than my vote or financial contribution. Obama asked for much more -- a commitment to be a part of this movement long after the last votes are cast.

In the hours since I cast my vote, I've been subject to statements like "you realize he's not going to do everything he promised" and "nobody walks on water" by those who aim to temper my enthusiasm. There is nothing inherently wrong in these statements, but I believe they miss the point. I've never held the delusion that every campaign promise would be fulfilled or that Obama is some sort of national savior.

But just listen to his words -- I will always be honest with you about the challenges we face. I will listen to you, especially when we disagree. And above all, I will ask you join in the work of remaking this nation -- and how they resonate in contrast to the blind and unfounded arrogance of the past eight years.

Holding My Breath

2008-10-27T20:29:00.003-05:00

In just over a week, I will be sitting in the comfort of my living room surrounded by friends -- and watching as this country hopefully turns the page and starts the next chapter in its sometimes turbulent history. The events of the last few days sadden me -- from the pitiful race-baiting attempt of Ashley Todd to today's announcement that ATF had foiled a planned Obama assassination attempt to the acceptance of racist epithets being tossed about at Palin campaign rallies. On the eve of this country potentially electing the first non-Caucasian president in its more than two-century history, racism has reared its ugly head in a last minute attempt to instill fear into the undecided.

In tonight's comment on Countdown, Keith Olberman made a special plea to the McCain campaign to repudiate this fear-mongering as unacceptable.

But I have little faith in this plea being answered. And for that reason, every time I refresh CNN, I hold my breath -- scared that the headline will announce my personal nightmare where fear triumphs over hope.

Seething

2008-10-21T19:10:00.002-05:00

I've been seething all afternoon, since I found out that a friend of mine had lost her job effective immediately because her employer -- Moonstruck Chocolate -- had decided to close all cafes outside of the Portland area. Now I realize that companies need to make decisions based on the bottom line, and that these decisions often negatively impact the people who work for them. But this could not have been an overnight decision on the part of the company. Why didn't they give their employees more notice? Don't they owe that to their employees in return for the employees' dedication and loyalty?

I am only hoping that the Moonstruck employees who remain in their jobs (in the Portland area) realize what a callous, evil company they are working for and walk out the door at their earliest opportunity. I for one, will never consume another Moonstruck product again. I hope that anyone who reads this will join me in making the company pay for their transgressions.

I'm one that believes in a lot of middle ground when it comes to right and wrong, but this is just plain wrong.

How Has Your Job Prepared You for the Vice Presidency?

2008-10-21T17:10:00.001-05:00

Practical Powell

2008-10-19T18:21:00.001-05:00

I wish more of our leaders could look at things as practically as Colin Powell.

Palin as Counterpoint

2008-10-19T14:02:00.002-05:00

Today, in talking about Sarah Palin, Senator McCain said "She is a direct counterpoint to the liberal feminist agenda for America."

My curiosity got the best of me, and I asked myself: What exactly is the liberal feminist agenda in this country?

So I headed on over to the National Organization for Women -- considered by many on the right to be a leftist organization comprised of radical feminists. According to their website, here are the top six issues on the NOW agenda:

Abortion rights/reproductive issues
Violence against women
Constitutional equality
Promoting diversity/ending racism
Lesbian rights
Economic justice

Now, I can't believe that Senator McCain meant to imply that Governor Palin was for violence against women, against constitutional equality, anti-diversity, pro-racism, and anti-justice. That would just be silly. I think what he meant to say was that Governor Palin was chosen to secure the votes of those on the right that would like to see the reversal of Roe v. Wade and want to see lesbians repent or roast in the toasty fires of hell.

Unexpected Endorsements

2008-10-18T15:13:00.004-05:00

While I doubt that major newspaper endorsements have a huge impact on the voting decisions of ordinary people (likely because most people don't read newspapers), Obama has picked up two unexpected and significant endorsements this week:

"We may one day look back on this presidential campaign in wonder. We may marvel that Obama's critics called him an elitist, as if an Ivy League education were a source of embarrassment, and belittled his eloquence, as if a gift with words were suddenly a defect. In fact, Obama is educated and eloquent, sober and exciting, steady and mature. He represents the nation as it is, and as it aspires to be." - L. A. Times (read full text)

"Obama is deeply grounded in the best aspirations of this country, and we need to return to those aspirations." -- Chicago Tribune (read full text)

Both of these major newspapers have a history of conservative leanings. In reading the full text of the endorsements, three reasons for picking Obama emerge: 1) Obama is a consensus builder who thinks and consults before he acts; 2) John McCain has abandoned his integrity in the quest for validation from the far right; and 3) the irresponsibility and obvious political pandering involved in the choice of Sarah Palin as running mate.

