Even As We Gaze

August 17, 2012 //
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In the hallway of my apartment there is a photo of a little boy, four years old.  Looking up at the camera, he shows his best “snarl” and bears his claws—revealing just how fierce he is. The photo was taken on a visit to Catalina Island in the summer of 1998. I don’t remember much about that trip; I doubt if he does either—but one memory stands out: When I told him that we would soon embark on an adventure in a glass-bottom boat, this fierce little guy became very uneasy. At first I didn’t understand why, but after exploring the subject with him I discovered that while he might be fierce, he is also immensely practical. You see, he was acutely aware of how fragile glass can be—and he feared that, upon our stepping into the boat, it would surely break. I assured him that we would be safe; that the glass was very strong and would not only bear our weight but would also allow us to see into the mysterious world beneath the surface of the sea. Once fully convinced, he put his arms around my neck and said, “I love you, Daddy.”

There is also mystery beneath the surface of a young man who occasionally rides in my car with me. He can often be very quiet and laconic—but he can also be downright chatty when it comes to certain subjects. For instance, he fully understands that the world hosts a large population of fools, (of which I am often one, I’m sure), and he rarely suffers them well. He has been known to snarl a bit when venting about his adventures among them. Sometimes he even clenches his claws in aggravation, revealing that he remains quite fierce. He also still occasionally refers to me as “daddy” and, blessing upon blessing, often reminds me that he loves me.

In a few short days, he and I will embark on another adventure. Actually, the adventure is his alone; I will merely accompany him on the first short leg of it, and then bid him farewell. We will travel to the New England territory of Massachusetts, where he has chosen to begin his higher education at Emerson College in Boston. He is not a little boy any more, he is a man—and I couldn’t be more proud. I also do not like it. Not one little bit. The clichés regarding how quickly time passes buzz annoyingly through my head and leave unsettling questions in their wake. While I was there with him throughout the years—was I there for him? If so, was I there for him enough? I listened to him often—listened to him talk about his toys, his teachers, his favorite TV shows, his classmates, his homework, his projects, his friends, his ideas, his delights, his fears—but was I always listening carefully enough? Was I listening when he really needed me to? Was I able to hear his hidden questions and give him reassuring answers? How soon will he overcome the wrong-headed messages that I unquestionably sent him without meaning to? Will the scars left by my mistakes and shortcomings ever fade enough for him to forget? Did I teach him enough of what I know? Did I even know enough to teach him anything worthwhile?

My love for this fierce boy-child, this sweet son, this young man, this teacher, this friend—defies my command of language. So, as I will never have another chance at his childhood, I fervently pray that my loving God will heal the wounds and fill in the blanks. I am so thrilled for my boy. I cannot wait to hear him spin tales of the journey which is yet before him.  But I am also mindful that once we have settled him into his dorm; once we’ve met his roommate, located the laundry room and the nearest grocery store—it will soon be time for me to step out of his building and back into my old world, leaving him to discover his new one. And there I become uneasy. I desperately need my Father to reassure me that he will be safe and that I will be strong. Because, you see, I am acutely aware of how fragile my heart can be—and I fear that, upon my stepping across the threshold, it will surely break.

~~:~~

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Today I Just Don’t Care

August 4, 2012 //
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I don’t care about a lot of things that the media tells me I should. For instance, I really don’t care about Tom and Katie’s divorce—at least I don’t care any more or less than I do when I learn of anyone getting a divorce, because I know from experience that there will always be pain and sadness surrounding it. I care about that. That’s a shame. Especially when children are involved. But it’s not news. It’s not information that I find in any way useful.

Putting aside such tabloidal inflammations, I also don’t care what’s in Mitt Romney’s tax returns. Maybe I should—but I’m certain I can already imagine the type of information contained therein, and its implications. I suppose it’s possible that there are people out there whose opinions of Governor Romney might actually change based upon what’s in those documents, but I’m not one of them. I do care about his staunch refusal to release them—especially when you factor in the energy he’s spent in the past badgering other people to release theirs. I care about the secrecy that he has displayed throughout his career. That troubles me. I was troubled by the secrecy of the Bush-Cheney years, so I am more than a little unnerved by the Governor’s arrogance in this matter.

Moving on…

I also don’t care that Dan Cathy is against gay people marrying one another.  I disagree with him—but I don’t care what he thinks privately or what he says publicly. I do care, however, that any money I might put into his coffers by patronizing his restaurants might end up funding organizations dead-set on outlawing such marriages—so he won’t hold my custom. I don’t care that some folks are whining about his “first amendments rights” in response to such a boycott—because his first amendment rights are not infringed upon when I refuse to give him my business, or if I discourage others from giving him theirs. However, I do care that there are some city governments that are actually trying to prevent him from doing business because of his public statements—as that absolutely calls his first amendments rights into question. I care that someone whose opinion is aligned with mine on the matter of Gay Rights would carry it to that extreme. That is the kind of behavior that inspires those who disagree with me to start using language like “We’re taking our country back;” because, to many of those same folks, their first (and only) remedy in defending their first amendment is the second. And that also unnerves me. A lot.

