Acceptance While Maintaining Hope

I love A Chorus Line. The play NOT the film. The ending scene (spoiler alert) has always inspired me. Quick recap. Dancers compete to be in the chorus line of a Broadway show. As they compete, the director wants them to “tell their story”, thus the plot consists of us getting to know the back story of each character. It’s similar in style to the popular Netflix series Orange is the New Black minus the prison.

The most reticent dancer to share about himself is Paul. For him, his baggage seems too heavy a load. He can’t really connect with others for many reasons. Just as he begins to have some success, he makes the final cut of his big Broadway debut and goes down with a knee injury the day before opening night. The moment he had worked for his entire life is gone in one fell swoop! Bam! Gone!

The cast is shaken. An existential crisis happens. The play becomes very personal. The question is obvious. What if everything you worked for and valued for entire life was immediately taken away? What if you found out that everything you believed in was wrong at worst or fantasy at best? How would you cope? What would you do? How could you find meaning? How could you go on?

The answer is simple. That’s when the song, “What I did for Love” comes in. “I can forget, won’t regret what I did for love.“ That made sense to me when I was 18 and first saw the play. It makes even more sense to me now. If what we believe in and do is motivated out of love… it is worth the pain regardless of the outcome. It will not have been a waste nor done in vain.

It appears that I probably will NOT teach a traditional class in a high school setting ever again. We have decided that under the circumstances, I will retire at the end of this school year. The pandemic and distance learning have certainly put a strange punctuation mark on that decision.

We decided in December, more like it, I began to see the writing on the wall then. Continued battles with the Big C, I’m obviously not going to live forever, continued interruption of instruction as I head off to the neverending doctor’s appointments and treatments, coming back to the mountains of papers collected by substitutes doing their best to deliver my planned instruction. As I get older, grading becomes more of a nuisance. It takes much more energy for me to keep the level of instruction up to the standards to which I have held myself.

It is time to invest my energy in new directions. Getting my head around this has been a struggle.

So, if I already had my last traditional lesson, how did that last one go? Let me tell you about it.

During the Ethics unit of a class I teach, I always have the students read Martin Luther King, Jr’s Letter From a Birmingham Jail. The year I first got sick and had to leave class for an extended period of time, I reorganized the scope and sequence of the course so that we could read it before I left. It is one of my favorite lessons. Martin Luther King’s writing inspires the kids. And me! It opens their eyes to the hypocrisy of the white church leaders of the time. It exposes them to the brutality that segregation meant. I can’t think of a time when at least one of us was not tearing up as we read excerpts aloud. I can’t NOT cry when we read how he has to explain to his “six-year-old daughter why she cannot go to the public amusement park that has just been advertised on television, and see(s) tears welling up in her little eyes when she is told that Funtown is closed to colored children.” And he is torn apart as he watches the “depressing clouds of inferiority begin to form in her little mental sky, and see(s) her begin to distort her little personality by unconsciously developing a bitterness toward white people.” Then he has “to concoct an answer for a five-year-old son asking in agonizing pathos, “Daddy, why do white people treat colored people so mean?” He does not. want the children to hate but sees what is happening to them.


The letter also shows the students a way to have intelligent public discourse. They are moved by King’s loving tone, civility and his humility, not only his passion. They recognize the value of being well read. I have them examine the plethora of sources that King references; both secular and religious, Christian and non-Christian, modern and classical, political and historic, and both foreign and domestic. The dude has done some reading. He is academically well armed.

Normally, they are surprised that MLK’s main criticism is less directed at the hate groups like the KKK and more directed at the moderates who claim to be on the side of justice but just don’t really want to do anything that requires getting involved. The ones that clearly see the obvious injustice but don’t feel compelled to do anything about it beyond maybe pray. That always moves and inspires me too. It is sort of a gut check.

I attempt to interject the discussion with stories of direct actions that I participated in from my organizing days with the Industrial Areas Foundation. I also show some film clips of other practitioners of non-violence like Mohandas Gandhi or Desmond Tutu. I contrast them with other leaders like Nelson Mandela, Elijah Mohammed, Louis Farrakhan and Malcolm X, all referenced in the letter.

During this year’s class, I tried something new. I had just heard the protest song “Hell You, Talmbout!” by popular singer, Janelle Monae. I thought I could help the kids make a connection with this song to the letter. At the end of his letter, MLK shares his hope that the South will one day recognize its real heroes. The old Negro women, the high school and college marchers, the young pastors and people that went to jail to defend the “best in the American dream and the most sacred values in our Judeo-Christian heritage.” Sadly, beyond Rosa Parks, his hope is not realized. Who really remembers people like James Meredith or Robert Moses anymore, for example? No one from the class. I even have to struggle to remember who Meredith was. For the record, he was the first African American student to integrate the University of Mississippi.

In Hell You, Talmbout!, Monae chants the names of African Americans that have lost their lives to racial brutality in the United States. Amadou Diallo, “Say his name! “, John Crawford, “Say his name! “, Sandra Bland “Say her name! “ It goes on and on, imploring us to chant their names, hoping that they might be remembered for their sacrifice and their needless deaths, most that have gone unpunished. I prepared a document that had some background information on each of the victims so the class could read along while they listened to the searing lyrics.

Since I had never done this activity before, I really did not know how it would go. Would there be silence? Shell shock? Anger? Apathy? Reticence to share? Fatigue? They are seniors and class is at 7:30 in the morning after all! After an uncomfortable silence, two of the African American students shared. The first started out by saying how tremendously sad the song made her feel. How she could relate to it in a certain powerful way. Then she explained to the class what she called, “the talk” that was given to her by her parents. Being African American, her parents explained to her the need to be careful when dealing with the police officers and members of authority. She was advised be careful to not do anything that might elicit a violent reaction from a cop. Also, how to be careful in a mall, as she would be watched more carefully than her other non-African American friends. After listening to that song, she had a better idea of why her parents had given her and her siblings “the talk”. The predominantly White and Asian class was respectful and listening.

