Well, soon I offended just the right amount of people, and was canned by the three county commissioners. I immediately commenced on a mission to gather enough signatures to have a recall election of all three commissioners. I walked the streets gathering petitions. As I walked the streets, I learned that my favorite store, The Greenery, was for sale. The swarm of hornets known as the local medical society eventually got the commissioners also to fire my best caseworker, who worked with seniors and disabled adults, a woman named Judy McDaniel. Judy had been trying to convince me to get on with my life after losing custody of my daughters in the divorce from Lil. We decided to scrape up enough money in 1977 to buy The Greenery. Most of the money came from Judy, who sold her Porsche.
When we bought The Greenery, it was located one block off the town's Main Street. It was a store filled with high-end gifts, and right at the beginning of the house plant craze, we decided to emphasize house plants. Soon we realized that the most potential customer traffic was on Main Street, especially in the summer, when tourists swarmed Durango. We moved the store to 8th and Main, right in the heart of the business district. We became a full-fledged florist, and added greeting cards. I don't mean just a few greeting cards. This was the period when Hallmark Cards was being challenged for the first time by a number of alternative card lines. We soon developed perhaps the largest selecton of alternative card lines anywhere in the nation. Tourists would stand in the store for hours laughing and listening to classical music, and come to the counter with a fist full of greeting cards from companies they had never seen before. We expanded the store to include a basement full of plants, and two more stores, one a candy store underneath a theater, and the other next to the famous Durango/Silverton Narrow Gauge Train depot. The train is one of America's treasures,
In the Spring we began selling bedding plants. That is when I learned about politics, western style. The only other place people could go to purchase bedding plants was in a greenhouse the owner of the local hardware store put up every Spring. I decided we could compete with him by personally hand-selecting bedding plants from various Colorado growers, and bring the plants back to Durango every couple of weeks. The plan worked successfully until one day the police arrested me for having the plants too far out on the sidewalk. It seems that there was an ancient ordinance that stated that merchants could not sell their wares more than nine inches beyond the exterior of the buildings where their shops were located. Oh, by the way, did I mention that the owner of the hardware store was also the mayor of Durango? We continued selling the plants and collecting tickets for violating the city ordinance.
Then, Wal-Mart came to town, in a newly built mall south of town. Catty corner across the street from us was JCPenney, who decided to join Wal-Mart as an anchor tenant in the new mall. Although there was 12,600 square feet to fill inside the store, Penney had an atrium out front, where we could legally sell our bedding plants. We moved our store into that space, with its $5,000.00 per month rent. We renovated the space, which had featured orange walls on one side, and chartreuse walls on the other. In the fall the local banker visited the store and told us how proud he was of what we had accomplished. He said if we ever needed a line of credit, the bank would be glad to help. "A line of credit," I asked, "what is that?" (we had never borrowed a penny to operate and grow the business to this point). He explained that the bank could loan us, say, one hundred thousand dollars, and all we would have to do is pay it off in twelve months. I looked at Judy, and she looked at me. We had just had a discussion with each other how we had spent all our money renovating the place, and had little or no money left to fill it with merchandise for the upcoming Christmas season. We signed on the dotted line the next day.
Durango had been a boomtown from when we bought The Greenery in 1977 to 1980, when the friendly banker had made his appearance. However, something was happening in far off Texas and Oklahoma in the early 1980s. The price of oil dropped to below $20 dollars a barrel. Tourists from those two states, normally Durango's biggest draw, did not come to Colorado in the summer of 1981. Then, it also hit Denver, where the rest of Durango's tourists come from. The occupancy rates of Downtown Denver's skyscrapers diminished to record lows. Denverites stayed home, too. We struggled mightily to pay the rent each month until our five-year lease ended in 1985.
Directly across the street the landlords renovated their building, as tourist traffic resumed to its previous levels. We moved from 12,600 square feet to 3,500 square feet and, more importantly, $2,000.00 a month less rent. Nevertheless, we continued to struggle, because we still had that bank loan to pay off. We tried putting the store up for sale, but got no takers. Finally, I decided in 1990 that I would go back into social work. I was hired as a caseworker by Jefferson County, the largest suburban county west of Denver.
The two things I have done in my life that I am most proud of are being a foster parent and doing child protection casework. Nothing can beat true intimacy and love; sharing your heart and mind and soul with another human being.
Friday, October 08, 2010
An Activist Social Worker in "Respectable" Jobs
Despite now working in "respectable" jobs, first with the Colorado Department of Human Services, then as Director of two county human services departments, my activist streak lasted into the middle 1970s. I was elected President of the Denver Chapter of the National Association of Social Workers, then later elected President of the Colorado Association of Social Services Directors.
In the early 1070s, I was one of those who was mesmerized by the ">Watergate" scandal. I don't think I missed a minute of the Senate hearings. I was so impressed at the work done by Woodward and Bernstein, as memorably reproduced in the movie href="">All The President's Men. I held the journalism profession in the highest regard. When I became Human Services Director, I had a regularly scheduled meeting every Friday with representatives from two newspapers, two radio stations, and one television station in Durango. I answered questions with candor and openness. Because of that, controversies erupted all over the place.
Every Saturday I hosted a program called Senior Saturday on the local CBS radio affiliate. Each week I interviewed for the program a senior citizen whom my caseworkers had told me was an interesting character. One day I taped the show at the local nursing home, I Interviewed a woman whose last name was Thayer. She was 99-years-old! She had come to Durango via covered wagon over the majestic Wolf Creek Pass. An old man whose room was directly across the hall from Ms. Thayer's, entered the room to listen to the interview. I watched in horror as the 6 foot two inch Head Nurse roughly pushed him across the hall back into his room. The next day at work I called together all the caseworkers who had clients in the nursing home. They all told me they had had similar experiences. I asked them to document each incident. We filed eleven "grievances" with the state, and the nursing home lost its Medicaid and Medicare funding. The local medical society came at me like a swarm of hornets! I had never realized how much money there was to be made by medicating residents of nursing homes. Two years of hearings ensued. Lawyers in three-piece suits from Philadelphia argued the case for the nursing home. It turned out that the nursing home was owned by a vending machine company out of Philadelphia! The nursing home finally agreed to rectify the problems. They fixed up the joint so you would never know it had been the urine-soaked place it once was. Guess who became it's administrator? Lil! Guess who brought his own mother to live there a decade later? I!
I also tangled with the Superintendent of Schools over his regime's failure to report child abuse to our department, and with the Community Centered Board for allowing disabled adults to be improperly paid. The Community Centered Board, I learned the hard way, had powerful politicians and lawyers on its board, including an ex-Governor. One day in my weekly meeting with the press, I told the press that disabled citizens there were being paid ten cents an hour to tie fish hooks. I said the board could, if it wanted, find jobs that would pay minimum wage, and thus take many of the disabled off the welfare rolls.
In the early 1070s, I was one of those who was mesmerized by the ">Watergate" scandal. I don't think I missed a minute of the Senate hearings. I was so impressed at the work done by Woodward and Bernstein, as memorably reproduced in the movie href="">All The President's Men. I held the journalism profession in the highest regard. When I became Human Services Director, I had a regularly scheduled meeting every Friday with representatives from two newspapers, two radio stations, and one television station in Durango. I answered questions with candor and openness. Because of that, controversies erupted all over the place.
Every Saturday I hosted a program called Senior Saturday on the local CBS radio affiliate. Each week I interviewed for the program a senior citizen whom my caseworkers had told me was an interesting character. One day I taped the show at the local nursing home, I Interviewed a woman whose last name was Thayer. She was 99-years-old! She had come to Durango via covered wagon over the majestic Wolf Creek Pass. An old man whose room was directly across the hall from Ms. Thayer's, entered the room to listen to the interview. I watched in horror as the 6 foot two inch Head Nurse roughly pushed him across the hall back into his room. The next day at work I called together all the caseworkers who had clients in the nursing home. They all told me they had had similar experiences. I asked them to document each incident. We filed eleven "grievances" with the state, and the nursing home lost its Medicaid and Medicare funding. The local medical society came at me like a swarm of hornets! I had never realized how much money there was to be made by medicating residents of nursing homes. Two years of hearings ensued. Lawyers in three-piece suits from Philadelphia argued the case for the nursing home. It turned out that the nursing home was owned by a vending machine company out of Philadelphia! The nursing home finally agreed to rectify the problems. They fixed up the joint so you would never know it had been the urine-soaked place it once was. Guess who became it's administrator? Lil! Guess who brought his own mother to live there a decade later? I!
I also tangled with the Superintendent of Schools over his regime's failure to report child abuse to our department, and with the Community Centered Board for allowing disabled adults to be improperly paid. The Community Centered Board, I learned the hard way, had powerful politicians and lawyers on its board, including an ex-Governor. One day in my weekly meeting with the press, I told the press that disabled citizens there were being paid ten cents an hour to tie fish hooks. I said the board could, if it wanted, find jobs that would pay minimum wage, and thus take many of the disabled off the welfare rolls.
Thursday, October 07, 2010
Crooked geometry
As you can tell, my life did not follow a straight line to where I find myself today. Does anyone's?
Here's a quote I saw somewhere on the internet. I am sorry that I don't know to whom to attribute it.
Here's a quote I saw somewhere on the internet. I am sorry that I don't know to whom to attribute it.
"Even in brutality and sorrow, beauty often shines brightest in the soul brave enough to deny evil a foothold. It is the theme of redemption, the symphony of resurrection."
Attracted to the religion of the left
I ended the last post by asking a question: How could a young man who was baptized as a follower of Jesus Christ have such misplaced priorities? I have mentioned my disillusionment with white churches as they missed out on the civil rights movement of the 1960s. When Lil and I moved to Kansas in 1964, we immediately looked for a church home. We found what we thought was a dynamic pastor who led the First Baptist Church in Topeka. One evening we were invited to his house for a barbecue. He was aware that I was a social worker working with people of all races. He called me aside and said, "Bob, have you ever seen a black woman you thought was attractive?" He then proceeded to tell me he had never seen such a creature. I was so angry and appalled at his stupid bigotry, I grabbed Lil and said, "Let's go," and never again attended another white church service until I began dating Colleen thirty-four years later.
On the other hand, I found the efforts of the Alinsky-type radicals to bring about justice and hope for America's forgotten people to be worthy of my energies. It became my religion. I would lend myself to people less fortunate than I, determined to change the status quo. I believed that God would give me the courage to plow forward and conquer any obstacles standing in the way of improving the lives of those I was trying to assist.
At the same time there was a "peace movement" gaining momentum. I did not respect the organizers of the "peace" movement, whom I saw as cowards. When at Hardin-Simmons I enrolled in the Army ROTC program in 1958. After completing the two year program, I told my parents I was considering enrolling in the final two years of ROTC. Unbeknownst to me, my mother contacted our pediatrician, who wrote the draft board a letter about my childhood suffering from allergies. The next thing I knew, I was declared "4F," meaning that I was ineligible to serve. That is when I decided to consider going to graduate school in social work.
On the other hand, I found the efforts of the Alinsky-type radicals to bring about justice and hope for America's forgotten people to be worthy of my energies. It became my religion. I would lend myself to people less fortunate than I, determined to change the status quo. I believed that God would give me the courage to plow forward and conquer any obstacles standing in the way of improving the lives of those I was trying to assist.
At the same time there was a "peace movement" gaining momentum. I did not respect the organizers of the "peace" movement, whom I saw as cowards. When at Hardin-Simmons I enrolled in the Army ROTC program in 1958. After completing the two year program, I told my parents I was considering enrolling in the final two years of ROTC. Unbeknownst to me, my mother contacted our pediatrician, who wrote the draft board a letter about my childhood suffering from allergies. The next thing I knew, I was declared "4F," meaning that I was ineligible to serve. That is when I decided to consider going to graduate school in social work.
Wednesday, October 06, 2010
Misplaced Priorities
I entered Hardin-Simmons University in Abilene, Texas, in the fall of 1958. It was culture shock from day one. I don't think I fully understood anyone until halfway through that first year. For example, my roommate, a gifted pianist named Rex Wilson, told me he was from Snashional. Only later that year did I realize he was saying San Angelo. One day we walked across the campus, and he introduced me to three different people in three different locations on the campus. To the first one he said, "This is Bob, my roommate. He is from Iowa (pronounced with a long a). To the second he introduced me as Bob, from Idaho. To the third he introduced me as Bob, from Ohio. To Rex, people from all three of those states were just "yankees" anyway, so what difference did it make?
The saddest moment of my young life was when my best friend in high school, Tom Rivers, was killed in a car crash my freshman year at Hardin-Simmons. He was returning to school at Drake after a semester break. He was in such excellent shape he did not die right away, as all the other people in the accident did. A week later he died. I attended the funeral, sitting next to his mother. I was furious at the priest, who used the occasion to preach against sin. He obviously did not know the young man whose life we were celebrating.
It was love at first sight when I started attending the University Baptist Church. I could not believe the joyous singing. I was baptized and later became President of the Baptist Student Union. But, all was not right. Here I was at Hardin-Simmons University. Sammy Baugh was the football coach. Were there any black athletes on scholarship? No! Why? I started asking questions, but I was not getting answers that I liked. Why were there no blacks in the churches? I traveled with either the basketball team or the golf team to east Texas, and saw ridiculous separate drinking fountains. I watched television news and saw what was happening across America. My second job after graduation was as a child welfare worker. My supervisors did not like the fact that I watched the Huntley-Brinkley Report every night and then talked about what I saw the next day at work. My supervisors called it The Frontley-Pinkly Report (front for Communist front, and pink for Commies).