So…whatever. I guess I do care.

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Funny Money

July 26, 2012 //
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If you have the nagging feeling that maybe the game is “rigged” or that something is possibly “not right” about the balance of economic power in the United States, well you’re at least half wrong; there’s no “maybe” about it.  Something is absolutely not right—not right at all, and while there are countless reasons for this sad state of national affairs, I believe the lead villain in our story is:  Corporate Personhood.

This villain raised his mustache-twirling head over a century ago in a little-known California tax case, and he is the reason that every shopping mall hosts the same retail stores—and that in every bedroom community’s restaurant row you will find the same national chains, no matter where you are in the U.S..  If you could be instantly transported, “Star Trek” style, to the food court of a random shopping mall anywhere in the United States—do you think you would have any idea what part of the country you were in?  I doubt it  (unless, of course, you were to guess “Hooverville,” in which case you wouldn’t be far off), but if you stepped outside you would very likely trip over the crumbling headstones of countless locally owned and supported businesses—and if you listened carefully, you would no doubt hear the precious few survivors rattling out their last breaths.

To keep us from becoming too depressed over this, big business has sought to amuse us by giving the villain a stereotypically goofy (but no less evil) sidekick whom I will name after the over-simplistic catchphrase, “Money equals Speech.”  The decision in the 2010 Citizens United v. Federal Election Commission has been boiled down to this three-word summation, and I like it because it inspired yesterday’s Tweet (If money = speech, then a quick chat with my landlord should cover me for the month, right?).   A cute joke, perhaps, but in truth I really don’t think the situation is terribly funny.  Multinational corporations have the same rights as we human beings do, and they now also have the right to donate as much money as necessary, however necessary, in order to secure the election of their favored candidates, and there’s really nothing we can do about it.

However, thanks to one of my nine-hundred and fifteen closest Facebook “friends” I learned about a fun party favor that can be acquired by making a nominal donation to my favorite political organization, MoveToAmend.org.  I was so enthralled with the idea that I made my donation to them right away (not my first), and I received my party favor a day or so ago (inset is a photo of my new arrival and the result of my using it for its intended purpose).  I love that the message will be read by countless people as it circulates.  MoveToAmend.org proposes a Constitutional Amendment that will put corporations back into the category in which they belong: economic entities that exist only by the will and approval of the people, and by putting money back into the category of, well, money—as opposed to the sacred and unfettered vessel of free speech, which is essentially the position to which the Citizens United decision elevates it.

I believe in the work that MoveToAmend.org is doing.  It gives me hope that there may be, after all, something we can do to stop at least some of the madness.  If you‘d like one of these fun party favors of your very own, a donation of $20.00 to MoveToAmend.org will put one in your hot little hand.  Just click here: Stampede to Amend.

It will be money well-spoken.

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Honest Engine

July 24, 2012 //
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While I am disgusted by the Romney campaign’s editing of the President’s speech in order to completely change the meaning of what he said in one of their ads (especially when I see how many people are buying it completely), I still have to unclench my teeth and acknowledge that both campaigns are manipulating the truth in order to persuade the public to buy what they’re selling.  I might want to quibble over how much distortion is being propagated by whom, but I am then forced to step back and ask the question:  Is dishonesty really quantifiable?  I mean, can it be possible for one lie to be considered lesser or greater than another?  Setting aside any hypothetical clichés (such as lying to save a family of Jews from the Nazis), I have difficulty answering “yes” to that question.  Is the Romney campaign’s complete misrepresentation of the president’s speech really any worse than the Obama campaign’s overstatements and omissions in their ad regarding Romney’s economic record while Governor of Massachusetts?

If you’ve clicked either of the hyperlinks in the first paragraph you were, hopefully, directed to a corresponding article at FactCheck.org.  This is currently one of my favorite sites.  Irrespective of where individual sympathies lie, the folks at FactCheck do not allow themselves the luxury of playing favorites.  Obama’s camp is just as likely to distort and mislead as Romney’s (check out this list of the site’s “Whoppers of 2012”).  Unfortunately, those of us who already know which party we’re voting with are too often ready to believe what we hear about the opposition because perhaps, in our minds, we just “wouldn’t put it past them.”