Next came the story of another African America girl, an athlete. Her family is from Africa, She has very dark skin and an African first name and surname. She told the story of how she had been wrongfully accused of bringing a weapon to school by a teammate. She went home and told her parents. Her parents prepared her for what would probably be a very ugly situation, since she probably would not be believed and there may be some severe disciplinary action which they could help her thru. They prepared her to expect the worst. Her sharing was personal, and it was riveting. Many in the class that day were “schooled” on how things really are for some groups of people in our building. I know I was. I cannot think of a similar lesson that I have ever had to give my children. I was pretty speechless and I think the class was moved. If that ends up being my last traditional class, I’ll take it. Maybe not on par with winning a Superbowl but still it was a pretty good one. One of the better classes this year.

Getting students to notice things and be moved by them is the great opportunity for a teacher. I love reading Helen Keller’s political writings to the class on day one. She was quite an orator. After reciting her fiery words, I ask them who they thought penned such revolutionary prose? No one ever knows. When I tell them they have just heard the words of Helen Keller, they are stunned. “Like, you mean the deaf, dumb and blind lady that said, “Water”? The one that we tell Helen Keller jokes about? She wrote speeches?” Yes, class. She gave speeches and wrote books. She was brilliant. She was a political activist. And she was a communist, too! They are astounded. “Why did we never learn about this?” Hmmm…. that is a topic for another day. So much fun.

I think I do teach out of love. I’ll miss the high school classroom. I have loved it for 35 years. On most days.

I heard the song Undertow by Genesis recently. It is a perfect song for negotiating the pandemic and a relevant song to my life at present. The singer is hopeful about making it out a tough situation and wants to embrace the new. The metaphor he chooses is that is that it has finally become spring, and we need not fear the icy blast of winter again. But he poses the same type of question as the one asked in A Chorus Line.

“If this were the last day of your life my friend, tell me what do you think you would do?”

Great question for a cancer patient. Great question for us all. It is how I try to live out all my days now. The answer has to have something to do with being done for love. Labors of love don’t seem too laborious, do they?

Lessons on Science and Religion During the Pandemic

I have to chuckle when I read or hear statements like, “God got kicked out of public schools.” or “Prayer is no longer allowed in school.” On the one hand, as a believer, I snicker at the arrogance of that statement. Like, even if we humans tried, we think we could actually keep God out of anyplace. Sounds preposterous to me with my understanding of God. On the other hand, and more to the demonstrable point, it is simply not my experience. As a public-school teacher for the last 30 odd years, I have always seen prayer in school. Since I have been sick, I have been told regularly by my students and colleagues that they are praying for me. The wonderful emails I have received from parents and alumni sharing their faith, encouraging me and assuring me of supplications to their deities on my behalf are not all that infrequent. I have received several during this pandemic break.

What really astounds me is the erroneous contention that the Bible is no longer allowed in school. That is simply not true either. I have read from the Bible in front of public-school classes for years. I have never had a problem nor a complaint. As a matter of fact, one of the first lectures I give to my Theory of Knowledge class has been named, “Jesus and the Talking Heads.” It is normally a class favorite. I begin with the music video of David Byrne singing, “Once in a Lifetime” from the concert film Stop Making Sense. I play it loud enough to be heard beyond my classroom door. Normally, my trusted friend and colleague Norm Crosby or some other “children” from the 70’s or 80’s enter and mimic the quirky dance moves of the lead singer in his big suit. The lyrics of the song are quite penetrating. He lays out a scenario common to the human condition. “You might find yourself in a beautiful house… with a beautiful wife…You might ask yourself. Well, how did I get here?” That is not an uncommon question as we all ponder the nature of our existence. He goes on. “Am I right or am I wrong? My God. What have I done?” Do those questions sound familiar? All are great questions for a contemplative person. If you have ever seen the video, Byrne spits those lines out as if he were a Gospel preacher.

Then I open up the Bible and read from the Gospel of Luke 24:13-24. For my non-Christian and atheist students with little to no background knowledge on the story of Jesus, I have to fill them in on who Jesus was, where He came from and what had happened to Him. They need to understand the context of the story in order to get the lesson. The story happens after Jesus is resurrected and is walking down road to Emmaus with his disciples. They do not recognize Him. Perhaps they didn’t really expect to see Him again either as He had just been put to death a few days earlier. He joins them on their travels and begins to inquire, “What are you discussing?” When they explain to Him that they are talking about all the things that have been going on for the last several days, He asks for clarification, “What things?” The disciples are incredulous. How on earth could this dude NOT know of all the stuff that had been happening to Jesus of Nazareth? Pontius Pilate and Barabbas? Nothing? How could He be so oblivious to all that had occurred. Jesus continues to walk down the road with his travel companions engaging them in conversation asking more questions. I stop and ask, “What’s the point? How are the song and the biblical story connected? “

From there, we can get into a lively and sometimes creative discussion. This happens during the beginning days of my quasi-philosophy class, I am trying to get their heads around the concept of inquiry. Great “knowers” don’t always start out by telling people what they think, feel and know. Great teachers start out by asking questions. Remember that Jesus was a rabbi (AKA a teacher), right?

The best way to start our class, I try to tell them, is with this same spirit of inquiry. Instead of trying to push our points of view on people, perhaps we should start by asking a few questions and listening first. That is what all the great philosophers do. They all start by asking questions. And those questions are the very same questions that all humans ask and have asked since time immemorial. Just like the lyrics of the song by the Talking Heads. He is asking existential questions. What we will begin to read and discuss in class are some people’s perspectives on possible ways to answer to those eternal questions.

I can’t really take complete credit for the development of that lesson. It was inspired by my mentor, Jim Drake. When I worked as an Industrial Areas Foundation community organizer in the South Bronx, he was my boss. Jim was a United Church of Christ pastor that had been ordained to organize. He had a long history of successful organizational efforts. He organized woodcutters in the south, Mexican Americans in the Rio Grande Valley and had led the national grape boycott for the United Farm Workers in the 70’s. He used to begin meetings with that same biblical story trying to get his leaders to ask questions about their reality. He was a wonderful teacher, so I stole that activity from him. I just added the song.