Then, John F. Kennedy came to Dallas. Although he was assassinated by a leftist Communist, there were people the next day quoted in the Dallas Morning News who were happy to see him killed. I left Texas in 1964 to go to graduate school in social work at the University of Kansas, and I was ready to get radicalized.
But wait, I'm going too fast. After graduation with a major in psychology and a minor in history, I married Lillian Pattillo, the prettiest girl at Hardin-Simmons. I was 22, and she was two years younger, and had just graduated from a certified Registered Nurse program in Abilene. Her father was a Baptist big shot from California. After a wonderful courtship, we embarked upon our honeymoon at Lake Murray in Oklahoma. It did not go well. Just like that, overnight, we went from romantic lovestruck kids to a couple who fought about everything, even on our honeymoon! Too damn young, too damn immature. We moved to Topeka, Kansas, where I began my first year of graduate school at The University of Kansas in Lawrence and Lil got a job as a nurse.
My "field placement" that year was at the V.A. Hospital in Topeka. Every Saturday I attended a seminar taught by none other than Dr. Karl Menninger, probably the foremost psychiatrist of his day. Psychiatrists from all over the world came to Topeka to study under him. I was assigned to work with alcoholic veterans and their families. Do you know what the fad treatment was in those days? Does the name Timothy Leary mean anything to you? That's right, a doctor would sit with a patient and put the patient on a LSD acid trip. Most of the veterans liked it better than alcohol!
The second year I was assigned to an elementary school in the "low income" area of Topeka. I worked with kids who were on the verge of being kicked out of school. I worked with them in a group, and tried to develop relationships with their parents, in order to encourage the parents to get involved with the school. Near the end of the school year two things happened that brought me great joy. One of my group members, the baddest, biggest black boy in the school, beat out a brainy diminutive blonde girl for the school spelling bee championship. Our group put on a play on Abraham Lincoln's birthday. The heretofore "worst behavior problem" in the school played the part of Abe. It changed the image of the group members significantly.
Dr. Roy Menninger, son of Karl, was the consultant to the Head Start program that started up the next summer after I graduated with my Masters degree in Social Work (M.S.W.), and I signed on. Never one to keep my thoughts to myself, one day I asked "Dr. Roy," "How is it helpful for us to sit here each week celebrating our superiority over the families who are sending children to this Head Start program (one of the first Head Start programs in America). He did not like the question. Luckily, I was saved from any further confrontations with "Dr. Roy" when an unlucky event occurred in June in Topeka. A tornado hit the ground and plowed its way across Topeka from southwest to northeast, lifting only at the state capitol, but still taking off some of the gold dome on its way back down to resume its destruction across town. I spent the summer helping families apply for emergency assistance to rebuild their homes and neighborhoods.
Lil gave birth to our first child, Laurie, shortly after the tornado came within one block of our modest house. We doted over Laurie as much as any parents ever doted over a child. She was my pride and joy. Two years later Marisa, our second child, was born, and we were just as proud of her as we had been of Laurie.
That fall I became Director of the Northeast Neighborhood Counseling Center in the Kansas City, Kansas ghetto. We counseled families and fought for innovations in education and hiring programs. A couple of years later I became a community organizer ala Saul Alinsky! My job was to organize poor people of all races to stand up for themselves and join together to help each other.
One night Lil and I were out to dinner together in Kansas City, Missouri. About ten p.m. a cop flashed his lights at me. I pulled over, the cop asked for my license and returned to his car. We waited for what seemed like a half hour. When the cop came up to me, he said he was taking me down to the station because I had a slew of unpaid parking tickets. I was indignant, and protested that I had no unpaid anything. It turned out that I had cosigned for a teen boy to buy a car. Since my name was on the title to his car, the tickets were traced back to my license. Nevertheless, I was "booked," and once again, there I was, back in the pokey! This time it was not a fun experience. I was put in a bullpen with quite a few other law-breakers. A drunk black man was brought in to the bullpen. The cop wound up and slugged the man in the stomach. Alinsky had been organizing the community to put a stop to police brutality. Now I had seen it up close and personal. I knew the Methodist minister that was working with Alinsky and actually counseling Chief Clarence Kelly on eliminating police brutality. I made my one phone call. I got out in the wee hours of the morning, and we got the cop fired a few days later.
That organizing job expanded into a ten state program where I was a regional director of the National Self Help Corporation. Our objective was to organize people enrolled in the federal government's WIN program, short for Work Incentive Program, in order to ensure that job opportunities were real and relevant. That job brought me to Colorado, as well as to Indian reservations in the West.
Things were not any better between Lil and me. I engaged in an extramarital affair. Where was that guy who had been baptized in the church as a born again follower of Jesus Christ? I had a new religion: the left wing "change the world" religion of Saul Alinsky. We did get back together, and moved to Denver, where I took a job training caseworkers all around Colorado. Three years later, I took a job as Director of Human Services in La Plata and San Juan Counties in beautiful southwestern Colorado. Our marriage lasted only a few more years. The saddest day of my life was when she was awarded full custody of our daughters.
The saddest moment of my young life was when my best friend in high school, Tom Rivers, was killed in a car crash my freshman year at Hardin-Simmons. He was returning to school at Drake after a semester break. He was in such excellent shape he did not die right away, as all the other people in the accident did. A week later he died. I attended the funeral, sitting next to his mother. I was furious at the priest, who used the occasion to preach against sin. He obviously did not know the young man whose life we were celebrating.
It was love at first sight when I started attending the University Baptist Church. I could not believe the joyous singing. I was baptized and later became President of the Baptist Student Union. But, all was not right. Here I was at Hardin-Simmons University. Sammy Baugh was the football coach. Were there any black athletes on scholarship? No! Why? I started asking questions, but I was not getting answers that I liked. Why were there no blacks in the churches? I traveled with either the basketball team or the golf team to east Texas, and saw ridiculous separate drinking fountains. I watched television news and saw what was happening across America. My second job after graduation was as a child welfare worker. My supervisors did not like the fact that I watched the Huntley-Brinkley Report every night and then talked about what I saw the next day at work. My supervisors called it The Frontley-Pinkly Report (front for Communist front, and pink for Commies).
Then, John F. Kennedy came to Dallas. Although he was assassinated by a leftist Communist, there were people the next day quoted in the Dallas Morning News who were happy to see him killed. I left Texas in 1964 to go to graduate school in social work at the University of Kansas, and I was ready to get radicalized.
But wait, I'm going too fast. After graduation with a major in psychology and a minor in history, I married Lillian Pattillo, the prettiest girl at Hardin-Simmons. I was 22, and she was two years younger, and had just graduated from a certified Registered Nurse program in Abilene. Her father was a Baptist big shot from California. After a wonderful courtship, we embarked upon our honeymoon at Lake Murray in Oklahoma. It did not go well. Just like that, overnight, we went from romantic lovestruck kids to a couple who fought about everything, even on our honeymoon! Too damn young, too damn immature. We moved to Topeka, Kansas, where I began my first year of graduate school at The University of Kansas in Lawrence and Lil got a job as a nurse.
My "field placement" that year was at the V.A. Hospital in Topeka. Every Saturday I attended a seminar taught by none other than Dr. Karl Menninger, probably the foremost psychiatrist of his day. Psychiatrists from all over the world came to Topeka to study under him. I was assigned to work with alcoholic veterans and their families. Do you know what the fad treatment was in those days? Does the name Timothy Leary mean anything to you? That's right, a doctor would sit with a patient and put the patient on a LSD acid trip. Most of the veterans liked it better than alcohol!
The second year I was assigned to an elementary school in the "low income" area of Topeka. I worked with kids who were on the verge of being kicked out of school. I worked with them in a group, and tried to develop relationships with their parents, in order to encourage the parents to get involved with the school. Near the end of the school year two things happened that brought me great joy. One of my group members, the baddest, biggest black boy in the school, beat out a brainy diminutive blonde girl for the school spelling bee championship. Our group put on a play on Abraham Lincoln's birthday. The heretofore "worst behavior problem" in the school played the part of Abe. It changed the image of the group members significantly.
Dr. Roy Menninger, son of Karl, was the consultant to the Head Start program that started up the next summer after I graduated with my Masters degree in Social Work (M.S.W.), and I signed on. Never one to keep my thoughts to myself, one day I asked "Dr. Roy," "How is it helpful for us to sit here each week celebrating our superiority over the families who are sending children to this Head Start program (one of the first Head Start programs in America). He did not like the question. Luckily, I was saved from any further confrontations with "Dr. Roy" when an unlucky event occurred in June in Topeka. A tornado hit the ground and plowed its way across Topeka from southwest to northeast, lifting only at the state capitol, but still taking off some of the gold dome on its way back down to resume its destruction across town. I spent the summer helping families apply for emergency assistance to rebuild their homes and neighborhoods.
Lil gave birth to our first child, Laurie, shortly after the tornado came within one block of our modest house. We doted over Laurie as much as any parents ever doted over a child. She was my pride and joy. Two years later Marisa, our second child, was born, and we were just as proud of her as we had been of Laurie.
That fall I became Director of the Northeast Neighborhood Counseling Center in the Kansas City, Kansas ghetto. We counseled families and fought for innovations in education and hiring programs. A couple of years later I became a community organizer ala Saul Alinsky! My job was to organize poor people of all races to stand up for themselves and join together to help each other.
One night Lil and I were out to dinner together in Kansas City, Missouri. About ten p.m. a cop flashed his lights at me. I pulled over, the cop asked for my license and returned to his car. We waited for what seemed like a half hour. When the cop came up to me, he said he was taking me down to the station because I had a slew of unpaid parking tickets. I was indignant, and protested that I had no unpaid anything. It turned out that I had cosigned for a teen boy to buy a car. Since my name was on the title to his car, the tickets were traced back to my license. Nevertheless, I was "booked," and once again, there I was, back in the pokey! This time it was not a fun experience. I was put in a bullpen with quite a few other law-breakers. A drunk black man was brought in to the bullpen. The cop wound up and slugged the man in the stomach. Alinsky had been organizing the community to put a stop to police brutality. Now I had seen it up close and personal. I knew the Methodist minister that was working with Alinsky and actually counseling Chief Clarence Kelly on eliminating police brutality. I made my one phone call. I got out in the wee hours of the morning, and we got the cop fired a few days later.
That organizing job expanded into a ten state program where I was a regional director of the National Self Help Corporation. Our objective was to organize people enrolled in the federal government's WIN program, short for Work Incentive Program, in order to ensure that job opportunities were real and relevant. That job brought me to Colorado, as well as to Indian reservations in the West.
Things were not any better between Lil and me. I engaged in an extramarital affair. Where was that guy who had been baptized in the church as a born again follower of Jesus Christ? I had a new religion: the left wing "change the world" religion of Saul Alinsky. We did get back together, and moved to Denver, where I took a job training caseworkers all around Colorado. Three years later, I took a job as Director of Human Services in La Plata and San Juan Counties in beautiful southwestern Colorado. Our marriage lasted only a few more years. The saddest day of my life was when she was awarded full custody of our daughters.
Golf, basketball, track and street-fighting
Okay, on to high school. Only two things mattered to me as I entered Central High in September of 1955: Judy and basketball. Our team (the junior varsity) went undefeated. The varsity had a different coach, and was lousy. A movement got underway in the community to demand the ouster of the varsity coach, who was best friends with Judy's father.
Fearing we were getting "too serious," Judy's father had forbidden her to continue her relationship with me. Nevertheless, I would wait on summer nights for her phone call, then sneak out of the house to meet her in exciting forbidden rendezvous. Apparently, people were writing the varsity coach cards and letters demanding that he quit. One of the letter-writers made his cursive "n"s similar to the way I wrote my letter "n"s. The coach accused me of being the letter-writer, which was absurdly incorrect. He forbade me from being on the basketball team. i was absolutely crushed.
I decided to get serious about golf. I soon became the second best junior golfer in the state. I qualified for the National Junior Championship in Maryland. I played a practice round of 27 holes on the day before the tournament was to begin. My playing partner was the number one player in Iowa. I beat him that day, only because he was not playing well. The best player in the world at that time was another teenager named Jack Nicklaus. Jack knew my playing partner. He spotted us drinking lemonades in the clubhouse and asked if we wanted to play 18 holes with him, since he had just arrived and did not know the course. My friend said sure, but I begged off. I knew my shaky confidence would be destroyed. A large gallery quickly developed. Jack drove his drive into a sand trap next to the green, some 350 yards away from the tee. (I would have been lucky to hit it 250 yards). Nicklaus proceeded to set a new course record that afternoon, on his first trip around the course! I did well enough in golf to win a scholarship to a school in Texas, which I will write about in a later installment.
One day Mohammed Sadden, a six-foot-three inch athlete who was our best high jumper in track came up to me at the beginning of a school day in front of the principal's office. "Your friend Judy is a slut," proclaimed Mr. Sadden loudly. Even though he was six-foot-three and I was five-foot-ten, I wound up and threw a leaping punch at his face. Someone broke up the fight, but we agreed to meet after school on the lawn of the Lutheran Church across the street. I swear the whole school turned out for this event. Mohammed wanted the rules to include only boxing. I quickly realized that would favor him, with his long arms, so I said "No, anything goes!" And so it did, for what seemed like a half hour, before the police car arrived to take us both down to the pokey. We were put in separate cells, but I was released right away to my parents, while Mohammed continued to smart off to the cops and sing jailbird songs. By the way, I think he is now a lawyer back in Sioux City! We became friends after I realized he was right about Judy (just kidding, if you're reading this, Judy).