I'm highly skeptical of polling numbers, but all signs point to an Obama victory two weeks from now. I have a feeling that had McCain remained strong in the face the far right, we might be predicting a McCain victory on November 4. But as both the Times and Tribune comment, this is not the same John McCain that used to garner the respect of citizens and organizations across the political spectrum.

Anti-American?

2008-10-18T09:33:00.002-05:00

Here's a video of a congresswoman from Minnesota talking about what constitutes "anti-American" views.

Ideas and issues are gone. We are now in the home stretch of fear and distortion. The GOP has evidently decided they can't win issue arguments, and so have resorted to attacks that are essentially indefensible. How do you even defend against the accusation that you are anti-American? What is the definition of pro-American. Don't we all -- with the exception of an isolated few on both extreme ends of the political spectrum -- want what is good for this country? We may disagree on how we get to the "good of the country" -- but that doesn't mean we are anti-American,

I just hope the GOP fear-mongering doesn't work this time. The past eight years (or at least since 9/11) are a direct result of the people of this country caving into fear politics and giving the government the power to destroy their constitutional rights. We can't afford to go further down that road.

Contemplating the Ignorance

2008-10-18T08:52:00.002-05:00

There have been several shining examples of the ignorance that has crept into this campaign, but the accusation that Obama had created his own flag has to be up there at the top.

Feeling Sorry for McCain

2008-10-12T09:27:00.002-05:00

In the past week, I've seen some glimpses of the John McCain of old -- a decent human being and American. He's obviously regretting the mob riot his campaign has dissolved into, and seemingly the choice of Sarah Palin as his VP. When he defended Obama's character this week in the face of obvious lies (albiet in a way that was offensive to Arabs), it was as if he realized the campaign had gone too far with its negativity. I think McCain would really like to address real issues -- and knows presenting real solutions for the economy is the only way he can win this election. But he is now consumed in another Republican campaign that relies on smear tactics and baseless character attacks -- and he chose a running mate whose political skills are honed for sound-byte attacks instead of substance. The old McCain is a figment of our past imagination -- and I feel slightly sorry for him.

A Deep Craving for Discourse

2008-10-08T19:18:00.003-05:00

As I sit here in a campustown coffee shop -- slowly savoring Wednesday's $2 latte special (turned into a poor man's mocha with a little cocoa powder), I've decided to reawaken Skim Mocha No Whip after a months long slumber.

Lately I've been craving discourse -- mostly of the political variety. But mostly I miss intelligent conversation about real topics, conversation that avoids the inane and asks tough, challenging questions. Conversation that makes you dig deep in the defense of your beliefs. Frankly I'm tired of living in a society where our politicians are afraid of appearing "too intelligent" as if having deep, well-developed ideas was a disease worthy of innoculation.

So, here's my invitation. Join me for a conversation.

Blue Sky Morning

2008-05-31T09:05:00.003-05:00

blue sky morning
wipes away
the tumultuous night
today we join together
remember
and say goodbye

In Their Wake

2008-05-29T19:24:00.005-05:00

respect...
care...
compassion...
slowly dissolved
in a world of churning selfishness
those rare commodities
that elate the soul
intoxicate to the core
leave yearning in their wake

Happy Enough?

2008-05-18T19:11:00.002-05:00

I watched the movie Waitress last night, which incidentally is a very well-written movie, poignant on many levels. One scene was particularly powerful, between the main character (Jenna) and her boss (Cal).

Jenna: Cal, are you happy? I mean, when you call yourself a happy man, do you really mean it?
Cal: You ask a serious question, I'll give you a serious answer: Happy enough. I don't expect much. I don't get much, I don't give much. I generally enjoy whatever comes along. That's my answer for you, summed up for your feminine consideration. I'm happy enough.