Our eyes were glued to the TV during College Jeopardy Championship week. One of my former students, Sirad Hassan, competed representing Princeton. There was a brilliant student from the University of Minnesota. He lost a match by missing what I thought was an easy question about the Prodigal Son. That reminded me of another biblical lesson I have taught in public schools. I read the story of the Prodigal Son to the class every year. If not familiar, it is the parable where the boy takes his share of his inheritance, leaves his father and squanders all his money on lewd and lascivious behavior. A famine descends upon the land and he winds up broke and hungry forcing him to eke out an existence in the lowliest of professions. I stop.

I then ask the class to get into small groups to discuss the following questions. “Why is the boy in such bad shape? What or who is responsible for the boy winding up in this terrible condition? “. Invariably and overwhelmingly, the class says that the boy is personally responsible. He made the bad decisions. I then explain that when that very same reading was done in Russia and the eastern block and the same question is posed, the answer is normally very different. And when that same reading and question have been conducted in parts of Africa, yet a third response is normally given. In, Russia, the predominant response is that the famine is the cause of the boy’s blight. “Of course, he was hungry and poor! There was a famine going on! “ In Africa, the leading reply is that the community is responsible. What type of community would allow a young man to starve? Three different perspectives and three different responses to the same scenario. Our culture shapes our perspective, right?

Asking questions and acknowledging other perspectives seem to be valuable traits. And before I continue, take note. I don’t only read from the Bible in class. I read from the Koran, the Book of Mormon, the Vedas, the Upanishads and several other sacred texts. What I do NOT do is proselytize. I do not pray in front of classes either. Nor do I push my religion on any student. Not only is that illegal, I believe it is wrong in a public-school setting. To me, that is NOT evangelization anyway. But I do share my faith. My faith is very different than my religion. Jews, Christians, Muslims, Atheists and Animists alike all have faith. Even those from non-deist religions without a God, like Buddhists, have faith. I have a very good friend who is an atheist. He shares his faith with me all the time. He has faith in very different things than I do. It is possible to share your faith with people without jamming your vision of God down their throats.

One of my favorite readings that we discuss is Science and Religion by Albert Einstein. Although Einstein rejects the concept of a personal God, he does have many cool insights on Him and on the very nature of organized religions here. “Religion without science is blind and science without religious is lame.” Einstein’s notion of religion is way different than that of many. He believes that science needs to be “imbued with the aspiration towards the truth.” This value of seeking the truth comes not from science but from the sphere of religion. So science needs Einstein’s concept of religion. He is acknowledging what I call is a Gospel value that will allow for purer, more accurate scientific knowledge.

But why does religion need science? Why is it lame without it? “Any doctrine that tries to maintain itself NOT in a clear light, will lose its effect on mankind.”, says Al. Translation? If people, for example, are forced to believe that the moon is a source of light, like it says in the book of Genesis, not too many people are going to buy that. We have been there. The moon does not radiate light, it reflects light from the sun. Feel free to believe what you want about the moon being a source of light. It isn’t. That is a scientific fact.

But even cooler is Albert’s contention is that science purifies religion. He contends that honest scientific inquiry leads to a “profound reverence for the rationality made manifest in existence.” Also, that we are led away from the religious temptation of what Einstein calls the “dross of anthropomorphism.” Big words. Translation? Though scientific endeavor we become in awe of the magnificence of creation. And, we stop creating gods in our image and rather come to a better appreciation of the true nature of the divine. Einstein claims that this view will lead to a spiritualization of our understanding of life. Mind blown yet? Mine always is.

So… differing perspectives, the truth, listening to science and conflicts with religion. Those seem to be topics of conversation these days. I live with a cell biologist. I hear the gnashing and grinding of teeth when the inaccurate explanations of science emanate from the TV in the daily media sessions happening during this pandemic. In a post truth world, it sometimes seems like everyone gets to choose their own facts. I still prefer Neil DeGrasse Tyson’s outlook. “The good thing about science is that it is true whether or not you believe it.” That said, all scientific knowledge is only provisionally true. If the evidence shows us that we are wrong someday, we have to adapt. Science is evidence driven, even if it is not always rational. The hope is that over time, scientific knowledge is self correcting.

This secularization of our culture and the belief in science has led to much less interest in and respect for religion and religious knowledge. I find that sad. Not that I don’t understand it, I do. From a humanities teacher’s perspective though, a basic fundamental knowledge and understanding of comparative religions seems valuable to me. And perhaps practical. On at least 2 Daily Double questions, that student from the University of Minnesota lost for not knowing simple questions about common religions. With him being a science major, I noticed what seemed like a certain amount of distain on his face for even being asked questions about religion. At least that is how it looked to me. I could have misinterpreted.

What did I mean earlier about science not always being rational? Well, many things factor into our acceptance of scientific knowledge. We all have biases and so do the scientists. When we observe anomalies that don’t line up with our long-held beliefs, resistance sets in. We all have many reasons that we reject what can be conflicting evidence. We are not always rational either.

And religion is not 100% irrational either. It is part of the human condition. In his recent book, Everything is #@%!ED: A Book About Hope, Mark Manson, an atheist, discusses 3 types of religions. 1) Spiritual Religions (Christianity, Judaism, Islam, Jainism, Atheism, etc.) 2) Ideological Religions (capitalism, socialism, feminism, environmentalism, etc.) and Interpersonal Religions (romantic relationship, sports teams, celebrities, children, etc.) Among the many similarities that they share are common values, community, meaning, and a sense of hope. We all need them, in one form or another. They provide us with connection to something beyond self.

Mark Twain once said, “Don’t let school get in the way of your education!” Sage advice. From this, I extrapolate. I try to not let religion get in the way of my spirituality.

In a recent conversation, Deacon Larry told me something that has challenged me. He says that the last lesson that a parent gets to teach his children is on how to die. That hit me hard at first. It still does some days. So, what do I want to teach my children in this regard? I want to teach them to have gratitude, hope and faith. And that they stay connected to something beyond self. Hopefully, that is what Nancy and I have been trying to teach them their whole lives. If we live every day with gratitude, hope and faith and with a little love mixed in, add in a pinch of humility for good measure, too…well… in the words of Jimmy V, “That is one heck of a day!” That is the lesson I hope to teach them.

Science or religion? Pure reason or pure faith? Yada Yada Yada. Do they have to be mutually exclusive? Where do I fall on this continuum?