My best friend in high school by far was Tom Rivers. I admired him so much, and enjoyed his family so much. If I was not home watching Johnny Carson or George Gobel or Perry Como at night with my Dad, I was at Tom's house. Tom became the best long distance runner in the state. He won a scholarship to Drake University in Des Moines.
Fearing we were getting "too serious," Judy's father had forbidden her to continue her relationship with me. Nevertheless, I would wait on summer nights for her phone call, then sneak out of the house to meet her in exciting forbidden rendezvous. Apparently, people were writing the varsity coach cards and letters demanding that he quit. One of the letter-writers made his cursive "n"s similar to the way I wrote my letter "n"s. The coach accused me of being the letter-writer, which was absurdly incorrect. He forbade me from being on the basketball team. i was absolutely crushed.
I decided to get serious about golf. I soon became the second best junior golfer in the state. I qualified for the National Junior Championship in Maryland. I played a practice round of 27 holes on the day before the tournament was to begin. My playing partner was the number one player in Iowa. I beat him that day, only because he was not playing well. The best player in the world at that time was another teenager named Jack Nicklaus. Jack knew my playing partner. He spotted us drinking lemonades in the clubhouse and asked if we wanted to play 18 holes with him, since he had just arrived and did not know the course. My friend said sure, but I begged off. I knew my shaky confidence would be destroyed. A large gallery quickly developed. Jack drove his drive into a sand trap next to the green, some 350 yards away from the tee. (I would have been lucky to hit it 250 yards). Nicklaus proceeded to set a new course record that afternoon, on his first trip around the course! I did well enough in golf to win a scholarship to a school in Texas, which I will write about in a later installment.
One day Mohammed Sadden, a six-foot-three inch athlete who was our best high jumper in track came up to me at the beginning of a school day in front of the principal's office. "Your friend Judy is a slut," proclaimed Mr. Sadden loudly. Even though he was six-foot-three and I was five-foot-ten, I wound up and threw a leaping punch at his face. Someone broke up the fight, but we agreed to meet after school on the lawn of the Lutheran Church across the street. I swear the whole school turned out for this event. Mohammed wanted the rules to include only boxing. I quickly realized that would favor him, with his long arms, so I said "No, anything goes!" And so it did, for what seemed like a half hour, before the police car arrived to take us both down to the pokey. We were put in separate cells, but I was released right away to my parents, while Mohammed continued to smart off to the cops and sing jailbird songs. By the way, I think he is now a lawyer back in Sioux City! We became friends after I realized he was right about Judy (just kidding, if you're reading this, Judy).
My best friend in high school by far was Tom Rivers. I admired him so much, and enjoyed his family so much. If I was not home watching Johnny Carson or George Gobel or Perry Como at night with my Dad, I was at Tom's house. Tom became the best long distance runner in the state. He won a scholarship to Drake University in Des Moines.
A 1940s early childhood
For the first fifteen years of my life, my family lived in a modest two story gray stucco house. I have mentioned a couple of times the alley that ran adjacent to the house. The bedroom I shared with my sister was on the second floor above that alley. On the other side of the alley lived a family whose adult son did not like his mother. When he drank too much alcohol, which seemed to occur daily, he could be heard saying to his mother "Ahhhh, Shaddup!" He would drag out those two words. I would be the chorus, repeating those two words until I cracked up my sister.
My own father would often get similarly frustrated at my mother, although alcohol was never a factor. His nickname for her was "Bump." When "Bump" would become unreasonable or selfish, one could hear my father exclaim, "Goddamn it, Bump, just stop it!" Dad, like my sister and I, found Mom's behavior maddening at times. For example, I loved to read. If it was a sunny day, and I was using a lamp to read, Mom would come over and turn off the light and move my chair across the room to "God's light." This was a vestige of her experience growing up during the Great Depression, I am sure. "Waste not, want not," was a motto she lived by. By the way, to this day, when I see one of my kids reading in poor light, I urge them to turn on a light.
Mom had several sisters. The ones I knew best were Aunts Dorothy, Midge, and Harriet.
Midge was like Mom in never wanting to throw anything away. She lived in Washington D.C., and had an important job as Executive Secretary to the Secretary of the Army. I remember once going out to a restaurant with Midge and her husband Walter. Walter was very smart, but very annoying. He invented many items for the corporation he worked for, proudly wearing his photo badge that evening at dinner. He would never think of demanding to be compensated for his inventions. I did not like the way he treated Aunt Midge. He belittled her. Then, when we arrived at their house, he went straight to the family organ and played love songs throughout the evening! The house was jammed waist high with newspapers, with a narrow passage to traverse the pathways.
Aunt Dorothy also had a prestigious job as Executive Secretary to Nevada's U.S. Senator McCarron. She arranged for me to attend a Senate debate on civil rights between Senator Hubert Humphrey of Minnesota and Senator William Knowland of California. Midge arranged for me to have a tour of the White House. They were redecorating, and I got to sit in the chair formerly used by President Harry Truman, in the room where things were being stored.
Aunt Harriet? Well, I remember two things. One, after her husband died, she gave me his used hair brush as a Christmas present. Two, I remember her stripping naked in our car to change clothes for wherever it was we were going.
My own father would often get similarly frustrated at my mother, although alcohol was never a factor. His nickname for her was "Bump." When "Bump" would become unreasonable or selfish, one could hear my father exclaim, "Goddamn it, Bump, just stop it!" Dad, like my sister and I, found Mom's behavior maddening at times. For example, I loved to read. If it was a sunny day, and I was using a lamp to read, Mom would come over and turn off the light and move my chair across the room to "God's light." This was a vestige of her experience growing up during the Great Depression, I am sure. "Waste not, want not," was a motto she lived by. By the way, to this day, when I see one of my kids reading in poor light, I urge them to turn on a light.
Mom had several sisters. The ones I knew best were Aunts Dorothy, Midge, and Harriet.
Midge was like Mom in never wanting to throw anything away. She lived in Washington D.C., and had an important job as Executive Secretary to the Secretary of the Army. I remember once going out to a restaurant with Midge and her husband Walter. Walter was very smart, but very annoying. He invented many items for the corporation he worked for, proudly wearing his photo badge that evening at dinner. He would never think of demanding to be compensated for his inventions. I did not like the way he treated Aunt Midge. He belittled her. Then, when we arrived at their house, he went straight to the family organ and played love songs throughout the evening! The house was jammed waist high with newspapers, with a narrow passage to traverse the pathways.
Aunt Dorothy also had a prestigious job as Executive Secretary to Nevada's U.S. Senator McCarron. She arranged for me to attend a Senate debate on civil rights between Senator Hubert Humphrey of Minnesota and Senator William Knowland of California. Midge arranged for me to have a tour of the White House. They were redecorating, and I got to sit in the chair formerly used by President Harry Truman, in the room where things were being stored.
Aunt Harriet? Well, I remember two things. One, after her husband died, she gave me his used hair brush as a Christmas present. Two, I remember her stripping naked in our car to change clothes for wherever it was we were going.
Take me out to the ball games.
As a young boy, I played outside every day until darkness befell the neighborhood. Were there fewer pedophiles then? I know of no such evidence. The difference is primarily the news media. Today's news media loves to focus on the sinsational. In the 1940s, the news was rosie and upbeat. America was a place where anyone with a dream could make it big.
And, dream I did. If you were looking for me back then, the first place to look would have been one-half block down the alley, shooting hoops behind Gary Asmussen's garage. Actually, it was much more than shooting hoops. I was the offense, defense, play-by-play announcer, and I drew up the brackets for the games that would lead to the championship. Most of the time I was the only player one could physically see, but to hear me (the play-by-play announcer), you'd think there were full teams and a crowd at each game.
I was also captain and founder of the "Northside Sparrows" baseball team. This was back way before Little League Baseball was invented by some parent trying to live vicariously through his son.
If the weather did not permit outside games, (I do not miss Iowa's winters) I wandered over to Tom Graham's house for a game of pool. Tom's dad was a doctor, and thus could afford to purchase a pool table. Mr. Graham was very kind. He would take us to football games in the fall, and to the fountain at Toller Drug Store for milkshakes after the games.
And, dream I did. If you were looking for me back then, the first place to look would have been one-half block down the alley, shooting hoops behind Gary Asmussen's garage. Actually, it was much more than shooting hoops. I was the offense, defense, play-by-play announcer, and I drew up the brackets for the games that would lead to the championship. Most of the time I was the only player one could physically see, but to hear me (the play-by-play announcer), you'd think there were full teams and a crowd at each game.
I was also captain and founder of the "Northside Sparrows" baseball team. This was back way before Little League Baseball was invented by some parent trying to live vicariously through his son.
If the weather did not permit outside games, (I do not miss Iowa's winters) I wandered over to Tom Graham's house for a game of pool. Tom's dad was a doctor, and thus could afford to purchase a pool table. Mr. Graham was very kind. He would take us to football games in the fall, and to the fountain at Toller Drug Store for milkshakes after the games.
"Tell Me a Story"
When I was a boy growing up in Iowa, we did go to church every Sunday, the First Methodist Church in Sioux City. I loved the hymns. This one kinda reminds me of a typical Sunday hymn there.
Dad served as an usher. I did not realize how boring the actual church service was until I went to college in Abilene, Texas and started attending Baptist churches. There will be much more on that in later installments. What made me think about this aspect of my childhood was this post I read today at Julie's Work in Progress blog.
Dad served as an usher. I did not realize how boring the actual church service was until I went to college in Abilene, Texas and started attending Baptist churches. There will be much more on that in later installments. What made me think about this aspect of my childhood was this post I read today at Julie's Work in Progress blog.
Fall photos of my home
Fall is definitely in the air here. It won't be long now until we get our first frost. With that in mind, I took a few pictures this morning.
On the sunny south side of the house, a tomato plant continues to produce delicious tomatoes above the trailing petunias. Farther in the background are the bamboo plants that seem to have no limit to their growth, even though I never water them. That is a peach tree on the right. It bore no fruit this year, because of the long, cold Spring.
The marigolds and petunias and a few cosmos are hanging on along side the garage. Yes, that is a punching bag hanging in the background.
To make sure an unexpected frost doesn't get them, I dug up my impatiens plants, put them in pots, and placed them inside in my bedroom.
In case you didn't know that about me, I like flowers. This planter with petunias and a dracena are on the back deck looking eastward.
On the sunny south side of the house, a tomato plant continues to produce delicious tomatoes above the trailing petunias. Farther in the background are the bamboo plants that seem to have no limit to their growth, even though I never water them. That is a peach tree on the right. It bore no fruit this year, because of the long, cold Spring.
The marigolds and petunias and a few cosmos are hanging on along side the garage. Yes, that is a punching bag hanging in the background.
To make sure an unexpected frost doesn't get them, I dug up my impatiens plants, put them in pots, and placed them inside in my bedroom.
In case you didn't know that about me, I like flowers. This planter with petunias and a dracena are on the back deck looking eastward.
Truman, Korea, and Eisenhower
I think I zipped through my account of my pre-teen years a little too fast in yesterday's Remembering. Let's talk a little more about those pre-teen years today, before getting to the teen angst.
When I was growing up, the news media consisted of radio and print. The people of our nation had just fought and won a World War. News coverage was ultra-patriotic; exactly the opposite of what we get nowadays. My parents did not much like Harry Truman. They did not like the liberal Ronald Reagan, either. Check out this video of Reagan campaigning for Truman and Hubert Humphrey in 1948! It just goes to prove once again that if you are not a liberal when you are a young adult, you have no heart; if you are not a conservative when you are fifty, you have no brains! Reagan showed himself to be a fearless fighter for the people he loved: the American people.
After having endured two World Wars, my parents and many other Americans did not want to get bogged down in another World War. They sided with the insubordinate General MacArthur. They did not believe in just containing Communism. They wanted victory. They liked Ike. I remember going to see and hear Ike and Tricky Dick Nixon at the Sioux City auditorium.
Television was a new thing then. Howdy Doody was the most popular show. Here was Ike's campaign commercial:
Simple as that, folks! Nothing complicated: Ike was the guy who engineered victory over Germany and Japan. He'll do the same in Korea. Let's quit pussy-footing around!
When I was growing up, the news media consisted of radio and print. The people of our nation had just fought and won a World War. News coverage was ultra-patriotic; exactly the opposite of what we get nowadays. My parents did not much like Harry Truman. They did not like the liberal Ronald Reagan, either. Check out this video of Reagan campaigning for Truman and Hubert Humphrey in 1948! It just goes to prove once again that if you are not a liberal when you are a young adult, you have no heart; if you are not a conservative when you are fifty, you have no brains! Reagan showed himself to be a fearless fighter for the people he loved: the American people.
After having endured two World Wars, my parents and many other Americans did not want to get bogged down in another World War. They sided with the insubordinate General MacArthur. They did not believe in just containing Communism. They wanted victory. They liked Ike. I remember going to see and hear Ike and Tricky Dick Nixon at the Sioux City auditorium.
Television was a new thing then. Howdy Doody was the most popular show. Here was Ike's campaign commercial:
Simple as that, folks! Nothing complicated: Ike was the guy who engineered victory over Germany and Japan. He'll do the same in Korea. Let's quit pussy-footing around!
Tuesday, October 05, 2010
Remembering
It all started on August 13, 1940. I was born in Sioux City, Iowa, a city of 80,000 people on the cliffs above the Missouri River on the west side of the state. By the way, Gene Autry was one of the heroes I worshiped as a boy growing up in Sioux City. The others were Tom Mix, The Lone Ranger, Hopalong Cassidy, and, of course, Roy Rogers. Roy and his horse, Trigger, actually came to the Orpheum Theater, and I got to shake hands with Roy and pet Trigger, or, was it the other way around...I can't remember.