I've been running that scene around in my head since the movie ended. Is there such thing as happy enough? To me it seems that once you consider yourself happy enough, you become complacent and stop growing, learning and experiencing new things. Happy enough strikes me as stagnation. But at the same time if you're never happy enough, do you continually feel unfulfilled?

I don't think I'd ever settle for happy enough.

I'll Let This One Speak for Itself

2008-05-14T23:06:00.003-05:00

Let Them Vote Red

2008-05-14T20:45:00.003-05:00

You know what? If expecting more out of so-called "Democrats" is elitist, then I wave the elitist banner proudly. If not pandering to the kind of close-mindedness featured in this video means not carrying states like West Virginia, then so be it. Let them vote Red.

Who Says Parenting Isn't Fun?

2008-05-14T20:13:00.004-05:00

I've been finding quite a few reasons to smile the past week or so. Tonight was no exception. Our bedtime story with the kid has been Captain Underpants And The Perilous Plot Of Professor Poopypants and we all got a great chuckle out of the name game in Chapter 15 - The Name Change-O-Chart 2000.

Here's how it goes. Your new name is determined by checking List 1 for your first initial. Check List 2 for your last initial. And check List 3 for the last letter of your last name.

A=Stinky
B=Lumpy
C=Buttercup
D=Gidget
E=Crusty
F=Greasy
G=Fluffy
H=Cheeseball
I=Chim-Chim
J=Poopsie
K=Flunkie
L=Booger
M=Pinky
N=Zippy
O=Goober
P=Doofus
Q=Slimy
R=Loopy
S=Snotty
T=Falafel
U=Dorky
V=Squeezit
W=Oprah
X=Skipper
Y=Dinky
Z=Zsa=Zsa

A=Diaper
B=Toilet
C=Giggle
D=Bubble
E=Girdle
F=Barf
G=Lizard
H=Waffle
I=Cootie
J=Monkey
K=Potty
L=Liver
M=Banana
N=Rhino
O=Burger
P=Hamster
Q=Toad
R=Gizzard
S=Pizza
T=Gerbil
U=Chicken
V=Pickle
W=Chuckle
X=Tofu
Y=Gorilla
Z=Stinker

A=Head
B=Mouth
C=Face
D=Nose
E=Tush
F=Breath
G=Pants
H=Shorts
I=Lips
J=Honker
K=Butt
L=Brain
M=Tushie
N=Chunks
O=Hiney
P=Biscuits
Q=Toes
R=Buns
S=Fanny
T=Sniffles
U=Sprinkles
V=Kisser
W=Squirt
X=Humperdink
Y=Brains
Z=Juice

Sitting here at age 36 -- sometimes struggling with the challenge of relating to a young son -- I'm not sure who laughed more. Fourth grade would have been so much easier if I had this list at my disposal. :)

An Unexpected Flashback

2008-05-12T19:37:00.006-05:00

We've been lucky this year to have a robin build a nest right on our deck railing outside our living room window, nestled among the curling vines of a sweetautumn clematis. For the past few weeks we've anticipated the arrival of the chicks. On Saturday morning, they arrived.

It's been a great experience to watch the wonder of new life and the dedication of the parents, but the most amazing thing happened this evening. My wife was peering out the window from our sofa, watching the babies stretch their tiny heads up for food. As I looked up, I saw something I've never seen before -- my wife as a six-year old girl, full of wonder and excitement -- the budding inquisitive scientist -- a precursor to the woman I now know and love. For this alone, I'll forever be indebted to the mother robin that chose our deck railing to start her new family.

Postcript: As I sat here writing this, a large hawk landed on the deck rail, looking for an evening snack. Thanks to the quick action of my wife, the chicks are still pleasantly snuggled in their nest.

Emotional Symbiosis

2008-05-12T11:40:00.004-05:00

I've been doing regular mental calisthenics of late trying to clarify some of the big questions that have intrigued me throughout life. Recently burning my synapses is this question: Why does my general outlook and attitude seemingly correlate with the amount of time I spend surrounded by my closest friends?

Now I'm not talking about friends of the Facebook variety. Rather the friends whose presence can have such profound effect on my emotional state are those with whom I've spent endless hours in poignant conversation; those with whom I've shared intense life-defining experiences; those around whom I've let down my social defense and shared something of what comprises me.