This quote from the book Vesper Time: The Spiritual Practice of Growing Older by Frank Cunningham gets at that answer. “I want the habits of the heart to trump the rationalizations of the mind.”

Yeah, that sounds about right. Peace.

Addictions – Part 1

Within the first 2 years of our marriage, over 25 years ago, at our first home, Nancy and I bought our first home computer. It was an old Macintosh. It came with a game installed. That game was called Glider Pro. It gave me a glimpse into one of my addictions.

The object of the game is simple. Get a paper airplane to fly thru different houses and pick up some stars along the way. Having never played a video game, I thought I would try this one out. It was kind of fun, at first. Learning the new skills and techniques. I would feel a sense of accomplishment when I could make it past some difficult obstacle like a flame, a fan or an air vent.

Then it started. When I got stuck on a level, I noticed that I would think about that game even when I wasn’t playing it. Since we had no children at the time, I would rush home and could easily put in a couple of hours on that imaginary paper airplane game before Nancy got home. I would sit down to do a little homework and without me realizing it, hours would pass as I tried to move up a level. I would say to myself “ Ok, I am only gonna try this move one more time then I’ll get back to work. “ 15 or 20 tries later, I would be surprised how much time had passed without ever getting back to work. Even when I was not in front of that computer, I would be obsessing about that silly game. After dinner, I would sit down to work. Next thing I knew as I looked up at the clock, it was 1 or 2 am. (Or later) Wow! Where had the time gone?

I have had many students that have spoken to me about video game addiction. The American Psychological Association recognizes it. Thankfully, I made it thru all levels of Glider Pro relatively quickly and did not take up any video games again for quite a while. But I did notice a tendency .

I remember as a kid feeling similarly when I played chess. We played over and over again, which was fun. But when I left the actual matches my mind would be occupied with chess moves, rolling them over and over in my head . It made it hard to sleep. When others were counting sheep, I was contemplating which move was better, Bc4 to f7 or c5 to d4 over and over and over again. Since I was a pretty good chess player back in the day, I never understood that this was a problem. I thought it was a good thing making me into a better chess player. But I do remember it being mentally exhausting and praying for help to get my mind to stop thinking about knights, rooks and bishops so I could get some rest. Those thoughts could be like a plague.

We start every Lent by reading the story about when Jesus went out in the desert to pray. While there, he was confronted by Satan and tempted. Seems like a good time to reflect on the demons that tempt me.They are rooted in an unintentionally flawed thought process I am learning how to do battle with.

Have you ever been so angry with someone and had imaginary conversations in your head about what you were going to say to them once you had the chance? I have. Many times.

In hindsight, I now realize that this is yet another form of addition. An addiction to anger and negative thoughts. I would go over those imaginary conversations many many times trying to get the words just right , practicing exactly what I wanted to say and the way I wanted to say it. I was really gonna let him or her have it. I could not let these imaginary conversations go. Days and weeks might go by with me running the scenarios out in my head, searching out and ruminating over more evidence that I would use to state my case of how wrongly I had been treated. To make that other person see the light. In most cases, I would rarely carry out those conversations in reality. But I would let the anger brew. How much time and energy was wasted!

And on the rare occasions when I did have those conversations, I would initially feel proud of myself that I had had the courage to confront the person. In hindsight, again, those conversations would rarely turn out the way I had intended. I remember one time, after I had let my feelings fester, I wrote to a colleague expressing my frustration and anger over how she had been treating us. Disaster. Ruined the relationship. The exact opposite of what I had intended.

After such experiences, I would always go back to replay the scenes, turning them over in my mind with new obsessive thoughts about what I wish I had said. And the spiral continued. While some of those experiences happened many years ago, if I am not careful, I can go right back to them, with the same emotional intensity, in a matter of seconds. Wild. I have just begun to understand how obsessing on such negative thoughts was hurting me. As aforementioned, I see this it as a form of addition. A mental prison.

Addictions hurt us. And never do they lead to anything productive in life. I can trace these thought patterns back to early childhood. The notion of being able to “Let it go!” has always been a challenge for me.

It has not been until the last few years that I have better understood this tendency and its connection to my addiction to substances. Since the substances I like are legal and I since I had never really had a big negative outcome ( no divorce, no arrests, no job loss, no incarceration, etc,) I don’t think I realized how those addictive behaviors were connected to trying to relieve the mental anguish, to slow down the brain or to simply avoid pain.

I gained a big insight into heroin addiction after my cancer surgery in 2014. Up until then, after seeing or hearing about the gut wrenching experiences of others using and/or dying from opioids, I had always found it incomprehensible how anyone, knowing this, would want to inject themselves with that drug. I remember reading about John Belushi’s final days in the Carl Woodward book Wired. It was brutal. I used to half joking tell my students, “Hey, if someday you are sitting around thinking that you might want to try heroin, can you please read the last chapter of Wired first? That might help you change your mind. “

I felt like that for quite a while. When I worked in the South Bronx in the 80’s, I saw first hand the destruction. I saw the legions of junkies and crack whores. I have even lost a couple of former students to OD’s. Nice kids. Why? A student in one of my religious education classes in church was using, too! Nice kid. Nice family. Why? I could not understand it.

Why on earth would anyone want to use this junk? Hadn’t they seen all the movies and TV shows? Midnight Express? The French Connection? Trainspotting?

That was, until after my surgery in 2014, when I was connected to a feeding tube and got to inject myself with liquid Oxycodone. I loved it! Pure euphoria! Some people have told me that they hate the effect of such a narcotic. It makes them ill. Not me! After injecting just 5 milliliters, I felt like a hundred beautiful angels were hugging me gently. Instant bliss! I couldn’t wait until the next injection. It felt orgasmic, but better. The best feeling I had ever had. No lie!

What I also noticed was that I would get panicky when I saw that the supply was running out. Liquid opioids are not easy to find. Even the legal ones. Nancy had to travel to many a pharmacy to fulfill my prescription. You can’t call ahead to find out if your local CVS has it in stock. They won’t tell you. I would starting getting worried that my supply was running out and I would not be able to get my fix so I could spend more time with those angels. I’d get shaky and preoccupied. And I would need a little more if I wanted to be visited by the same amount and quality of angels. On occasion, not gonna lie, I would inject more than the prescribed 5 ML’s when no one was looking.