Our family consisted of my sister Ruth, 6 years older than I, and Mom and Dad. Mom was a stay-at-home Mom, while Dad was at the time of my birth trying to learn how to be the manager of a local office of the Equitable Life Assurance Society. He worked long hours at that task, and was often not home until late at night in those early years. It was stressing him to the max. A few years later he gave up trying to manage people, and became a very successful life insurance salesman, working mainly with rural Iowa clients, who bought life insurance from him, because they realized he sincerely cared about them and their families. He was 37 when he became the father of me, his only son. I believe he was five years older than Mom.
Dad's mom was "Grandma Alice." She lived alone in Goldfield, Iowa, near the center of the state. Alice had at least one sister, my Aunt Nell, living in that same town. The sisters lived well into their eighties. I remember Grandma Alice as a sweet, smiling person. We got together with them several times a year, along with an assortment of my aunts and uncles and their kids. My Aunt Nell used to tell me there was a birdie in the house. She would whistle like a bird, then ask me to find the bird. I would look everywhere, while all the adults laughed, thinking this stupid kid had been bamboozled by the clever Aunt Nell.
I never knew Grandma Alice's husband. When I was a teen, Mom explained to me that he had committed suicide by shooting himself. Dad was the one to find him in a river bed, when Dad was a teen. Mom made me promise not to ever talk about this with Dad, but she did want me to understand that this event was the reason Dad was often sad. Alice raised three boys and two girls.
I did know both of Mom's parents. "Grandma Davis" was what I called Mom's mother. We never visited her house, but she often visited ours. I don't even know what town she lived in, although I think it was Davenport, Iowa, on the banks of the Mississippi River on the east side of the state. She was of German heritage, and had a tougher exterior than Grandma Alice. She had raised five daughters during the depression, while her husband, Fred, roamed the countryside looking for card games. He did show up at Lake Okoboji whenever our family went there for a few days of fun in the summertime. I guess Okoboji was just about the "coolest" place in Iowa, a pretty lake with an amusement park.
My parents neither drank nor smoked. Dad had a sister, Bess, who lived in Seattle. One summer we visited Bess out there. There was a regatta on the Puget Sound. Bess had a doctor friend who owned a yacht, and invited us all out on his boat with other friends during the regatta. Dad nudged me and told me to watch him put one over on all the drinkers on the boat. I sat next to him, while he was served drink after drink, pretending to drink the alcohol, but actually pouring it into the Puget Sound when no one but I was looking. He had more fun that day than any of the people who were using alcohol to have fun, a lesson not lost on his son.
Do you notice that I am writing more about my Dad than my Mom? That is because he was the one I felt closer to. He was the one who put up a basketball hoop in our tiny basement, and encouraged me, a third-grader, to dream of one day playing for the University of Iowa, where he had been a track star. He could beat the guy over the first two hurdles who won the Olympic Gold medal (the guy was portrayed in the movie Chariots of Fire). Unfortunately, sadness again entered Dad's life when someone ratted on him, and he lost his amateur status and eligibility to compete in track. You see, to help his mother feed her large family, Dad played semi-pro baseball in the summers.
I experienced Dad's speed first-hand, when I, a sixth-grader, was walking with a friend through the alley next to our house. Dad reminded me that I had an unfinished chore, and I stupidly showed off for my friend by giving Dad the middle finger. He chased me one block down the alley, a half-block down the hill, and one-half block around the corner to a parked car. He would have caught me much sooner, but he had stopped to look for just the right piece of wood for my well-earned consequence. We ran around and around the parked car until justice reached my rear end. I never again disrespected him.
Being a fast runner was the most important thing in the world to me, as I entered kindergarten at Hunt Elementary School. Only Joanie Burroughs could beat me in a race. I loved my third-grade teacher, Mrs. Green, whose son played for the Iowa Hawkeyes basketball team. By third grade, I was already a basketball fanatic.
By fifth grade, in Miss Zerbe's class, I had added baseball to my obsessions. That year I had a traumatic experience while attending a "softball" game. I put softball in quotes, because that dang thing was not very soft, when I was innocently walking back to my seat with a freshly purchased bag of popcorn, and the center fielder's throw to the plate was wildly errant enough to bean me on my noggin! I suffered "dizzy spells" for some time after that and missed a lot of school that year. I was home listening on the radio when Bobby Thomson hit "The Shot Heard 'Round the World." The Giants were my favorite team, and Leo Durocher my favorite manager. Once when Dad had a sales convention in Chicago, Leo Durocher was on the same elevator with me and Dad. Durocher graciously took me around the hotel lobby asking players to give me their autographs, before they left on the team bus for their game with the Cubs!
Another kind of obsession had hit me in the fourth grade, when I found myself becoming attracted to members of the opposite sex. That Spring I left May baskets at the front doors of both Mary Knoll and Judy Hamilton. If the girls could catch you, you had to let them kiss you. Somehow I lost my vaunted reputation for speed on that wonderful day.
In sixth grade cocky Bob met his match: Miss Bingamon. Miss Bingamon put up with no crap. If us guys were fooling around in the boys bathroom, that was no barrier to Miss Bingamon. She would come right on in and bang whomever she adjudged guilty against the bathroom wall. Thus, her well-earned nickname: Miss Bingbang! I was afraid of her, and that fear manifested itself most embarrassingly one day when I was giving a book report before the class. Yes, I peed my pants.
Pants also figured large in my seventh grade, which was the first year in junior high school. Because I had a reputation for being cocky, especially when I had a basketball in my hand, some guys from the "other side of town" bragged that they were going to "pants" me after school. "Pantsing" was when guys would take off your pants and hang them on the flag pole at school, or so I was told. My house was a long way from North Junior High, and I took a different route home every afternoon after school, until the threats died down and I became good friends with some very tough hombres on the basketball team.
Eighth grade was notable for my first love affair. I fell head over heals in love with Judy Kyle, who had long legs that she loved to cross and uncross whenever my eyes were turned in her direction. In ninth grade Judy became the lifeguard at the pool at the Boat Club, where my parents joined in order for my mother to play golf and my father to meet clients, while flailing away at the little white ball. I took up the game, and got pretty good at it.
In tenth grade we made the big transition to Central High School, "The Castle on the Hill." I'll pick up there in my next installment.
Our family consisted of my sister Ruth, 6 years older than I, and Mom and Dad. Mom was a stay-at-home Mom, while Dad was at the time of my birth trying to learn how to be the manager of a local office of the Equitable Life Assurance Society. He worked long hours at that task, and was often not home until late at night in those early years. It was stressing him to the max. A few years later he gave up trying to manage people, and became a very successful life insurance salesman, working mainly with rural Iowa clients, who bought life insurance from him, because they realized he sincerely cared about them and their families. He was 37 when he became the father of me, his only son. I believe he was five years older than Mom.
Dad's mom was "Grandma Alice." She lived alone in Goldfield, Iowa, near the center of the state. Alice had at least one sister, my Aunt Nell, living in that same town. The sisters lived well into their eighties. I remember Grandma Alice as a sweet, smiling person. We got together with them several times a year, along with an assortment of my aunts and uncles and their kids. My Aunt Nell used to tell me there was a birdie in the house. She would whistle like a bird, then ask me to find the bird. I would look everywhere, while all the adults laughed, thinking this stupid kid had been bamboozled by the clever Aunt Nell.
I never knew Grandma Alice's husband. When I was a teen, Mom explained to me that he had committed suicide by shooting himself. Dad was the one to find him in a river bed, when Dad was a teen. Mom made me promise not to ever talk about this with Dad, but she did want me to understand that this event was the reason Dad was often sad. Alice raised three boys and two girls.
I did know both of Mom's parents. "Grandma Davis" was what I called Mom's mother. We never visited her house, but she often visited ours. I don't even know what town she lived in, although I think it was Davenport, Iowa, on the banks of the Mississippi River on the east side of the state. She was of German heritage, and had a tougher exterior than Grandma Alice. She had raised five daughters during the depression, while her husband, Fred, roamed the countryside looking for card games. He did show up at Lake Okoboji whenever our family went there for a few days of fun in the summertime. I guess Okoboji was just about the "coolest" place in Iowa, a pretty lake with an amusement park.
My parents neither drank nor smoked. Dad had a sister, Bess, who lived in Seattle. One summer we visited Bess out there. There was a regatta on the Puget Sound. Bess had a doctor friend who owned a yacht, and invited us all out on his boat with other friends during the regatta. Dad nudged me and told me to watch him put one over on all the drinkers on the boat. I sat next to him, while he was served drink after drink, pretending to drink the alcohol, but actually pouring it into the Puget Sound when no one but I was looking. He had more fun that day than any of the people who were using alcohol to have fun, a lesson not lost on his son.
Do you notice that I am writing more about my Dad than my Mom? That is because he was the one I felt closer to. He was the one who put up a basketball hoop in our tiny basement, and encouraged me, a third-grader, to dream of one day playing for the University of Iowa, where he had been a track star. He could beat the guy over the first two hurdles who won the Olympic Gold medal (the guy was portrayed in the movie Chariots of Fire). Unfortunately, sadness again entered Dad's life when someone ratted on him, and he lost his amateur status and eligibility to compete in track. You see, to help his mother feed her large family, Dad played semi-pro baseball in the summers.
I experienced Dad's speed first-hand, when I, a sixth-grader, was walking with a friend through the alley next to our house. Dad reminded me that I had an unfinished chore, and I stupidly showed off for my friend by giving Dad the middle finger. He chased me one block down the alley, a half-block down the hill, and one-half block around the corner to a parked car. He would have caught me much sooner, but he had stopped to look for just the right piece of wood for my well-earned consequence. We ran around and around the parked car until justice reached my rear end. I never again disrespected him.
Being a fast runner was the most important thing in the world to me, as I entered kindergarten at Hunt Elementary School. Only Joanie Burroughs could beat me in a race. I loved my third-grade teacher, Mrs. Green, whose son played for the Iowa Hawkeyes basketball team. By third grade, I was already a basketball fanatic.
By fifth grade, in Miss Zerbe's class, I had added baseball to my obsessions. That year I had a traumatic experience while attending a "softball" game. I put softball in quotes, because that dang thing was not very soft, when I was innocently walking back to my seat with a freshly purchased bag of popcorn, and the center fielder's throw to the plate was wildly errant enough to bean me on my noggin! I suffered "dizzy spells" for some time after that and missed a lot of school that year. I was home listening on the radio when Bobby Thomson hit "The Shot Heard 'Round the World." The Giants were my favorite team, and Leo Durocher my favorite manager. Once when Dad had a sales convention in Chicago, Leo Durocher was on the same elevator with me and Dad. Durocher graciously took me around the hotel lobby asking players to give me their autographs, before they left on the team bus for their game with the Cubs!
Another kind of obsession had hit me in the fourth grade, when I found myself becoming attracted to members of the opposite sex. That Spring I left May baskets at the front doors of both Mary Knoll and Judy Hamilton. If the girls could catch you, you had to let them kiss you. Somehow I lost my vaunted reputation for speed on that wonderful day.
In sixth grade cocky Bob met his match: Miss Bingamon. Miss Bingamon put up with no crap. If us guys were fooling around in the boys bathroom, that was no barrier to Miss Bingamon. She would come right on in and bang whomever she adjudged guilty against the bathroom wall. Thus, her well-earned nickname: Miss Bingbang! I was afraid of her, and that fear manifested itself most embarrassingly one day when I was giving a book report before the class. Yes, I peed my pants.
Pants also figured large in my seventh grade, which was the first year in junior high school. Because I had a reputation for being cocky, especially when I had a basketball in my hand, some guys from the "other side of town" bragged that they were going to "pants" me after school. "Pantsing" was when guys would take off your pants and hang them on the flag pole at school, or so I was told. My house was a long way from North Junior High, and I took a different route home every afternoon after school, until the threats died down and I became good friends with some very tough hombres on the basketball team.
Eighth grade was notable for my first love affair. I fell head over heals in love with Judy Kyle, who had long legs that she loved to cross and uncross whenever my eyes were turned in her direction. In ninth grade Judy became the lifeguard at the pool at the Boat Club, where my parents joined in order for my mother to play golf and my father to meet clients, while flailing away at the little white ball. I took up the game, and got pretty good at it.
In tenth grade we made the big transition to Central High School, "The Castle on the Hill." I'll pick up there in my next installment.
Green Smiley Faces
Today Sara proudly showed me the green smiley faces she has earned at school. Colors change if behavior isn't good. Green means you get "beach bucks" to use when shopping at school (monopoly money). She has earned nothing but green all school year so far.
Red means you sit out ten minutes and get zero beach bucks. You get it if you are "snotty, mean, or pull someone's hair." Yellow isn't as bad as red, because you do not have to sit out for ten minutes. Interrupting teacher aides can get you a yellow smiley face. The worst is black. You don't even get a smiley face if your color is black. No one has yet gotten a black, which means "you're out of here!"
Sara told me, "I'm never going to be a bad kid at school, because if I am, they'll kick me out, then you'll home school me and make me do 25 lessons a day." She knows we would not "kick her out" of our home, so her incentive to "be a good kid" at home is not as strong. Colleen and I will have to put our heads together to figure out how to rectify that situation.
By the way, why do we use the color black to denote something bad?
Red means you sit out ten minutes and get zero beach bucks. You get it if you are "snotty, mean, or pull someone's hair." Yellow isn't as bad as red, because you do not have to sit out for ten minutes. Interrupting teacher aides can get you a yellow smiley face. The worst is black. You don't even get a smiley face if your color is black. No one has yet gotten a black, which means "you're out of here!"