During the presidential campaign of 2008, an email was forwarded to me by one of my old elementary school teachers, with whom I am still in contact.  This email listed, point by point, all the attributes that candidate Obama shared with the Anti-Christ as described in the biblical book of Revelation.  My teacher included a note with the email saying that she found it “interesting.”  Hmm.  There was only one problem:  The bullet-pointed descriptions listed in the email were nowhere to be found in the book of Revelation.  Nowhere.  Now, clearly she was not an Obama fan—because she found painting him as the literal spawn of Lucifer to be only “interesting.”  It never occurred to her that it might be untrue and therefore outrageous, insulting, provocative, inflammatory or despicable.  But she, a faithful church-going believer (who must have had at least one translation of The Bible lying around somewhere), hadn’t bothered to check.  To her, it simply felt true.

I try very hard these days to not blindly believe—anything.  I am not a fan of Mitt Romney, but I am less concerned about what he says and does as I am with what his party stands for, and I believe I have read enough about that to have an informed opinion.  And while that opinion makes me yearn for the days when the worst thing a Democrat could imagine would be Barry Goldwater as president,  I still want to make sure that opinion does not cause me to become naïve about what mischief my own party is capable of.   I am not the most well-informed member of the electorate, by any stretch of one’s imagination, and while  I don’t have a lot of time to read what’s out there—FactCheck.org is a site I visit often.   It’s my “Honest Engine.”  I highly recommend it to everyone.

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Clean-Up Day

July 22, 2012 //
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I cannot say with any veracity that I am less angry today than I was yesterday about the tragedy in Colorado.  I can, however, admit that I am slightly less upset.  Now, I am not at all certain how to effectively describe the difference, but I can tell you that the vigorous thumping in my chest has tapered a bit—and my desire to simultaneously spit and dance on Charleton Heston’s grave has subsided considerably.  So, clearly, today I’m feeling a bit more normal.  I attribute this to one thing only: This morning, along with our church’s outreach ministry, I got up and did something for someone other than myself.  I don’t mention this because I wish to boast a sense of selfless benevolence, any more than I would pride myself on taking a couple of aspirin for a headache.  I mention it simply because it helped me feel better.

Early this morning, we gathered at Oasis Church and drove down to meet up with some lovely people at the Compton Initiative (justdogood.org), whose mission, as stated, is to “partner with other entities (churches, business, community residents) to bring restoration and hope to the community of Compton.”  Simply put, we went out and hauled trash, cleared away tree trimmings, cleaned yards and painted fences and houses for people who are either unable to do the work themselves, or cannot afford to hire someone else to do it.  We were literally cleaning up neighborhoods.  It was hard work, and it was also fun.  I felt better afterwards, and I firmly believe this is because my activity this morning—unlike this blog—was not about me.

In fact, this was a perfect way to take my mind off the sorrow and horror found in the story of six-year-old Veronica Moser-Sullivan, who went to see Batman with her mother Thursday night and came home dead because some lost soul thought shooting up a movie theater was the order of the day…  Sorry.   I’m doing it again.  At any rate, while I would not propose the type of thing I did this morning as a feel-good panacea for little Veronica’s family right now (nor for the loved ones of any of the twelve souls who perished Friday morning), I do recommend, for the rest of us, occasionally stepping outside one’s self and owning a place in a larger community as a method of maintaining a sense of hope, a sense of belonging and a sense of humility; for what we have—and what we can so easily give.   I promise that it will, in fact, make you feel better.

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Obama Doesn’t Want to Take Your Guns Away…

July 20, 2012 //
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   …But I do.  Today that’s exactly what I want to do.  I want to drive around in an aluminum cube van with Jesse Pinkman’s huge freaking magnet and whisk away your fully and semi-automatic weapons.  And you know what?  If this happens to cause one of your 30-round magazines to rip through a portion of your soft tissue as it hurtles toward the truck, I’m actually okay with that.

I realize this is very, very wrong of me.  As a follower of Christ this is a shameful feeling for me to indulge secretly, much less pronounce publicly.  I am commanded to love my enemies.  I am supposed to show love to those who want to harm my loved ones and me–not to mention those with whom I simply disagree.  And yet I still don’t care.  I am angry.  I am bitterly saddened by the stupid and horrific event that took place early this morning in Denver, Colorado.  I understand that many people were able to escape when the gunman paused to reload.  The “arms” that our constitution’s framers were referring to needed to be reloaded after each shot.  In their day, this berserker would have gotten off one round and then my arthritic 89-year-old mother would have had time to tackle him and split his jaw open on the back of a theater seat before he could have even dropped the little ball into the barrel.  So those of you who scream and shout about your second amendment rights—this is, essentially, what you are defending: Children being shot because they wanted to see the new Batman movie.

I’m sorry.  God please forgive me.  I imagine I may be a little less angry tomorrow.

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