It makes some sense to me that that act of sharing me, and receiving something of them in return creates a sort of symbiotic relationship. It is as if a part of me lives (physically? metaphysically?) in them -- lying safe, but dormant, until our paths cross again. To me, this would explain that feeling of instability when I've been disconnected from friends for too long; perhaps the me in me is wondering where the rest of me went?

Natural Attractions?

2008-05-10T12:29:00.003-05:00

While trolling Reddit today, I found this list of the top 25 tourist destinations in the U.S. It strikes me as significant that only eight of the 25 can be remotely considered "natural attractions." and of those eight, many are man-made modifications of nature. This country certainly doesn't have a dearth of natural attractions, so it must say something about our need to be entertained more than Mother Nature can provide.

For the record, I've been to 11 of the 25 most popular attractions -- but only three of the eight "natural" attractions. How about you?

Did She Really Just Say That?

2008-05-08T12:44:00.003-05:00

In an article published in today's USA Today, Hillary Clinton used the phrase "working, hard-working Americans, white Americans" to describe the group where she is getting the most support. So much for the subliminal appeal to the hidden (and overt) prejudices that exist in this country. She's just coming right out and saying it now.

As much as it pains me, if she's the nominee, I might join in with Rush Limbaugh's "operation chaos" movement and vote for McCain. OK, that would pain me a little too much.

The Birth of Trust

2008-05-07T21:43:00.007-05:00

We all start out behind our curtain of control, whether it's cynicism, bravado, or another of the multitude of protective facades that we use to mask our vulnerabilities. What causes us to draw back the curtain and let someone peer at -- or even take a seat behind -- the controls? What releases us to trust -- to fundamentally give of ourselves in confidence that our gift will be treated with respect and care?

Trust seems innate in some relationships. In others, it takes years -- if ever -- for the seed of trust to slowly crack through our thick emotional skins. But in all cases, it takes the first step, the first peek from behind the wizard's curtain, to let trust emerge. That trust may be broken. It may wither and die from undernourishment. But, slowly, ever so slowly, it may grow into something extraordinary. And, so we step out from behind the curtain and welcome a new soul into our life's adventure.

That's My Boy

2008-05-07T07:51:00.003-05:00

The kid's here catching an old Tom and Jerry with breakfast. There was a scene where one of the characters pulls a gun out of a closet. He turns to me, and says "Who would keep a gun in a house?" Crucify me all you want for letting him watch non-politically correct brain drivel before going to school, but I do feel a slight bit of parental validation in his ability to question the illogical.

(I'm expected a posthumous Charlton Heston message any time now.)

Awakening

2008-05-05T22:18:00.007-05:00

After a string of mediocre springs, we've been presented this year with a nearly picture-perfect display of new life in Central Illinois. Warm days and cool nights -- coupled with just the right amount of rain -- have made for a brilliant, lasting display of flowering trees and shrubs supported by a foundation of tulips, daffodils and other flowering bulbs. The flowering crabapples perhaps have been the most impressive-- forming dense, fragrant canopies of white, pink and red.

It is striking to me that we're being treated to such a spectacle of nature, simultaneous to my own personal search for rebirth and belief. Lest you think I'm heading to the nearest revival, I assure you that my rebirth won't be anything of a traditional religious reawakening. Rather, I'm searching for a more concrete something to hang my spiritual hat on. And I suspect the juxtaposition of efficiency and intricacy found in these spring blooms -- in fact, in all of nature -- might lead more to my awakening than any communion of humanity can offer.

More on Gas, Less on TVs

2008-05-04T20:23:00.003-05:00

The NY Times has just published an interactive graph of how Americans spend their money and how each spending category has changed as a percentage of total spending between 2007 and 2008. It's easy to guess that fuel costs have seen the biggest increases. But where are people cutting back? It seems TVs, toys and clothes.

More Parties to Choose From?

2008-05-04T10:08:00.003-05:00

Just read this Philadelphia Inquirer article about Bob Barr's possible Libertarian Party run for president. Certainly an interesting prospect. Along with Ralph Nader's impending run, it could make for an interesting fall political season. We are certainly seeing more dissatisfaction with the two-party system -- especially when both parties have been overtaken by hawkish, neo-cons.

While I'm still standing in Obama's corner, I certainly can stand behind the general philosophy of smaller, less-intrusive government.

What Is Your Geek Thing?