Sara told me, "I'm never going to be a bad kid at school, because if I am, they'll kick me out, then you'll home school me and make me do 25 lessons a day." She knows we would not "kick her out" of our home, so her incentive to "be a good kid" at home is not as strong. Colleen and I will have to put our heads together to figure out how to rectify that situation.
By the way, why do we use the color black to denote something bad?
Monday, October 04, 2010
Franklin Graham: "Islam wicked and evil"
Rev. Franklin Graham, the son of Rev. Billy Graham, called Islam “wicked” and “evil” on Sunday during a televised town hall-style discussion about American’s feelings about the religion.
“They want to build as many mosques and cultural centers as they possibly can so they can convert as many Americans as they can to Islam,” Graham said on ABC’s “This Week.”
Graham went on to profess his love for “the Muslim people,” but said he has “great difficulty with the religion.”
“Especially with Sharia law and what it does for women – toward women, toward non-believers, the violence that is given in – under Sharia law,” Graham said.
Graham also said the Islamic center near ground zero should not be built, although he said Muslims “absolutely have the right to build a mosque or cultural center in this country.”
Graham made his remarks as part of a discussion led by Christine Amanpour that included Islamic activist Daisy Khan, former GOP presidential candidate Gary Bauer, two 9/11 families, and various figures with a range of views on Islam and its role in the United States.
From Politico
“They want to build as many mosques and cultural centers as they possibly can so they can convert as many Americans as they can to Islam,” Graham said on ABC’s “This Week.”
Graham went on to profess his love for “the Muslim people,” but said he has “great difficulty with the religion.”
“Especially with Sharia law and what it does for women – toward women, toward non-believers, the violence that is given in – under Sharia law,” Graham said.
Graham also said the Islamic center near ground zero should not be built, although he said Muslims “absolutely have the right to build a mosque or cultural center in this country.”
Graham made his remarks as part of a discussion led by Christine Amanpour that included Islamic activist Daisy Khan, former GOP presidential candidate Gary Bauer, two 9/11 families, and various figures with a range of views on Islam and its role in the United States.
From Politico
The way things were; the way things are.
Picture found at Infidel Bloggers Alliance
Let this photo be a fair warning. I am thinking about writing about my life. I need to examine my past in order to figure out why my present is bringing me such sadness. I'll probably start writing tomorrow.
Friday, October 01, 2010
Proactive response to repeated trauma
How does one avoid being psychologically or emotionally traumatized when experiencing frequent traumatizing events? From what I have been reading about trauma, a person experiencing trauma can react in one of three ways: proactive, reactive, or passive. Proactive would seem like the way to go. What would that look like? For the Christian, it would surely mean constant prayer, seeking God's guidance prior to, during, and after taking a proactive action step.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
How Great Thou Art
Whitney Houston a few days ago, now Elvis Presley. There is a special emotion that emanates from people who know they have fallen, but still love God.
Advice for parents of boys
The following was written by Cassandra of D.C.
"When I was young, masculinity was a one-size-fits-all affair: Men defended the weak, brought home the bacon, and kept the world running smoothly –while maintaining a stiff upper lip and a heroic reserve. Women had their own carefully prescribed role to play. We were caretakers, teachers, tenders of home and hearth. If men built the world, women connected it. As volunteers, bakers of cupcakes and holiday feasts, keepers of time-honored rituals and faithful recorders of birthdays, anniversaries, and the names of maiden aunties; women bound families and communities together. Our world offered fewer choices than the world of men, but in some ways it was indescribably richer.
The days of rigid gender roles are gone, but so (for the most part) are the restraining influences of morality, social convention, and taste. Today’s world has little use and even less respect for manly strength and character. Too often we confuse manliness with maleness, defining masculinity down to an uninspiring collection of barely controlled biological urges. This is a grave mistake, for a world with diminishing standards and few enforceable rules needs men more than ever.
What is the essence of masculinity? How can we cultivate and honor it in our sons? Harvey Mansfield once defined manliness as “a quality that causes individuals to stand for something”. If men have a salient quality, surely it is strength of body, mind, spirit, and character.
Is it still possible to raise strong, adaptable sons in a society that views manhood as a debased currency? The good news is this: with a bit of tweaking, the old standards still work.
1. Challenge your son to find and develop his own strengths. In an era of expanding choices, masculinity should not be a straitjacket. Not all boys love to fight, make noise, or play football—they need freedom to discover their abilities, and the discipline to develop them. Confidence flows from achievement, not empty praise. Whether your son excels on the baseball field or in the computer lab, challenge him to become good at something.
2. Don’t make excuses for bad behavior. Being male is not a handicap. Boys shouldn’t be expected to behave like girls, but they should be expected to behave.
3. Teach responsibility by delegating responsibility. Children whose parents do everything for them rarely develop the habits and discipline needed for independence and success. Masculine forcefulness is an admirable quality. Channel your son’s natural urge to take command of situations and people by putting him in charge of small jobs he can master with reasonable effort.
4. Sometimes, reality is the best teacher. Boys are usually far more impressed by actions than words. If you find yourself repeating the same warnings, stop talking and let him experience the consequences of his decisions. You can’t protect him from every danger. Let him take a few risks – that’s how boys learn.
5. Give him unconditional love, but not unconditional approval. Boys need love, but they also need firm limits. Insist that he treat others with respect and consideration.
6. Boys need heroes. Books are full of them. Teach him to love great books, and they will inspire him to be a better person.
7. Speaking of heroes, give him time alone with his father. As boys mature, it’s normal for them to pull away from their mothers a bit. Wanting time with Dad is a sign that your son is beginning to see himself as a man.
8. Teach him how to love. A mother’s relationship with her son prepares him for the relationship he’ll one day have with his wife. Older boys may need less mothering, but you can help him in other ways. Teach him how to talk to (and more importantly, handle conflict with) women as people.
9. Respect the father of your children. A boy raised in a home where men are honored is more likely to become a man worth honoring.
10. Look beneath the surface. Despite outward appearances, boys can be infuriatingly indirect. Many can’t – or won’t - admit that they need attention or want to talk. One of my sons loved to provoke me when something was on his mind. Years later, his wife tells me he still does that. Now that’s a smart woman.
11. Teach him to believe in something, defend something, serve something. Don’t neglect his moral education. The noblest expression of manhood occurs when strength and courage serve some larger purpose.
12. Hold on… but loosely. No matter how old he gets, your son will always need caring, engaged parents. But he also needs space to take risks, make mistakes and, most importantly, chart his own course.
If men are driven to stand for something, it follows that the world will be a better or worse place depending on what they strive for. Help your sons find worthy goals—then step back and watch them move mountains."
Cassandra of D.C.
A mysterious figure on the corner of the milblogging community, Cassandra reports on matters that pertain to war strategy, Afghanistan, Iraq, the Marine Corps, male-female relations, dogs, and what it takes to raise boys to be red-blooded men. She is the owner/operator of the blog VILLAINOUS COMPANY.
from RIGHTNETWORK
"When I was young, masculinity was a one-size-fits-all affair: Men defended the weak, brought home the bacon, and kept the world running smoothly –while maintaining a stiff upper lip and a heroic reserve. Women had their own carefully prescribed role to play. We were caretakers, teachers, tenders of home and hearth. If men built the world, women connected it. As volunteers, bakers of cupcakes and holiday feasts, keepers of time-honored rituals and faithful recorders of birthdays, anniversaries, and the names of maiden aunties; women bound families and communities together. Our world offered fewer choices than the world of men, but in some ways it was indescribably richer.
The days of rigid gender roles are gone, but so (for the most part) are the restraining influences of morality, social convention, and taste. Today’s world has little use and even less respect for manly strength and character. Too often we confuse manliness with maleness, defining masculinity down to an uninspiring collection of barely controlled biological urges. This is a grave mistake, for a world with diminishing standards and few enforceable rules needs men more than ever.
What is the essence of masculinity? How can we cultivate and honor it in our sons? Harvey Mansfield once defined manliness as “a quality that causes individuals to stand for something”. If men have a salient quality, surely it is strength of body, mind, spirit, and character.
Is it still possible to raise strong, adaptable sons in a society that views manhood as a debased currency? The good news is this: with a bit of tweaking, the old standards still work.
1. Challenge your son to find and develop his own strengths. In an era of expanding choices, masculinity should not be a straitjacket. Not all boys love to fight, make noise, or play football—they need freedom to discover their abilities, and the discipline to develop them. Confidence flows from achievement, not empty praise. Whether your son excels on the baseball field or in the computer lab, challenge him to become good at something.
2. Don’t make excuses for bad behavior. Being male is not a handicap. Boys shouldn’t be expected to behave like girls, but they should be expected to behave.
3. Teach responsibility by delegating responsibility. Children whose parents do everything for them rarely develop the habits and discipline needed for independence and success. Masculine forcefulness is an admirable quality. Channel your son’s natural urge to take command of situations and people by putting him in charge of small jobs he can master with reasonable effort.
4. Sometimes, reality is the best teacher. Boys are usually far more impressed by actions than words. If you find yourself repeating the same warnings, stop talking and let him experience the consequences of his decisions. You can’t protect him from every danger. Let him take a few risks – that’s how boys learn.
5. Give him unconditional love, but not unconditional approval. Boys need love, but they also need firm limits. Insist that he treat others with respect and consideration.
6. Boys need heroes. Books are full of them. Teach him to love great books, and they will inspire him to be a better person.
7. Speaking of heroes, give him time alone with his father. As boys mature, it’s normal for them to pull away from their mothers a bit. Wanting time with Dad is a sign that your son is beginning to see himself as a man.
8. Teach him how to love. A mother’s relationship with her son prepares him for the relationship he’ll one day have with his wife. Older boys may need less mothering, but you can help him in other ways. Teach him how to talk to (and more importantly, handle conflict with) women as people.
9. Respect the father of your children. A boy raised in a home where men are honored is more likely to become a man worth honoring.
10. Look beneath the surface. Despite outward appearances, boys can be infuriatingly indirect. Many can’t – or won’t - admit that they need attention or want to talk. One of my sons loved to provoke me when something was on his mind. Years later, his wife tells me he still does that. Now that’s a smart woman.
11. Teach him to believe in something, defend something, serve something. Don’t neglect his moral education. The noblest expression of manhood occurs when strength and courage serve some larger purpose.
12. Hold on… but loosely. No matter how old he gets, your son will always need caring, engaged parents. But he also needs space to take risks, make mistakes and, most importantly, chart his own course.
If men are driven to stand for something, it follows that the world will be a better or worse place depending on what they strive for. Help your sons find worthy goals—then step back and watch them move mountains."
Cassandra of D.C.
A mysterious figure on the corner of the milblogging community, Cassandra reports on matters that pertain to war strategy, Afghanistan, Iraq, the Marine Corps, male-female relations, dogs, and what it takes to raise boys to be red-blooded men. She is the owner/operator of the blog VILLAINOUS COMPANY.
from RIGHTNETWORK
Is your soul brave enough?
In the secularist’s mind, there is no soul to applaud. Even in brutality and sorrow, beauty often shines brightest in the soul brave enough to deny evil a foothold. It is the theme of redemption, the symphony of resurrection. And we are blessed to be able to sense it and doubly blessed to see it and appreciate it.
seen at Jaded Haven
seen at Jaded Haven
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Joy
Do you experience joy? Where does it come from? Inside you? Yes, but what if you are a Christian? What part does God play?
Do you recognize thoughts and behaviors that lead you in the opposite direction from joy? Where do those thoughts and resultant behaviors come from? Could it be Satan?
What are your traps; the thoughts you entertain that lead you away from joy, away from God? Mine emanate from self pity. Lately I have experienced some heartbreak and sadness. If I catch myself becoming flooded with those emotions and thoughts, I bring them to God. I ask for His Holy Spirit to lead me away from the temptations those thoughts invite. Guess what? He does!
Block out Satan. Don't even let him get near you. He's bad news!
Because of our sinful natures, the whole process begins again the next hour, day, week, or month, depending on the nature and frequencies of the temptations, and our willingness to trust God. I am finding that the more willing I am to trust Him, the more I see that He really will lead and guide me, and the less likely I am to get snagged in the temptations.
Do you recognize thoughts and behaviors that lead you in the opposite direction from joy? Where do those thoughts and resultant behaviors come from? Could it be Satan?
What are your traps; the thoughts you entertain that lead you away from joy, away from God? Mine emanate from self pity. Lately I have experienced some heartbreak and sadness. If I catch myself becoming flooded with those emotions and thoughts, I bring them to God. I ask for His Holy Spirit to lead me away from the temptations those thoughts invite. Guess what? He does!
Block out Satan. Don't even let him get near you. He's bad news!
Because of our sinful natures, the whole process begins again the next hour, day, week, or month, depending on the nature and frequencies of the temptations, and our willingness to trust God. I am finding that the more willing I am to trust Him, the more I see that He really will lead and guide me, and the less likely I am to get snagged in the temptations.
"There's a purpose for the gift that lies in you."
Suggestion: After they finish singing Holy, Holy, Holy, stay with them all the way to the end.
Pain Relief
I saw a man yesterday wearing a tee shirt that proclaimed:
BULL RIDERS EXPECT PAIN
BULL RIDERS ENDURE PAIN
BULL RIDERS DON'T COMPLAIN.
How about the rest of us? Do we expect some pain to come into our lives? Are we prepared to endure it? Do we complain? If so, where does our complaining lead us? Yep, to more pain.