You ready for this? After I recovered from that surgery, the thought has crossed mind a time or two that I wish I could have another operation or accident so that I could have access to that drug again. I understand that none of this is rational. Addiction is NOT rational behavior. It is insanity. That’s a fact, Jack.

I could have probably milked those prescriptions and used them for a much longer period of time than I did, had I asked. Left up to my own devises, I am certain I would have. Thankfully, I have a wife that intervened and would not allow that to continue.

Because of this, I have a much better appreciation why there are so many opioid addicts. I know, first hand, why people want to “chasei the dragon”, as they say. I have much in common with the junkies I saw in the South Bronx. This I now know.

Addictive tendencies have served me well at times. I joined Weight Watchers and became compulsive about it. I lost 77 pounds in 21 weeks. I am certain that some of my professional success came from being a workaholic. I have received many accolades for being an effective an innovative teacher. But there is always a down side. Sadly, I have spend many hours with my family while I was light years away from them thinking about my job. The high IB and AP scores were never enough. I had to work even harder. Oh! My weight ? After I stopped checking in at WW, I quickly put most of the weight back on. No change in behavior. Right back to my original addictive patterns of consumption.

As a funny side note. Right now, while writing this blog post, I have been accused of not being present to those around me. Even now! I have often been told that while I am right here I can appear to be and can actually be miles away. Perhaps even this writing reflects an addiction. It is certainly a focus on me and my thoughts rather than on others. That is a key problem with any addiction. The incessant focus on self.

I can do many things compulsively. Read books, listen to music, watch TV, play new games on my Iphone. Unfortunately, I don’t clean addictively, much to my wife’s chagrin. That is her vice. 😋

The fact that in 2020 we are still having the conversation about whether addictions are the result of illness or personal moral failures. This type of continual conversation reflects our continued societal misunderstanding of addiction.

Not that I don’t have many moral deficiencies, because I do. But addiction is an affliction. And a baffling one at that. These addictive afflictions cause pain but we engage in them to reduce our pain. To take ourselves away from ourselves, maybe, to avoid pain. A paradox, because they always bring on more pain.

The Counting Crows have a powerful song about addiction called Perfect Blue Buildings. The narrator stays home “ with his disease “ and claims that all he needs is “ a little oblivion “ so he can, in his words “ try to keep myself away from me.”
I get that.

I have given up alcohol for many a Lent. That made me feel like I had much more control over it than I do. I would need a much longer blog to write about those experiences and someday maybe I will. That is why this post is entitled Part 1.

I have not drunk any alcohol this Lent either. As a matter of fact, I am approaching a 2 year anniversary of living alcohol free. But please, no congratulations are in order. I know that I may not make that 2 year anniversary.

I’m certain that I would still enjoy a few glasses of wine, just like the Oxycodone.

I try not to worry about or obsess over anniversary dates of the future. I just set out to not drink today. That is the only day I have any control over. If I make it there, I don’t plan on drinking tomorrow either. Let’s see what happens then.

And low and behold, by living in the present, one day at a time, I rarely am plagued by all those obsessive thoughts and negative ideations that I wrote about at the onset of this entry.

I’m staring down the barrel of a pretty serious cancer diagnosis and yet I am actually pretty peaceful, calm and happy. Well, at least on most day. I know that if I were drinking and avoiding, that I would have very little peace. That is certain.

“Ain’t that a kick in the head?” as Dean Martin used to sing.

Fear, Pain, Death, Astrophysics and Music

I don’t want to die. Well, who’s does , really? Ok. Bad question. On average 129 people commit suicide in the USA everyday, but I digress … In any case, I still don’t want to die.

As I have written recently, I rarely let that fear consume or overwhelm me. But rarely does not mean never. In all honesty, trepidation and sadness can creep in at times. This week I had a few fearful moments if truth be told.

Up until this week, I had not felt very much physical pain or discomfort. At times, cancer, to me, is like distant, impersonal data on a spread sheet. Something I know I have but cannot feel. Similar to how the coronavirus pandemic may feel to many of us right now if we have not yet been personally touched by the virus.

But I did feel some pain this week. I began to experience some sharp pains on the left side of my body which became intense and persistent by the end of the week. I’ve had a few nights of difficult, if any, sleep and a few restless days.

I was quickly reminded of my father’s death. Thirty years ago, the pain he felt towards the end was excruciating. It never ended. It was tough. It was scary. I took him to a pain management center. It didn’t work. His pain never ceased. Nerve blocks and meds did not take it away. It was pure horror show. Luckily, mine has eased some. That is a relief. And my docs have identified a problem, stat. So I’m still blessed. But I’m more than a little fearful that it may return.

It kind of reminds me of what Marlon Brando’s character Cornel Kurtz says about fear and terror in Apocalypse Now. They are visible and recognizable and we should actually befriend them.

They are “our friends. If they are not then they are enemies to be feared.“

Interesting. Does managing our fears really mean making friends with them? Not sure. But certainly, it does not mean avoiding them nor of making them an adversary. We have to acknowledge and deal with fear. It does not go away because we deny it. Or at least, not for me.

For many a teacher, embracing the technological changes that are required right now demands facing our fears. And it requires faith and trust that all shall be well. Feeling pretty proud of myself for making and posting a video. Participating in a video conference for the first time requires some cohones, too. Just saying.

Curiously, my own personal fears have arisen just as our national fears of the coronavirus are on red alert. We have to be careful to not let them overtake our better instincts or crowd out the better angels of our nature. I have a better understanding of what FDR meant when he declared “We have nothing to fear but fear itself.“

As I remind my students all the time, extreme statements made by anyone, are difficult to support, including Roosevelt’s. There certainly are some things to fear.