2008-05-03T18:24:00.003-05:00

So the question is: What would your friends and coworkers fill in the "He/she is such a _______ geek" blank?

A Republican I Might Stand Behind

2008-05-03T06:49:00.002-05:00

I'm not sure if I'm getting more conservative as I get older -- or if perhaps my idealism about a government that is capable of taking care of it's people is fading. Or maybe it is simply refreshing to see a politician from either party retain independence in the face of mounting pressure for "party unity." I just find myself respecting what Ron Paul -- the only Republican candidate for president who hasn't lined up behind John McCain -- is trying to do for his party.

An American Hero

2008-05-01T19:24:00.005-05:00

Perhaps it's sad that it's so unusual for a member of the White House Press Corps to ask poignant, pressing questions, but when Helen Thomas asked tough questions about the use of torture by the United States, she became a hero to the online progressive community.

Here's the video.

And here's the online progressive community's "thank you" for her professionalism and dedication to the truth.

Stories like this renew what little faith I have in the people of this country.

Worried

2008-04-29T21:07:00.002-05:00

The economy is in the tank. Our global reputation is at the lowest point of my lifetime, perhaps in history. We find ourselves in a sad quagmire of an unprecedented preemptive war. Our moral standing has dissolved in lies and torture. The media -- who must play the role of truth- and justice-seeker in a healthy democracy -- has become a corporate purveyor of personal destruction and government propaganda.

I was born as Vietnam was ending, grew up under the uncertain specter of nuclear war, and sat helpless as the World Trade Center crumbled seven years ago. But tonight, for the first time in my 35 years, I am truly worried.

Dear God

2008-04-02T21:35:00.004-05:00

As some of you know, I've been struggling with the answer to a question that's probably going to be coming from the kid one of these days. "Daddy, what do you believe?" It's not an answer that I'm about to take lightly, so I'm going to take my time formulating the answer(s). But in my internal ramblings, I remembered a paper I had written for a seminar class my sophomore year (1991) at Notre Dame -- a piece of prose that has stuck with me for 17 years now.

Thought I'd rehash it here -- and take a fresh look to see where "what I believe" started to form. Forgive the occasional self-indulgence and logical leaps, for I was a 19-year-old ready to take on the world!

The following was written April 30, 1991 for AL212-08: Ideas, Values, Images II. (Text enclosed in ** is intended to be stream of consciousness commenting).

An Open Letter to God, Steve, Maureen, Paul and the Rest of AL212-08,

Let me first start off by apologizing to the class (yes that includes you too, Steve) for putting you after God in my opening address. I'm sure you won't be offended, but I might just be if I were put in that position. You see, I'm not quite sure whether or not the concrete should be listed after the abstract. Do you follow? Well, please accept my utmost apology anyway.

In the first half of this semester I wrote a journal in which I devoted a little section to each of the selections we were required to read, listen to, or see. That seems to work rather well *if an "A" means working rather well*. And believe it or not, I think that was the best way to put forth my feelings on the subject of "The Mind." However, with "God," I really couldn't see best expressing myself in that way. I really thought a great deal about how I could best get across what I feel. So I came up with (I'm sure someone has done this before) the idea of writing an open letter to the class. I feel that this is the best way because most of what I got out of this part of the course came from you, the class. So I figured I'd give something back. I thought I'd throw God in because without him *her it*, we wouldn't be talking about any of this.

I realize this may not be the most orthodox way to get my point(s) across, but it is what I feel I have to do. It was just the other day that we were talking about writing what the professor grade-giver wanted to hear, or writing what you really wanted to write. As you all probably remember, I vehemently asserted that I would never *really never?* write something just to get a grade. I could very easily flip out something that would get me an "A," *which I could really use at this point in my academic career* or I could do what would do me, and the rest of you, the most justice. So there you have it -- my justification for writing you a letter. I can only hope you understand, if not now, when you are finished reading my humble work...