I think that if we truly want to become stronger, the One we need to turn to is God. He is the One we cannot fool. We don't have to waste time convincing Him of the pain we are enduring; He already knows! With God, through His Holy Spirit, we can learn to trust Him to lead us away from the pain. After a while the trusting becomes easier, as we realize He is here for those of us who believe in Him, repent of our sins, and ask for His guidance.
BULL RIDERS EXPECT PAIN
BULL RIDERS ENDURE PAIN
BULL RIDERS DON'T COMPLAIN.
How about the rest of us? Do we expect some pain to come into our lives? Are we prepared to endure it? Do we complain? If so, where does our complaining lead us? Yep, to more pain.
I think that if we truly want to become stronger, the One we need to turn to is God. He is the One we cannot fool. We don't have to waste time convincing Him of the pain we are enduring; He already knows! With God, through His Holy Spirit, we can learn to trust Him to lead us away from the pain. After a while the trusting becomes easier, as we realize He is here for those of us who believe in Him, repent of our sins, and ask for His guidance.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Can they get more rude than this?
Rude catcalls aimed at Harry Reid's opponent. You don't suppose they were paid to ridicule her do you?
Football in the road
Our sandy country road rarely is visited by vehicles. Therefore, it is a nearly perfect place to throw around a football. When Sara joins in the action, I root for her to hold her own with those two older brothers, who are prone to unnecessary roughness when she is the ball carrier. I encourage her to return the favor when one of them thinks they are on the way to a touchdown. Believe me, she would love nothing more than to throw one of those guys for a loss.
Hangin' out with the kids
Because of the loss of some money we had come to depend on (five hundred dollars in child support money for Colleen's children from her first marriage) we find ourselves pinching our pennies until the first of next month. And, wouldn't you know it, I got a day off today! I had wanted to take ten and nine-year-old sons Jon and Greg to a ballgame (the Colorado Rockies are playing today, and so are the Denver Broncos). Instead, we decided still to make the one hour trek to downtown Denver before the starts of the two ballgames and do free or almost free stuff, and we had a great time.
First we went to the Wynkoop Brewery and Restaurant. They have a large area on the second floor with many pool tables, a shuffleboard area, and a darts area. We did all three for a grand total of $7.00, including tip! Then, we treated ourselves to three burgers and some wild fries at Good Times for $11.00. Everything else we did was free! That includes playing in a park made of different sizes of rectangles to climb high on, riding a free bus up and down the 16th Street Mall, talking to all kinds of people, and walking through Octoberfest, where we watched dancers and accordion players doing their thing. Oh, and I should not forget one of the "funnest" things we did. We went into the Westin Hotel and rode the escalators! Of course, the boys did not just stand still while the escalators were moving. Need I say more?
Our journalistic (blogger?) endeavor was to stop people and ask them if they knew why steam was pouring out of the streets. Jon had excitedly pointed out the steam to me. The best answer we got was that the buildings around there are heated by steam heat that flows underground to the buildings. Yes, people are probably turning on their heat during these 45 degree nights. Periodically, every few blocks, they purposely let the steam out into the street so it won't combust in the pipes or boilers in the buildings ("blowing off steam?")
Speaking of "blocks," my "country" boys did not know what I was talking about when I said gleefully, "we actually got a free parking spot only two blocks away from the Wynkoop!" I explained to them what a "block" is, and then said, "It's a good thing you learned this before you become teenagers and get teased for not knowing it." They did not believe anyone would tease them for not knowing something like that.
Though I wanted to take our adopted daughter, six-year-old Sara, with us, the boys begged me not to, since Sara almost always "acts crazy when out in public," for prolonged periods, and Colleen concurred with the boys' assessment. Sara's biological mother had been diagnosed with many psychiatric disorders. Sara starts getting silly, then laughs loudly and unceasingly, then starts screaming.
How do you think Colleen and I respond to willful, loud crazy behavior, given that we both have advanced degrees in the mental health fields? We tell her to stop acting crazy! We do not tolerate it. Of course, we couple those admonishments with lots of nurturing and encouragement, but bottom line is, our family is crazy enough, thank you very much, so we cannot afford to tolerate willful craziness. We dole out consequences to match the outrageousness of the behavior (usually missing out on something she wants to do). Does this parenting model work? Yes, Sara is making wonderful progress. And, almost all of the time she is included in all family endeavors. When I read her her bedtime stories, I quiz her afterwords to see how well she comprehended what we read, and her comprehension is excellent.
Nine-year-old Greg is going through a stage where he usually has a very hard time owning up to his behaviors. If confronted by Jon or Sara, he usually gets aggressive with them. If confronted by a parent, he often argues and denies culpability, thereby earning himself a closely supervised timeout, then a discussion led by a parent to assess the degree to which the timeout helped accomplish the goal of him accepting responsibility for his actions. Luckily, Colleen and I have always seen eye-to-eye on parenting issues, so they cannot play one of us against the other.
Both Jon and Greg, especially Jon, feel free to ask me questions on any subject. I try to give them clear, comprehensive answers. I am really enjoying them at their present ages.
Is parenting easy? No. Would I trade it for not parenting? No way!
First we went to the Wynkoop Brewery and Restaurant. They have a large area on the second floor with many pool tables, a shuffleboard area, and a darts area. We did all three for a grand total of $7.00, including tip! Then, we treated ourselves to three burgers and some wild fries at Good Times for $11.00. Everything else we did was free! That includes playing in a park made of different sizes of rectangles to climb high on, riding a free bus up and down the 16th Street Mall, talking to all kinds of people, and walking through Octoberfest, where we watched dancers and accordion players doing their thing. Oh, and I should not forget one of the "funnest" things we did. We went into the Westin Hotel and rode the escalators! Of course, the boys did not just stand still while the escalators were moving. Need I say more?
Our journalistic (blogger?) endeavor was to stop people and ask them if they knew why steam was pouring out of the streets. Jon had excitedly pointed out the steam to me. The best answer we got was that the buildings around there are heated by steam heat that flows underground to the buildings. Yes, people are probably turning on their heat during these 45 degree nights. Periodically, every few blocks, they purposely let the steam out into the street so it won't combust in the pipes or boilers in the buildings ("blowing off steam?")
Speaking of "blocks," my "country" boys did not know what I was talking about when I said gleefully, "we actually got a free parking spot only two blocks away from the Wynkoop!" I explained to them what a "block" is, and then said, "It's a good thing you learned this before you become teenagers and get teased for not knowing it." They did not believe anyone would tease them for not knowing something like that.
Though I wanted to take our adopted daughter, six-year-old Sara, with us, the boys begged me not to, since Sara almost always "acts crazy when out in public," for prolonged periods, and Colleen concurred with the boys' assessment. Sara's biological mother had been diagnosed with many psychiatric disorders. Sara starts getting silly, then laughs loudly and unceasingly, then starts screaming.
How do you think Colleen and I respond to willful, loud crazy behavior, given that we both have advanced degrees in the mental health fields? We tell her to stop acting crazy! We do not tolerate it. Of course, we couple those admonishments with lots of nurturing and encouragement, but bottom line is, our family is crazy enough, thank you very much, so we cannot afford to tolerate willful craziness. We dole out consequences to match the outrageousness of the behavior (usually missing out on something she wants to do). Does this parenting model work? Yes, Sara is making wonderful progress. And, almost all of the time she is included in all family endeavors. When I read her her bedtime stories, I quiz her afterwords to see how well she comprehended what we read, and her comprehension is excellent.
Nine-year-old Greg is going through a stage where he usually has a very hard time owning up to his behaviors. If confronted by Jon or Sara, he usually gets aggressive with them. If confronted by a parent, he often argues and denies culpability, thereby earning himself a closely supervised timeout, then a discussion led by a parent to assess the degree to which the timeout helped accomplish the goal of him accepting responsibility for his actions. Luckily, Colleen and I have always seen eye-to-eye on parenting issues, so they cannot play one of us against the other.
Both Jon and Greg, especially Jon, feel free to ask me questions on any subject. I try to give them clear, comprehensive answers. I am really enjoying them at their present ages.
Is parenting easy? No. Would I trade it for not parenting? No way!
Saturday, September 25, 2010
All right, Barack, that is a good beginning!
Okay now, President Obama has, according to today's Denver Post, called Ahmadinejad's comments "offensive," "hateful," and "inexcusable." Sounds like a good beginning to me.
Victor Davis Hansen, though, writing at National Review's The Corner, reminds us of the similarities between Obama's presidency and that of Jimmy Carter.
I hope we can avoid digging ourselves into our ideological prison camps, though, and support the President for his condemnation of Ahmadinejad's U.N. comments.
Victor Davis Hansen, though, writing at National Review's The Corner, reminds us of the similarities between Obama's presidency and that of Jimmy Carter.
I hope we can avoid digging ourselves into our ideological prison camps, though, and support the President for his condemnation of Ahmadinejad's U.N. comments.
South of Broad
Speaking of American novelists, as I did yesterday, is there a better novelist in America than Charleston's very own Pat Conroy? I am rereading his South of Broad. Wow!
Kissin' Cousins
My stepson Erik will graduate from high school this school year. He is also enrolled in a technical school, taking college level classes in diesel mechanics. He has always gone to the beat of his own drummer, or, in his case, his own guitar, on which he has learned to play beautifully classical guitar pieces. As the photo below, taken by his sister, indicates, he and she also have pretty wild senses of humor. He plans to use this for his senior photo in the school yearbook.
Friday, September 24, 2010
"Trapped in an intellectual cul de sac"
David Brooks nails it in his September 20 New York Times column about the writing of Jonathan Franzen. Franzen was recently featured on the cover of Time Magazine, which christened him "Novelist of the Decade." That piqued my curiosity, and I picked up his autobiography. I soon returned it to the library, because after only a few moments into the book I realized this was just one more leftist, albeit one who could write better than most.
Franzen has a new book, "Freedom," which Brooks reviewed in his column. Are Americans unhappy and spiritually stunted? Are we overobsessed with personal freedom? Brooks believes Franzen is really writing about America's literary culture.
Broooks' final paragraph:
Franzen has a new book, "Freedom," which Brooks reviewed in his column. Are Americans unhappy and spiritually stunted? Are we overobsessed with personal freedom? Brooks believes Franzen is really writing about America's literary culture.
Brooks writes: "If you judged by American literature, there are no happy people in the suburbs, and certainly no fulfilled ones."Bingo! Brooks continues:
"writers have become trapped in the confines of this orthodoxy. So even a writer as talented as Franzen has apt descriptions of neighborhood cattiness and self-medicating housewives, but ignores anything that might complicate the Quiet Desperation dogma. There’s almost no religion. There’s very little about the world of work and enterprise. There’s an absence of ethnic heritage, military service, technical innovation, scientific research or anything else potentially lofty and ennobling."
Broooks' final paragraph:
"Social critics from Thoreau to Allan Bloom to the S.D.S. authors of The Port Huron Statement also made critiques about the flatness of bourgeois life, but at least they tried to induce their readers to long for serious things. “Freedom” is a brilliantly written book that is nonetheless trapped in an intellectual cul de sac — overly gimlet-eyed about American life and lacking an alternative vision of higher ground."
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Buck wins Colorado Senate election
The Denver Post reports that Michelle Obama is coming to Colorado to campaign for Senator Michael Bennet in mid-October. GOP Senate candidate Ken Buck must be elated. Now Buck needs to play it close to the vest, not say anything stupid. The election is his to claim.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
"We're just going to have to be mature about mass murder."
Ace details the appeasement meme of the left and their spokesperson, Barack Obama:
September 21, 2010
Barack Obama To Bob Woodward This Past July: "We can absorb a terrorist attack. We'll do everything we can to prevent it, but even a 9/11, even the biggest attack ever . . . we absorbed it and we are stronger."
—Ace
From Woodward's new book, quoted in the Washington Post.
A little context here. The Obama and the leftist media will attempt to spin this as merely descriptive, and as a tribute to America's resiliency. After all -- we did survive 9/11, didn't we? (Well, actually, 2996 of us did not survive 9/11, but apart from them, we survived.)
This is merely Obama talking up America's capacity to endure, they will say.
But it's not. This is a meme that has been circulating on the left for quite a while, usually secretly and among themselves only, but sometimes, ill-advisedly, being pushed out into public as a trial balloon.
The idea, of course, is that America overreacted to 9/11, and 50,000 people die every year in car crashes, and we don't freak out about that, do we? No, we accept these as acceptable losses in the bigger picture (that is, we want to drive places) and we take the exchange. We drive, some of us will die. Sound bargain.
That's the killer notion here -- the idea of bargain. Of what is being exchanged for these deaths. In the case of automobile collisions, well, sure, we have mobility and freedom. That's something.
But the left is pushing this idea that we can safely "absorb" many new 9/11's with an eye towards getting us to "accept" the greater bargain they fatuously offer -- peace, and a general wind-down of post-9/11 security "overreactions" like the FBI tracking Muslims suspected of terrorist ties. If only we didn't overreact to the occasional mass-murder, we could go about our business without war, without increased security measures, without "Islamophobia," without the rest of it.
The problem, you see, is primarily within us, those being targeted for murder. If only we understood that this was a good bargain in exchange for living in a multicultural country and global economy, then we could be good citizens of the world and not lash out so terribly and uselessly when some of the more aggressive proponents of multiculturalism blow up a few of our buildings.
They will spin this, but this is what Obama is getting at, what the left is constantly saying, but which leftist politicians are careful never to say publicly: for the good of relations with the Muslim world we're just going to have to be mature about mass murder
Let's give it a try!