But since death comes to us all, objectively anyway, it seems like a pretty silly thing to fear. Like being scared of something as natural as learning how to talk or puberty. Wait, as a former participant in the latter, that can actually be pretty scary. And remember, I never left high school. I deal with “student puberts” everyday. That, my friends, can be terrifying! 😀

Neil DeGrasse Tyson, one of my faves, says we should actually be grateful that we get to die. It means we got to live. He emphasizes the fact that in the face of insurmountable odds and the improbability against it, we were lucky enough to be granted life. There is a seemingly infinite amount of matter in the universe that was NEVER brought to life as we were. Yes, we are the fortunate ones. If we hadn’t been given this existence, we wouldn’t get to die. That is quite a cosmic perspective!

My Uncle Don, who passed away this week, seemed to embrace that perspective. He died grateful for his time knowing how loved he was. Still calling his friends and family, still reading his mags, still engaging in political talks, because he still could. I was fortunate to share a few laughs and tears with him about a week before he left us.

What we “get” to do while we still can. That thought continues to motivate me. Even in pain, there is opportunity. It can grant us access to thoughts and feelings otherwise inaccessible or less easily accesible to us when we are pain free. I can see that.

Not really looking forward to more physical pain which seems likely. With Holy Week and Good Friday on the horizon, I’ll have some time to reflect about that a bit. If you are a believer, the passion of Christ and His time with the Cross was not just an occasion for Him to endure metaphorical or emotional pain for the world. It had to have hurt! I’ll identify a bit with the wound on his side.

I doubt I’ll be very stoic with any future physical pain. Stoicism, as you can probably tell, is not really my thing. My apologies, in advance, to my wife.

Listening to music is pretty important to me. It helps me mitigate the “bad” emotions and enhance the “good” ones. In the first paragraph on the first page of the book “How Music Works “ by former Talking Heads front man, David Byrne, he writes,

“ Music can get us through difficult patches in our lives by changing not only how we feel about ourselves , but also how we feel about everything outside ourselves. It’s powerful stuff!”

So true! Music is powerful stuff. The right song at the right time can always change how I feel. Case in point.

While I was writing this reflection, serendipitously (or providentially… I’ll let you decide), a Lake Street Dive song came on with a line about fear …check out the lyrics:

“I’m scared that I won’t get it right…

But fear won’t rule my heart tonight …

I can change , I can change , I can still change…”

Yes! I can still change. We all can. And I may not get it right but there is still time for growth as long as I am willing.*

(*Willin’? Great song by Little Feat, by the way. Ahh…sweet music. )

I am feeling less frightened at the moment, especially after contemplating the message of that song. And living in the now is always better than taking that scary trip to the imagined wreckage of my future.

For an astrophysicist, DeGrasse Tyson actually writes and talks quite a bit about fear, death and fear of death. (Read his latest book “Letters to an Astrophysicist” or look him up on Youtube. ) He contends that the knowledge that we will one day die actually creates an urgency in us all to make our mark on the world before we depart. Without it, he maintains, we would not have an impetus to create and accomplish. To him, death is motivation for living and loving each day as fully as possible. Pretty cool.

He wants the following quote by educator, Horace Mann, to be engraved on his tombstone: “ Be afraid to die until you have scored a victory for humanity.”

Today I’m praying that we all score a victory for humanity.

It will certainly be awesome to score a victory with this pandemic though that may take a while. Remaining faithful means that we have indeed scored a victory over despair. Despair, rather than fear, is the real mortal enemy.

Peace, Mark

Ps: If interested, here are a few songs either mentioned or considered while composing this post:

1) I Can Change by Lake Street Dive

2) Willin’ by Little Feat (but Mandy Moore from This is Us does a great version, too.)

3) No Pain by the Marcus King Band

4) Life During Wartime by the Talking Heads (Remember the album from which it came? Fear of Music)

5) Pills and Soap by Elvis Costello. (Did you really think I could have a playlist that did not include the master?)

Uncertainty, Faith and Meaning

I saw Micheal Lewis being interviewed on TV this week. Lewis, if you are unfamiliar with him, is the writer of such works as Moneyball , Flashboys and the Big Short. He was being questioned about his most recent work, The Fifth Risk, in which he “predicted” the crisis we are currently facing. He expressed his concern that there is a fundamental “hostility towards knowledge “ these days. Nothing new, I guess. I have been thinking about that for the last couple of days.

Perhaps, as teachers , we have been too arrogant in our desire to impart wisdom and “ knowledge”. And perhaps angry resistance is a normal and appropriate response to such a dogmatic certainty that many of us claim to possess.

Certainty. That is an illusive concept, yet we all seem to crave it and perhaps claim to have it in our little worlds. If anything, this Clovid 19 experience is forcing us to deal with the reality of uncertainty. Even the experts don’t know for certain how this will all turn out.

I have also been thinking about a biblical axiom that is best expressed in Spanish. “ El hombre propone y Dios dispone. “ The English translation of the Proverb 16 in the Old Testament, if you were to look it up, does not really do the statement justice.

Loosely, it means that we make the plans but God, well… God or the Universe, if you will, has the last word on those plans. My brother Paul interprets it to mean “ Man plans, God laughs.” Maybe. You get the idea.

To the cynical, that proverbial adage might come across as an argument in support of either a spiteful or even whimsical deity. It may even a lead to a nihilistic conclusion of total the randomness or absurdity of life and the human condition.

To me, however, it means that God, or the universe if you will, knows what She (or He) is doing. God is in control…. we aren’t. Once internalized and accepted, that notion is very liberating. It is reason for faith over despair. At least it is for me.

I have been strangely calm this week. I have begun yet another round of radiation with more chemotherapy on the horizon. My wife and family have been trying as best they can to keep me “Coronavirus free”, since in my current condition, that contagion could be grave. Trying to live in the present has been more challenging as of late. Will I see this current global viral crisis thru? I can’t know for certain.

With the reality of my current medical condition, we decided that I will retire in June. As exciting as that is to consider, it is also bittersweet. I will miss the classroom, no doubt. But, as we prepare for “ continuity of instruction”(AKA-on line learning), I have to consider : Have I already taught my last traditional class? I can’t know for certain.

That would be sad but…. really ….nothing I can do about it except, of course, accept and adapt. And try to grow.