... Wow, we really did get a good bunch of people for this Core class. An experienced photographer who has seen some "pictures" that many of us will never, a ROTC student *oxymoron?*, a Christian if one even exists, a SUFR member *at least one*. Sorry to all of you I have left out, but you either didn't stand up and define yourself or you just didn't disturb me enough to warrant reaction. Now don't get me wrong, I'm not passing any value judgements here. It's just that some things that were brought up in the class offended my inner fiber. There were some things that completely appalled me. Either that or they didn't seem logical enough. In any case, something about them made them stick around in my mind just long enough *most of them haven't even left* to disturb my equilibrium. Bear with me, and please, do not take offense. *That means you, too, God.*

In order for you to begin to understand where I'm coming from, you must first understand what has influenced me. I come from a split-religion home, Roman Catholic and Lutheran. But that doesn't really figure, because when my parents were married in the Catholic Church, my father basically signed away his religion *did he have any in the first place?* by agreeing *did he have any choice?* to have us kids raised in the Catholic Church. Consequently, I have been raised *forcefed* to be a Catholic. But late in high school and here at Notre Dame *how ironic!* I have begun to question those beliefs on which I was weaned. I guess I was "sparked" to question after hearing the song "Dear God" by XTC, a progressive band. The lyrics are printed below ( I think these are important).

Dear God, hope you got the letter and ....
I pray you can make it better down here
I don't mean a big reduction in the price of beer
But all the people that you made in your image
See them starving on their feet
'Cause they don't get enough to eat from
God
I can't believe in you

Dear God, sorry to disturb you but ...
I feel that I should be heard loud and clear
We all need a big reduction in the amount of tears
And all the people that you made in your image
See them fighting in the street
'Cause they can't make opinions meet about
God,
I can't believe in you

Did you make disease and the diamond blue?
Did you make mankind after we made you?
And the devil too!

Dear God,
Don't know if you noticed,
But your name is on a lot of quotes in this book.
Us crazy humans wrote it, you should take a look,
And all the people that you made in your image,
Still believing that junk is true.
Well I know it ain't and so do you,
Dear God,
I can't believe in,
I don't believe in,

I won't believe in heaven and hell.
No saints, no sinners,
No devil as well.
No pearly gates, no thorny crown.
You're always letting us humans down.
The wars you bring, the babes you drown.
Those lost at sea and never found,
And it's the same the whole world round.
The hurt I see helps to compound,
That the father, son and holy ghost,
Is just somebody's unholy hoax,
And if you're up there you'll perceive,
That my heart's here upon my sleeve.
If there's one thing I don't believe in...

It's you,
Dear God

I guess when I first heard the song, I was struck dead in the face with the legendary problem of evil.

And this is where I would like to personally address Maureen. Mo, as much as the two of us argue *and hit each other with books*, I seem to respect you more than anyone else because you are sure of your beliefs *or at least seem to*. At the very least, I envy you for this. I characterized you earlier as a "Christian if one even exists." I say this because, if for no other reason, you have Jesus' command "turn the other cheek" down to a science. I honestly almost lost my teeth at a couple of things you said this semester. First, you said that you would stay and try to straighten things out if your husband ever physically abused you. What happens when he crushes "the other cheek" that you just turned? What then? Would you turn the other cheek to Saddam Hussein? Adolf Hitler? The Devil? The you said *pardon me, your father said* that if someone robbed your house, it was justified because if they had to resort to stealing, they probably needed it. Do you mean to say that most burglars really need what they unlawfully take? I beg to differ.

You may ask me what I am trying to prove. I say nothing. For who am I to make some grand statement about what is right and what is wrong? I'm just trying to explain why I feel that Christianity has no practical place in the world *or at least in the world in which I live*. Just examining the diverse stances of the members of this class seems to justify my assertion. I think Paul's rhetorical(?) question last week epitomizes what I am trying to say. "Where has Christianity ever gotten anybody in this world anyway?" When I pressed for further discussion on this question, I got the response that Christianity does nothing for you in this life; it gets you an afterlife! Oh, so what you're saying is that Christianity does nothing for you in this life? I guess Christianity relies on one of those "end justifies the means" models. Am I wrong?

I give in to sin,
Because you have to make this life liveable.

This quote from the Depeche Mode song "Strangelove" seems to be the attitude of most of the members of this class. If by sin, we mean going against the teachings rules and regulations of Jesus, then we have all given into sin, and really don't mind doing it. Take the group SUFR (Students United for Respect), for instance *since it wasn't brought up at all during the semester although race was -- on several occasions*. I believe we have at least one, if not two, SUFR members in the class. I wonder if they claim to hold Christian beliefs? I wonder if they have ever heard of "Blessed are the persecuted..."? I guess this martyr thing only applies in certain instances.