Do you believe God loves you? Then, why do allow yourself to get stressed out? That is the question I am asking myself this morning. If we believe God loves us, then we should also believe that God is available to help us conquer any problem we are facing. I believe God wants us to be joyous, grateful, positive contributors. Through the Holy Spirit He is here to help, and all we have to do is turn to Him throughout our days and nights, especially when we feel stress, anxiety, or loss. Let's give it a try!
Monday, September 20, 2010
Quotes that have meaning to me
Here are some quotes I have recently read. Most of them I cannot remember who said them. They just have meaning to me at this moment in my life.
"If you are going through Hell, keep going." (Winston Churchill)
"When a woman is done, she is well and truly done." (I saw this at the Washington Rebel blog.)
"Some friendships are formed as an alliance against a common enemy." David Sedaris, in his book Dress Your Family in Cordoroy and Denim
"What is the most beautiful sound in the world? Hearing the footsteps of the one you love approaching outside your door." (from William F. Buckley's book The Reagan I Knew"
"What is it like to live in the vortex of an impossible yearning?"
"It is better to keep your mouth shut and be thought a fool than to open it and erase all doubt."
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Falling Smile, Inc.
Greg (9) and Jon (10) have formed a corporation. Well, not one sanctioned by the state, but they just like the sound of the word "incorporated." Jon actually asked me "What does incorporated mean?" I started to formulate an answer, but before I did, the conversation had already rushed on to other topics.
The name of their "corporation" is "Falling Smile, Inc." It is Jon's idea, so I asked him what it means. An impish smile appeared on his face, but he only offered this answer: "I just have this HUGE imagination." Both boys like to draw humorous pictures. This morning I could not find the one Jon did last night as I was tucking them in for the night. Greg drew this one. It is a pencil drawing of "Pumpkin Man," who is smiling while wearing a necktie and cowboy boots. In the upper right hand corner, purposely upside down, is the logo of Falling Smile, Inc.
The name of their "corporation" is "Falling Smile, Inc." It is Jon's idea, so I asked him what it means. An impish smile appeared on his face, but he only offered this answer: "I just have this HUGE imagination." Both boys like to draw humorous pictures. This morning I could not find the one Jon did last night as I was tucking them in for the night. Greg drew this one. It is a pencil drawing of "Pumpkin Man," who is smiling while wearing a necktie and cowboy boots. In the upper right hand corner, purposely upside down, is the logo of Falling Smile, Inc.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Can she convince Barack?
A new book co-written by Carla Bruni quotes Michelle Obama as saying that being America's first lady is "Hell." "I can't stand it," Michelle tells Italian actress and wife of French President Sarcozy. Now, if she can just convince Barack that one term is enough...
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Would that be cheating?
Sara was getting her "Sisterlocks" done today, so Jon (10), Greg (9), and I went on a bike ride on the sandy country road. Greg's bike is perpetually under the weather, since he rides it like a cowboy riding a bull, so he took Sara's. First, though, Greg had to make a sign to cover the Barbie bike bag on Sara's bike. "NOT MY BIKE" read the sign.
When Sara (6) got home from getting her hair done, I read her some stories and tucked her in. When it came time for prayers, I ended with "In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit." "What about the Daughter? Sara yelled indignantly. I told her "I don't know." I suggested she ask God about that the next time she sees HIm. She immediately responded that God is with her all day long. He usually sits in Ian's chair, because Ian is usually absent. The only time God is not with Sara, she asserted, is when she is doing a spelling test. "That would be cheating, to ask God how to spell a word."
When Sara (6) got home from getting her hair done, I read her some stories and tucked her in. When it came time for prayers, I ended with "In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit." "What about the Daughter? Sara yelled indignantly. I told her "I don't know." I suggested she ask God about that the next time she sees HIm. She immediately responded that God is with her all day long. He usually sits in Ian's chair, because Ian is usually absent. The only time God is not with Sara, she asserted, is when she is doing a spelling test. "That would be cheating, to ask God how to spell a word."
The Wicked Witch of the West
Nancy Pelosi actually has someone who is running against her for the San Francisco seat in the House of Representatives...and, he has a sense of humor! How cool is that? His name is John Dennis. Go to You Tube and search for wicked witch Nancy Pelosi. Note the reference to the McCain-Feingold incumbent-protection-mandated-message at the end of the video. Surprisingly, (heh) the powers that be would not allow me to post the video here.
Tuesday Humor
Checking out Mike Rosen's humor page is always gratifying. For example, there is Doug Powers' column on what leftists wish were different about the Bible. Here are a few of my favorite quotes from that column:
Then, there is this one on Age Activated Attention Deficit Disorder:
Instead of gold, frankincense and myrrh, they should have brought hummus, incense and a representative from Child Protective Services.
And the thing about the Bible that drives the left the most crazy? People can find salvation without their assistance.
Then, there is this one on Age Activated Attention Deficit Disorder:
Diagnosed with AAADD
Recently, I was Diagnosed with AAADD - Age Activated Attention Deficit Disorder. This is how it manifests:
I decide to water my garden. As I turn on the hose in the driveway, I look over at my car and decide my car needs washing. As I start toward the garage, I notice that there is mail on the porch table that I brought up from the mail box earlier.
I decide to go through the mail before I wash the car. I lay my car keys down on the table, put the junk mail in the garbage can under the table, and notice that the can is full. So, I decide to put the bills back on the table and take out the garbage first.
But then I think, since I'm going to be near the mailbox when I take out the garbage anyway, I may as well pay the bills first. I take my check book off the table, and see that there is only 1 check left. My extra checks are in my desk in the study, so I go inside the house to my desk where I find the can of Coke that I had been drinking.
I'm going to look for my checks, but first I need to push the Coke aside so that I don't accidentally knock it over. I see that the Coke is getting warm, and I decide I should put it in the refrigerator to keep it cold. As I head toward the kitchen with the Coke, a vase of flowers on the counter catches my eye--they need to be watered. I set the Coke down on the counter, and I discover my reading glasses that I've been searching for all morning.
I decide I better put them back on my desk, but first I'm going to water the flowers. I set the glasses back down on the counter, fill a container with water and suddenly I spot the TV remote. Someone left it on the kitchen table. I realize that tonight when we go to watch TV, I will be looking for the remote, but I won't remember that it's on the kitchen table, so I decide to put it back in the den where it belongs, but first I'll water the flowers.
I pour some water in the flowers, but quite a bit of it spills on the floor. So, I set the remote back down on the table, get some towels and wipe up the spill. Then, I head down the hall trying to remember what I was planning to do.
At the end of the day:
1) The car isn't washed
2) The bills aren't paid
3) There is a warm can of Coke sitting on the counter
4) The flowers don't have enough water,
5) There is still only 1 check in my check book,
6) I can't find the remote,
7) I can't find my glasses,
8) And I don't remember what I did with the car keys.
Then, when I try to figure out why nothing got done today, I'm really baffled because I know I was busy all day long, and I'm really tired. I realize this is a serious problem, and I'll try to get some help for it, but first I'll check my e-mail.
On Communism, Capitalism, and Christianity
The Wall Street Journal has a front page story today about the fact that Cuba is going to lay off half a million state workers between now and March, and try to encourage the development of free market capitalism! Interestingly, the Journal article says that the Catholic Church has been recommending this course of action to the Castro brothers for some time now. But, how will these laid-off workers be absorbed into the private economy, when there is not much of a private economy to absorb them? 85% of Cuba's workers belong to the state union, and work for the state. Unlike here in America, where public sector jobs pay more than private sector jobs, when all benefits are considered, in Cuba it is the opposite. The few private sector jobs they do have pay three times what the public sector jobs pay.
Capitalism is based on the simple principle of providing goods or services that people decide voluntarily to choose to buy in a competitive marketplace. Socialism, of course, is based on the principle of taking away from some people to distribute to others; the opposite of voluntary choice.
One of the companies that has succeeded in the free market is Wal-Mart. Wal-Mart emphasizes the three A's. All cashiers are trained to Acknowledge the customer with a warm smile as soon as the customer gets within ten feet of the cashier. Then Wal-Mart expects the cashier to Act on behalf of the customer; providing excellent service to that customer. Finally, Wal-Mart expects their cashiers to Appreciate the customer; to let the customer know that their business is appreciated. One of the features of the Wal-Mart experience is that there is a greeter at the door to make sure you have a shopping cart and are greeted with a friendly hello when you enter the building and thanked when you leave. Simple, but basic. Wouldn't all of us be better off if we ran our families on those three basic principles?
Of course, there is much more to the Wal-Mart story. There is also the principle of providing people with the stuff they want at a price that is lower than anybody else's. Those cashiers I mentioned? They have to be willing to put into practice cheerfully and sincerely those three A's, while working for wages and benefits that are lower than the union-operated stores of Wal-Mart's competitors. To survive on the low wages, Wal-Mart employees have to be willing to go along with the Biblical injunction not to lay up for themselves treasures on this Earth; meaning that they have to live simply with not a lot of material possessions, and still be people who practice the golden rule established a couple of centuries ago by Jesus Christ.
Thursday, September 09, 2010
Fed up with appeasement
Talk radio has a real lively issue today: the Florida pastor's desire to burn the Qu'ran tomorrow. Judging by the calls I have heard, there is widespread support for this idea. People are tired of what they perceive as our country's kowtowing to muslims. There can be no doubt that Obama is an appeaser, and that he is solidly supported in these endeavors by the dinosaur media, and that a large segment of Americans are fed up with it.
"Conservatism's Extreme Makeover"
In my daily trip to the Washington Rebel blog, I was referred to an excelllent piece in the American Thinker blog by J.R. Dunn entitled Conservatism's Extreme Makeover. Dunn examines the history of conservatism from William F. Buckley to today's Tea Party movement.
Here are a couple of excerpts, but I urge you to read the whole thing.
His conclusion:
Here are a couple of excerpts, but I urge you to read the whole thing.
Conservatives wasted effort and energy on silly crusades against popular culture, style, and behavior that isolated them still further from average Americans. Nothing about American music, film, sport, or social life seemed to please the new center-right. This deepened their isolation along with earning them a reputation as humorless, over-intellectualized stuffed shirts.
His conclusion:
The year 2010 is likely to be a banner year for the conservative impulse in American life. The Tea Parties have already pushed aside several go-along-to-get-along Republican hacks (which in itself repudiates accusations of partisanship). The sweep of corrupt and ideologized Democrats promises to be an order of magnitude larger. But the 2010 election may well turn into no more than another good election season if we don't take advantage of the disarray in the left's messaging system. We need to look farther and deeper than a single election. We need to bury the calumnies against conservatism that have given the left the advantage for a half-century and longer. To remove the weapon of slander from leftist hands. Elite conservatives failed to attempt this for decade upon decade. The time has arrived to see that it gets done. We must move to change the culture, to establish once and for all the truth that conservatism is a core element of American life, that it is no oddity, no perversion, no dead end. That the modernist political debate is over, with the failure of leftist progressivism manifest and undeniable, and that the game must now be played on American terms.
We will have no better opportunity than this. That most American of political phenomena, the Tea Parties, has established once and for all that conservatism is American and that America is a conservative nation. If we can build upon this, our road will be a lot smoother than it has been.
Blood-sucking relationships
There are many things happening in today's world that I do not understand. Close to the top of the list is people's fascination with vampires. In times like this, when money is tight, to say the least, how is it that so many people spend their limited discretionary funds on books, movies, and cable t.v. shows that glorify blood-sucking relationships?
Who on Madison Avenue is behind this? How did so many people get this addiction? If any reader of this blog has any insight into this phenomena, I would really appreciate hearing from you. It is not just teenage girls; the phenomena has a solid grip on adults, too. It seems to be mainly females, though, who are caught up in this. Why?
Colleen thinks it is about risk. A woman knows that a relationship involves risk, but she also thinks she can change the wild beast and domesticate him. Does she secretly hope that by engaging in romantic love with that man, the risk will be contained? Kind like a romance novel with extra bite.
Who on Madison Avenue is behind this? How did so many people get this addiction? If any reader of this blog has any insight into this phenomena, I would really appreciate hearing from you. It is not just teenage girls; the phenomena has a solid grip on adults, too. It seems to be mainly females, though, who are caught up in this. Why?
Colleen thinks it is about risk. A woman knows that a relationship involves risk, but she also thinks she can change the wild beast and domesticate him. Does she secretly hope that by engaging in romantic love with that man, the risk will be contained? Kind like a romance novel with extra bite.
Wednesday, September 08, 2010
The Burning Platform
Tonight I read a blog with which I was very impressed. Backing up esays with impressive graphs, The Burning Platform had these stories: THE AGE OF MAMMON, RETAILERS - REALITY CHECK TIME, To Burn - or Not to Burn (The Qu'ran), YOU CALL THIS AUSTERITY?, WHERE THE JOBS AREN'T, and REAL WORLD IMPACT OF OBAMACARE.
Demographics matter
Daphne, who writes the Jaded Haven blog in the great state of Texas, has some thoughts about what Texas is going to look like in the not-too-distant future. As Mark Steyn showed in his brilliant book America Alone, demographics matter. Here is an excerpt from her post on the demographics of Texas:
Texas will become a majority Hispanic state within eight short years. By 2020 the majority of Texas voters will be Hispanic and we will no longer be a reliably red state in senate or presidential elections. Several other western and southern states will quickly follow suit as the tide of Hispanic births drastically alters predictable voting patterns and we’ll eventually watch the political fruits of our GOP business friendly immigration policies fundamentally change the American face of politics forever.
The "new tyranny of multiculturalism"
Victor Davis Hansen, in a new blog called RIGHTNETWORK, posts on the subject of multiculturalism. Here is a brief excerpt:
What are the wages of this new tyranny of multiculturalism?