One joy of parenting is to share your love of the arts and interests with your children. Sometimes they even like your tastes. Patrick and I love The Big Lebowski. I have always enjoyed John Turturro. So we started watching the sequel called The Jesus Rolls. Quite frankly, it seemed stupid and unwatchable. We turned it off. Since I hate to spend money on something and not use it ( I guess I fall prey to the Sunk Cost Fallacy that I teach my students to be wary of) I finished the film the next morning. Still confused as to what the film meant and why Turturro had chosen to do such a disaster (and how he had recruited such heavy hitters like Jon Hamm, Susan Sarandon, Christopher Walken
and Bobby Carnavale as part of his cast) I began to do a little background research. Seems that it had a deeper message and was inspired by a classic French film called Going Places with Gerard Depardieu. Interesting. I missed that.

The Topeka School by Ben Lerner came highly recommended from a book critic I enjoy, Ron Charles. He called it a “ extraordinarily brilliant novel that’s also accessible to anyone yearning for illumination in our disputatious era. “ He also described it as having a ”
a “spiky rampart of intellectuality “. After looking up the words “rampart” and “disputatious” ( great word, by the way, meaning “fond of or creating heated arguments” ) I read the book.

Was it interesting ? Yes, I guess. Curious? Ok, yeah. Confusing and thought provoking at the same time? Kinda. Maybe. Random and non-sequiturial (maybe like this post 😄?) Absolutely! Extraordinarily brilliant? Well, not to me, at least not at first.

It has a fairly simple plot that revolves around two high school boys from Kansas. One, the star of the debate team and one, a poor mentally impaired dropout. They both have a connection to the creepy psychotherapeutic treatment center of the title. I understood the plot but didn’t get the meaning. Then I went back and read some reviews and the sagacity of Lerner’s work became more apparent. It took some work for me to find a deeper meaning. And “ finding that “meaning” is still a work in process.

It lead me to think about some writings of Suzanne Langer. She claims that art makes the subjective aspects of the human condition tangible and accessible enough for our contemplation and reflection. The Topeka School certainly does that for me now that I stop and think about it.

How is this connected? For many of us, this pandemic is causing us to stop and think about things.

One of my favorite quotes comes from the W. Somerset Maugham classic “ The Moon and Sixpence.”

“Beauty is something wonderful and strange that the artist fashions out of the chaos of the world in the torment of his soul. And when he has made it, it is not given to all to know it. To recognize it you must repeat the adventure of the artist. It is a melody that he sings to you, and to hear it again in your own heart you want knowledge and sensitiveness and imagination.“

Beauty fashioned out of the “ chaos of the world “ and it’s meaning “ is not given to all to know… “? The post-modernist would say probably say that we create this meaning. Might be true. I chose to think that we discover it.

But again…. uncovering meaning doesn’t come without some time and thought . We have to “ repeat the adventure of the artist “ and it just might lead to us wanting “knowledge “. Notwithstanding, according to Maugham at least, this knowledge is accompanied with sensitiveness and imagination. Cool! And this type of knowledge would not seem to be the kind that would unleash the animosity to which Michael Lewis refers. Win win.

To find meaning many of us do so many things to try to escape our current reality as a means of gaining insight. We vacation and/or avoid. We buy. We meditate. We yoga.

We try create unique perspectives from which to understand our existence. And sometimes we even create alternate realities that we live in. Just like many adventuring artists have always done and continue to do. It is a reoccurring venture. A quest ingrained in our species, maybe?

Since I am a believer, “repeating the adventure of the artist” leads me more and more toward prayer, God being the ultimate artist. I have tried to develop a more disciplined prayer life over the past few years. I still have a long way to go. Progress not perfection is the goal.

I’m not quite sure of the meaning in this global event, yet, but I am glad that I am still around to witness it. It is certainly challenging to see any“ beauty” in it. Hopefully, it will lead me away from arrogance and toward more humility and compassion. I am getting more comfortable with the concept of uncertainty. I have no choice, really.

Upside? This outlook seems to bring me more peace. And faith.

Faith that God knows what He or She is doing. I can’t know. It’s uncertain. Hence, my need for faith. Faith that God is fashioning some beauty out of the current chaos of the world.

We don’t seem to need as much faith during times of certainty… only during times of uncertainty. A curious fact.

I really like this recent quote I came across from Dutch author, Etty Hillesum. Hillesum was a Jew that was killed in the concentration camp in Auschwitz.

In one of her prayers she exclaims to God:

“ You cannot help us, but we must help You and defend Your dwelling place within us to the last. “

To me that affirms the ideas that we are co-creators with God and others of a better world. That there IS an interior life that we can ( and should) cultivate.

Hoping that when the crisis passes, that I still feel well enough to continue to help God and positively contribute to His (Her or Their) glorious creation.

I’ll let you wrestle with and figure the meaning of Hellesum’s quote for yourself. Reread it.

Or not. This post was pretty long , so …. certainly, or at least most likely, many of you did not finish it. 😉

Peace,

Mark

Is There Life After Death?

One of my favorite activities within the first few days of the Theory of Knowledge, a class I have had the privilege to teach for the past many years, is to get a sense of what the kids claim to believe or opine versus what they claim to know.

Normally, the majority of the class says that they “believe” there is life after death. Some claim they believe there is not. With the rise of atheism in our country, that number is on the rise. But still a minority.

I boldly proclaim to the class that I “know” for a fact that there is life after death and arrogantly state that I can prove it. After a bit of banter, I ask the class if any of them have had any grandparents die. Hands go up. Then I ask them if anyone in the room is still alive. Voila. Proof of life after death!

Why would I be thinking about that after such a wonderful trip to Spain? Well, there are a few reasons, none more looming than my current cancer diagnosis and the reality of another round of harsher chemotherapy starting soon. But that is really not the inspiration for this writing.

I was incredibly moved while in Barcelona by our visit to La Sagrada Familia. It was not only the magnificence of the structure that so impressed me but rather the things I learned ( or relearned ) about the architect, Antoní Guadí. He started the project in 1882 knowing full well he would not be alive to see its completion. When he died in 1926 (hit by a tram, unrecognized by those who found him and stuck in hospital for the indigent … but that is another story) only the crypt and one facade of his enormous opus were completed. La Sagrada Familia will not be finished until, hopefully, 2026. But there is no doubt, to any sentient visitor, that Gaudí’s vision, his faith and his spirit are very much alive in Barcelona. Gaudí lives on almost a century after his death.