Paul, let me ask you something, if you don't mind. We have already discussed this at length *the length of South Quad*, but I'm still not satisfied. Also, I'd like to let everyone else into the discussion. You claimed to be "morally" opposed to the treatment and conditioning *making a group of intelligent people into a babbling bunch of "yes sirs"* our fine young men and women get in this country's military academies. Yet, you may someday be the actual person who is molding them into unthinking clones. It seems that getting a "free" education and the defense of our fine country is more important than standing up for what you consider a moral truth. Doesn't seem to Christian to me! (I know you never claimed to be, but, once again, I ask you to bear with me. You of all people may understand me.)

I would like to thank all of you for waiting while I personally addressed the others. I feel that I must now get down to what has really been digging at me since we talked about it in class. Do you all remember *how could you forget?* the question which came up during our discussion of The Brothers Karamazov? You know, the question of whether you would torture and kill a little girl or a loved one if you were promised *by God I assume* that your actions would alleviate all of the pain and suffering in this world. Every one of you, with the exception of Eileen and myself, said unhesitantly that you would kill the girl "for the sake of humanity." I honestly still cannot believe it!

This bothered me so much that I actually brought it up among my friends outside of class *after this I may not have any friends in the class*. Several lengthy discussions, one which lasted until six in the morning, ensued. I would like to thank those who participated in these conversations, especially Mindy, Gerry and Mike. But, I am still at quite an impasse.

First of all, I can't, after countless hours of searching, find within myself the right to put a value on someone else's life -- even if that value is the alleviation of pain and suffering. Some of you said that you would be making the person you killed the savior of humanity. Don't Christians believe that humanity already has its savior in Jesus Christ? And what gives any one human the right to determine the value of another human life? Is there any justification in taking another's life without their consent? Once you start placing value on human life, you have degraded humanity. You have valued something that is invaluable.

I know what you're all saying -- it will alleviate all the pain and suffering in the world! It seems to me that by doing this, you have alleviated humanity of its very essence. To suffer and feel pain is part of what it means to be human. It is not the only aspect of being human, but it is integral nonetheless. Without pain and suffering, humanity ceases to exist. Where we would be and what we would become are neither for me, nor for anyone else, to answer. All that I, or others, can assert is that we would no longer be human.

Even to assume that we would be taken to some higher level of existence, an assumption risky in itself, would not justify the prescribed actions. From the Christian standpoint, it is God, through Christ, that will raise humanity to a higher level of existence - the afterlife - eternal life with God. Unless Christianity is flawed, neither I, nor anyone except Christ, can save humanity from its inherent pain and suffering. To do so would be to deny one of Christianity's basic tenets.

So, from this, I can reasonably conclude one of two things. Either you have not thought the situation through and do not realize that it is against Christianity, a faith to which I believe a majority of you subscribes. Or, you are willing to sacrifice Christianity if something better comes along. The first I am not willing to concede. You are intelligent, responsible people, and I don't think that you would treat such a situation flippantly. I must believe the second assertion. Christianity is what you subscribe to because you believe that there is nothing better. (In that sense, it is something like democracy.) If something better comes along, such as a life without pain and suffering, you'll dump Christianity for the quick fix it is. Don't deny it. By saying that you would take the painless, unsuffering world, you already have.

I just went back and read what I have written so far. I don't quite know if I have presented enough evidence for you to realize what is screamingly obvious to me. It is just that I see Christianity *I guess I see all religions* as a quick fix to explain the pain and suffering in the world. I remember back in sophomore year in high school *seems like light years ago* that religion was defined as "an individual's response to the mystery of life." I cannot think of a greater "mystery" of life that the problem of evil. Why is there pain and suffering? I'm sure every human that has ever walked *crawled* the face of the earth has asked that question. No one has ever been able to answer it. Presto! Religion! This pain and suffering has some higher cause. I say bullshit! I can't subscribe to some faith *maybe that's my problem, I have no faith* that says to merely endure the pain and suffering! It goes against my grain, and I believe the grain of most of you. *I give in to sin, because you have to make this life liveable*.