One, the double standard is untenable. Once we deify multiculturalism, all else becomes subordinate. There is no reason why feminists should object that Muslim immigrants arrange marriages or practice female circumcision inside the U.S. In sum, multiculturalism will eventually discredit liberal feminism and the entire idea of universal racial and religious tolerance.
Two, bigotry abroad will only grow, as others sense that the United States lacks the confidence in its own values to extend its self-critical principles abroad. Already, countries not only smile at the notion that a self-proclaimed liberal United States proves not so brave in its criticism overseas, but also believes, even if in condescending fashion, that non-Westerners enjoy some sort of high moral ground that shields them moral audit.
Three, the contradictions lead to caricature. This was best evidenced last summer in Cairo when President Obama falsely claimed certain historical achievements on the part of Islam—from helping to foster the European Renaissance and Enlightenment to Muslim opposition to Christian inquisitions in Cordoba—all the while delineating Western shortcomings. The problem was not just that even President Obama’s compliant audience in Cairo did not believe all that, but they also earned certain delight with his strange eagerness to bend the truth on their behalf. Here at home, supporters did not care that their President had fabricated and distorted history; it was his intention to reach out to the other that mattered.
Multiculturalism is a good reminder that when standards are relative, there are no standards at all.
Can laughing at serious problems help you to solve them?
I have hinted a few times that I am trying to deal with an incredibly difficult situation in my life. Faithful and much appreciated reader, Terri Wagner, read my recent post on Christopher Buckley's satirical novel, Boomsday, and shared this insight in the comments section at the end of the post at Bob's Blog: "Sometimes laughing at a serious problem helps you to solve it, now why is that so?" If that question is not fodder for a blog post, I don't know what would be!
In a recent blog post entitled Making Good Choices, I quoted from two consultants who advised, among other things, that the person who has the problem should try to go directly to the source in order to "get the real story." But what if that leads one to heartbreak or to self-pity, two highly undesirable experiences? The consultants also advised that we try to be optimistic and hopeful; to look at the future with positive expectations, even though one is trying to deal with an extremely difficult situation in the present. I like that approach. Humor is one way to turn negative expectations into positive ones. It also helps rid one of self-pity, anxiety and heartbreak.
Most helpful of all, though, is belief in a loving God, and faith that by acknowledging my own role in the creation of the problem, asking for the guidance and power of the Holy Spirit, and trusting God, a better reality will emerge. Maybe it is the Holy Spirit who is leading me to utilize humor in solving the problem!
In a recent blog post entitled Making Good Choices, I quoted from two consultants who advised, among other things, that the person who has the problem should try to go directly to the source in order to "get the real story." But what if that leads one to heartbreak or to self-pity, two highly undesirable experiences? The consultants also advised that we try to be optimistic and hopeful; to look at the future with positive expectations, even though one is trying to deal with an extremely difficult situation in the present. I like that approach. Humor is one way to turn negative expectations into positive ones. It also helps rid one of self-pity, anxiety and heartbreak.
Most helpful of all, though, is belief in a loving God, and faith that by acknowledging my own role in the creation of the problem, asking for the guidance and power of the Holy Spirit, and trusting God, a better reality will emerge. Maybe it is the Holy Spirit who is leading me to utilize humor in solving the problem!
But wait, there's more!
This morning I turned on the radio and heard that a preacher in Florida plans to have a book-burning on September 11. The problem is that the book he plans to burn is the Koran! General Petraeus has asked that he not do so. My first thought was that this is straight out of a Christopher Buckley novel!
Then there was the story about the woman who for years has been involved with a lawsuit pending against the USDA for millions of dollars on behalf of black farmers in Georgia. The Obama administration hired her to have a high level position where? The USDA! But wait, there is more! Someone sent to Andrew Breitbart excerpts of a video in which the woman, Shirley Sherrod, is seen addressing a predominantly black audience, telling them that she had received a request from a poor white farmer for some assistance. The audience appeared to happily receive her initial words that she did not want to help the white farmer. Breitbart published the video. Sherrod was fired from her USDA posoition
But wait, there's more! It turns out that in fact she did help the white farmer, as a viewing of the entire video, not an excerpt, would have revealed. The "mainstream media," whose biases Breitbart is dedicated to exposing, skewered Breitbart. Breitbart blogs at Andrew Breitbart.com, but he also is the proprietor of three other excellent blogs, Big Hollywood, Big Journalism, and Big Governemnt.
But wait, there's more! An incident had allegedly occurred in which members of Tea Party groups had spat upon two black members of Congress as they were walking into the Capitol building. The Tea Party members also allegedly used the vile "n" word. Breitbart had obtained videos of the members of the black caucus as they walked into the capitol, and in the videos there is absolutely no evidence to support the allegations. Breitbart took the videos to NBC, CBS, and ABC, but none were interested in exposing the fact that no one confronted the Black politicians on their walk to the Capitol. No one from the black caucus has produced videos or eye-witnesses to substantiate their allegations. Do you suppose it is possible a scenario of alleged racism was cooked up by politicians to discredit the Tea Party movement? Nah, that sounds like something straight out of a Christopher Buckley novel!
My point is that a wonderful satirical novelist like Buckley can help us realize that politicians really can have sinister motives behind the actions they take. Laughing at the novel helps us not to take seriously the allegations made by politicans in real life to manipulate us one way or another on issues.
Then there was the story about the woman who for years has been involved with a lawsuit pending against the USDA for millions of dollars on behalf of black farmers in Georgia. The Obama administration hired her to have a high level position where? The USDA! But wait, there is more! Someone sent to Andrew Breitbart excerpts of a video in which the woman, Shirley Sherrod, is seen addressing a predominantly black audience, telling them that she had received a request from a poor white farmer for some assistance. The audience appeared to happily receive her initial words that she did not want to help the white farmer. Breitbart published the video. Sherrod was fired from her USDA posoition
But wait, there's more! It turns out that in fact she did help the white farmer, as a viewing of the entire video, not an excerpt, would have revealed. The "mainstream media," whose biases Breitbart is dedicated to exposing, skewered Breitbart. Breitbart blogs at Andrew Breitbart.com, but he also is the proprietor of three other excellent blogs, Big Hollywood, Big Journalism, and Big Governemnt.
But wait, there's more! An incident had allegedly occurred in which members of Tea Party groups had spat upon two black members of Congress as they were walking into the Capitol building. The Tea Party members also allegedly used the vile "n" word. Breitbart had obtained videos of the members of the black caucus as they walked into the capitol, and in the videos there is absolutely no evidence to support the allegations. Breitbart took the videos to NBC, CBS, and ABC, but none were interested in exposing the fact that no one confronted the Black politicians on their walk to the Capitol. No one from the black caucus has produced videos or eye-witnesses to substantiate their allegations. Do you suppose it is possible a scenario of alleged racism was cooked up by politicians to discredit the Tea Party movement? Nah, that sounds like something straight out of a Christopher Buckley novel!
My point is that a wonderful satirical novelist like Buckley can help us realize that politicians really can have sinister motives behind the actions they take. Laughing at the novel helps us not to take seriously the allegations made by politicans in real life to manipulate us one way or another on issues.
Sunday, September 05, 2010
Making good choices
If you are like me, you are faced with difficult decisions. Reading the Denver Post's job section again today brought me some pearls of wisdom from consultants Jamie and Maren Shokeir. These tips are designed to help you in the workplace, but it seems to me they also work in the home, and I added my own perspective.
1. Acknowledge your role in the problems you are trying to deal with. See yourself in control of your future.
2. If you spend too much time speculating on what may happen next, things may get worse.
3. Get the real story. I am prone to anxiety attacks, fear of loss. The best way to deal with anxiety is to ask direct questions about the bottom line.
4. Don't play the victim. That leads nowhere except Hell.
5. Think big picture. Put aside rivalries. Collaborate.
6. Be more of a listener than a talker.
7. Try to focus on the possibility of better times ahead.
To these I would add: Turn to the Almighty. Ask for the Holy Spirit to guide you. Be aware of the things that push your anxiety and fear buttons, and turn to God when you know you are about to be tested.
1. Acknowledge your role in the problems you are trying to deal with. See yourself in control of your future.
2. If you spend too much time speculating on what may happen next, things may get worse.
3. Get the real story. I am prone to anxiety attacks, fear of loss. The best way to deal with anxiety is to ask direct questions about the bottom line.
4. Don't play the victim. That leads nowhere except Hell.
5. Think big picture. Put aside rivalries. Collaborate.
6. Be more of a listener than a talker.
7. Try to focus on the possibility of better times ahead.
To these I would add: Turn to the Almighty. Ask for the Holy Spirit to guide you. Be aware of the things that push your anxiety and fear buttons, and turn to God when you know you are about to be tested.
Saturday, September 04, 2010
Boomsday
Now reading Boomsday, Christopher Buckley's hilarious take on how to fix the Social Security mess. The boomers reach the magic age of retirement, and who is left with the bill?
Once again, the chief character of the story is a woman. Ditto Florence of Arabia and Supreme Courtship. No doubt this reflects the influence of the complex and powerful woman who was Christopher's mother. Not only was he the beneficiary of such a fascinating woman, but now, we are, too.
Once again, the chief character of the story is a woman. Ditto Florence of Arabia and Supreme Courtship. No doubt this reflects the influence of the complex and powerful woman who was Christopher's mother. Not only was he the beneficiary of such a fascinating woman, but now, we are, too.
Friday, September 03, 2010
To whom do we give attention?
Whenever I am home in the evenings I like to ask the kids if they want to go on a bike ride. Greg and Sara said yes last evening. I don't have gears in my bike, so the kids invariably charge out ahead of me on the sandy country road. Toward the end of the long ride, though, Sara fell behind and started to whimper loudly. I asked what was wrong. She did not answer. So, did I continue to cater to her and give her attention for expressing her misery? No! Instead, I told her that she would be going to bed as soon as we arrived home. She recovered amazingly, and soon passed me on the home stretch.
If you give kids attention when they are whining and wimpering, you lay the groundwork for that child to become a whiny, wimpering adult. I want to give attention to the child who is tackling a challenge, who is displaying good humor and enjoying life.
If you give kids attention when they are whining and wimpering, you lay the groundwork for that child to become a whiny, wimpering adult. I want to give attention to the child who is tackling a challenge, who is displaying good humor and enjoying life.
Thursday, September 02, 2010
Front row students
After paying an unannounced visit to my sons' classrooms, I couldn't help but inquire of them how it is that both ended up being placed immediately adjacent to their teachers desks. Ten-year-old Jon explained that his teacher thought he might need that in order to focus on the tasks at hand. I noted that his teacher seemed like the type not to put up with clowning around. Jon agreed and said she is "really good about that." I asked him, "you mean you respect her for not putting up with your silliness?" He said yes, he did. We then had a good discussion about how kids need to know that adults care enough about them to not let them run over them. Those adults who do allow children to just always do what they want, are really giving the kids a message that they do not care.
Nine-year-old Greg then noted that teachers put kids in the front row who have demonstrated that they need to be "kept an eye on." I asked Greg if it was really true that he put up two fingers behind the teacher's head (making rabbit ears) while walking behind the teacher. He said yes, that is the reason he is now in the front row.
While making my daily visit to the Washington Rebel blog, I came across this parody from The Onion, which reminded me to post about my discussion with my sons about being front row students.
Nine-year-old Greg then noted that teachers put kids in the front row who have demonstrated that they need to be "kept an eye on." I asked Greg if it was really true that he put up two fingers behind the teacher's head (making rabbit ears) while walking behind the teacher. He said yes, that is the reason he is now in the front row.
While making my daily visit to the Washington Rebel blog, I came across this parody from The Onion, which reminded me to post about my discussion with my sons about being front row students.
Wednesday, September 01, 2010
"Search for answers everywhere; we will be the key."
I am one who listens regularly, albeit not for long stretches at a time, to Glenn Beck's talk radio show. You may have noticed that he held a rally on August 28 at the Lincoln Memorial that was attended by hundreds of thousands of people. The coverage in the Denver Post said "tens of thousands," in the first pages, but then admitted in paragraph thirteen, the next-to-last paragraph, that it was between 300,000 (archrival NBC's estimate), and 500,000 (Beck's people's estimate).
Now, the columns are flying. Today's Denver Post devotes one-half page to two columns ridiculing Beck and his supporters. Jonathan Capehart of the Washington Post calls Beck a person who has poisoned American political discourse. Look in vain for any factual basis for Capehart's claims. Kathleen Parker ridicules Beck's recovering alcoholic and addict background, and the fact that he is now rich. A Miami Herald cartoonist alleges that Beck has replaced Martin Luther King's "I have a dream" with "I have a scream."
Let's see now, what exactly is Beck standing for? Living an honorable life. Worshipping and praising God. Restoring individual responsibility. Strengthening America. Exposing evil and corruption. Uniting people of all faiths and political parties to promote faith, hope and charity. Yeah, I can see why he makes the left so nervous.
Now, the columns are flying. Today's Denver Post devotes one-half page to two columns ridiculing Beck and his supporters. Jonathan Capehart of the Washington Post calls Beck a person who has poisoned American political discourse. Look in vain for any factual basis for Capehart's claims. Kathleen Parker ridicules Beck's recovering alcoholic and addict background, and the fact that he is now rich. A Miami Herald cartoonist alleges that Beck has replaced Martin Luther King's "I have a dream" with "I have a scream."
Let's see now, what exactly is Beck standing for? Living an honorable life. Worshipping and praising God. Restoring individual responsibility. Strengthening America. Exposing evil and corruption. Uniting people of all faiths and political parties to promote faith, hope and charity. Yeah, I can see why he makes the left so nervous.
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