Steve, I am counting on you to understand me. As many times as we've butted heads on certain issues, I think we respect each other. At least I respect you. You have the time advantage. You have seen things (El Salvador, etc.) that I haven't had the chance and may never have the chance to see. Seeing the schrapnel-shredded body of some Salvadoran peasant *see them fighting in the street* must have made you ask the same questions that I am asking myself now. However, you seem to have Christianity on your side. You have some reason, some purpose, that you believe in. *Just somebody's unholy hoax*. That I do not have. *My heart's here upon my sleeve*. I wish that I did. It would probably make all of this much more bearable. *You have to make this life liveable.*

Have I made any sense? Probably not. This world really doesn't make a whole lot of sense. But I will not give up my question to find some meaning to all of the aspects of life. Even if I fail, I think my life *even without an afterlife* will have been worth the time spent living it. I still do not see how Christianity can be anyone's answer. It seems to ask too much of a frail human race. I doubt that I have changed any of your minds, but please, for your sake, reexamine what you have. *There's just one thing I can't believe in. It's you, dear God.*

Unfaithfully yours,

Christopher

Postscript 2008: And so begins my search for the answer to the inevitable question, "Daddy, what do you believe?"

It's On Us

2008-02-13T12:30:00.005-06:00

After reading Dave Lindorff's article Obama and Progressive Change, I'm forced to ask myself: What is it about Obama that I think is so different from politics as usual?

It's not the man himself or where his personal politics fall. Lindorff is right that we don't know a lot of details about Obama. What makes him unique and magnetic in his leadership is how he's decided to run his campaign. He's the only candidate who consistently focuses the responsibility for change directly upon the people of this country. Just listen to his speeches. He is really asking for us to become participants in change -- to return our country to a place of respectability and honor in the world.

He knows that one person cannot change a system that been so innately corrupted. But mobilize millions, and you just may make a difference. Yes, in many ways his campaign fits traditional standards. To gain the nomination, he must ask us for our money and our vote.

But the reason why I have embraced Obama is because he has asked me for more than my vote and my money. He has called me, and millions of other Americans, to live up to our own responsibility in changing this country from the ground up.

Making a Choice for an Education in Life

2008-02-11T21:17:00.000-06:00

In the next few weeks, my wife and will determine the elementary schools we want as our top three choices for our son to enroll at for kindergarten next fall. It's one of those decisions that parents fret over all the time. Which school will foster our son's love for art and music? Will the teachers allow him to progress past the standard curriculum if he shows advanced aptitude? What's the neighborhood like around the school? Is it safe? And what happens if we don't get one of our top three choices -- then what?

The system in our school district is "controlled choice" -- a system where preferences are expressed, then children are entered into a lottery for the available spots at each school. Geographic proximity and enrollment of siblings can influence the lottery -- but there is still a lot of chance involved. Complicating matters is a court-monitored consent decree aimed at brining the achievement of the district's African-American students up to acceptable levels.

Some friends who also have children approaching elementary school age are struggling with the same choices. Some have opted to send their child to one of the private schools in town -- in part because of the perception of a better academic quality. I've often found myself on the receiving end of an accusatory conversation focused on the drawbacks of a public school education. After such conversations, I'll often second guess myself and wonder, "Are we selling the kid short by sending him to public school?"

But I always come back around to my firm belief that public schools give an education in life -- something invaluable and more important than academics alone. Successful people (in the broadest sense of "successful") are people that can relate to and respect others - all creeds, all colors, all social and economic backgrounds. And that is where the diversity of public school (especially in a system where your neighborhood doesn't determine your school) proves life's greatest teacher.

It is one of my great hopes that the choice we make in the next few weeks is one that helps our son become a person who respects others -- and is respected in return -- because we have surrounded him with children from every walk of life.

Superdelegates....again.

2008-02-11T12:52:00.000-06:00

I just finished reading another article about the superdelegates in the Democratic Party. And, once again, I'm so infuriated that my party -- the one that's supposed to be about the people -- even has this pro-establishment, anti-democratic function built into its nominating process.

In response, I've send the following e-mail to the national Democratic Party: "I just want to state that if the votes of superdelegates result in the candidate with fewer 'elected' delegates gaining the Democratic nomination, I am voting for another party's candidate in the general election. Please don't take the democracy out of the democratic party. There is too much at stake this year."

If you want to voice your opinion on this issue, you can contact the Democratic Party via their website.