I was reflecting on a poem by Khalil Gibran that my mother had hanging in our home. One stanza is about parents “ We are the bows and our children are the arrows.“ I thought about that line during our visit with Molly. She is almost 21, the same age as me when I was an exchange student in Mexico. I had only been to 2 countries, USA and Canada, before heading off to Mexico. Before I left, I had traveled to Belize and Guatemala ( During a civil war! That is another story. ) before returning home. She has already been to Mexico, the Dominican Republic, Aruba, England, Italy, Turks and Caicos, Spain, Belgium and is currently in Portugal. By the time she leaves Europe, she hopes to have visited Paris, Morocco, Hungary, Ireland and the Canary Islands. Wow! Clearly, my “arrow daughter“ will fly to many places that this “bow“ will not make it to. And that is cool. That is how it should be, at least according to the Lebanese poet (and me).

My grand hope is that she continues to be blown away by the wonders of the world. They are endless. Also, that she continues to develop an appreciation of cultural differences. There are many ways to live a life beyond the relatively small worlds of Frederick, Maryland and Providence, Rhode Island. And different rarely means lesser.

I consider it a grand privilege to have taught high school for so long. It has been a joy to watch students, after leaving us, soar to great heights and accomplish great feats. Every now and again, sometimes out of the blue, I am thanked for the small role I may have played in their education. Or I am reminded of something that a former student may have found inspirational, motivational or just funny. I am always appreciative of those kind gestures. They are reminders to me, that just like Gaudí, we can live on thru our work and our vocations.

Two recent experiences with former students have caused some reflection.

I coached the academic team for 20 years. In that time, we won 3 county championships. Two of those championship teams had Sirad Hassan on them. Sirad, the daughter of Somalian immigrants, is currently a senior at Princeton. She will be representing the Tigers on College Jeopardy this spring. I am both proud and in awe of her and her accomplishments. Clearly, her academic prowess already far exceeds mine at the young age of 22. It is comforting to consider that I may have played a small role is her development. Her brief time with me, however, taught me more than I ever taught her.

While in Spain, we were able to meet up with a former student, colleague and good friend, Crisito Staub and his beautiful family. He has moved back to Spain with his wonderful Gallega wife, Paula. His knowledge of all things Spanish, both linguistically and culturally, far exceed mine. He recently passed the C2 Spanish exam (that is a big deal). It was like 25 years ago that I first came to Almería, Spain with Chris as a student. His use of “castellano” to make the world a better place is obvios to anyone who has had the pleasure of interacting with him and of having had him touch their lives. And like Sirad, he has taught me much more over the years than I have ever taught him – on many levels.

I had the opportunity to visit another good friend, mentor and former high school teacher, Ray Powers, last year. I even taught with him for a while at my former high school. I always likened that experience to being on the other side of the fence at the zoo. Remnants of his teachings, his faith and his life stories have lived on thru me. That is a joy of teaching. That is a joy of relationship.

Fear of death, rarely consumes me anymore.  Fear of not making the most of each day, of not living and loving fully, or of not learning, for whatever time I have left, is of greater concern.  

Whether there is an afterlife or not is something we all get the opportunity to find out some day. For now, it is simply a matter of belief or faith. It can’t be knowledge in the traditional sense.

The loving relationship between Nancy and I (going on 30 years now) brought us 3 gifts whose value, to us, is beyond measure. Our hopes and dreams are that they live on faithfully for many years after we have left them.

There definitely is love after death. This, I know.

A Baby Changes Everything

Christmas Reflections 2019

“A baby changes everything!” Those words were uttered more than once by my brother, Paul over the last few years. He has wanted to move out of Brownsville, Texas for quite some time now. He has had a rather large array of potentially interesting or extravagant plans for he and his wife as they contemplate the next stage of lives. The announcement of his daughter Emily’s pregnancy earlier this year and the birth of Nora Rose, completely changed his focus and plans. He has moved (or is in the process of moving) to the eastern part of the USA. A part of the world that, if you knew my brother, he has not had much affinity for in great while. But, as he said, “ A baby changes everything!”

I think that this is a pretty good metaphor for my understanding of Christmas. Whether you find the Christmas story fact or fiction or whether you don’t even know or consider the Christmas story at all in our secular world, one fact remains. Ask any parent. They will tell you. The birth of a child, especially your first, completely changes your life. 

From one perspective… especially for a new parent or grandparent… it is a big event. It is miraculous. How does the union of two people create this unbelievable mass of tissue that you come to love immediately? It is overwhelming. It is inexplicable. I was blessed to have that experience 3 times. Eddie Murphy recently exclaimed that his tenth child was just born. I assume it makes no difference. If you are not powerfully affected by this event in your life, no matter how many times in may happen to you, I can’t imagine what else could possibly move you. 

But, from another perspective… it is very insignificant. Small even. Common. Routine. It happens every day everywhere on the planet. Babies are born every second. From that cosmic perspective, it is just an ordinary event that happens every day to very ordinary people.

That is what impresses me at Christmas time. That God, if He or She does exist, and I believe that “they” do, chose such an insignificant event to have such a major significance for and impact on the world. That is what the incarnation means to me. God choosing to be with us. Emanuel. God Among Us. Within us. Not over us. 

Jesus was not a member of any royal family, like on the Crown. He didn’t seem to have been born with any particular supernatural set of skills, well… sans the healing and the wine making powers … if you believe in the miracles. But let’s focus on his humanity today. He came as a baby. He grew up in a family, made some friends and began living out a set of values and beliefs that, through his example, came to have a tremendous impact on the world. Simple really. Not too complicated. 

So I refer to“babies” here, as a metaphor for the small ordinary events that have the potential to change us. Opportunities for growth and new life. What do we need for this to happen? Simple. Willingness. 

The announcement of and birth of a baby gives us many alternatives. We can abandon the baby.  Abort it before it is even born. Neglect it. Ignore it. Leave it alone. Let it wither and die. Have it just become another thing in our busy lives with which we have to deal. Indoctrinate it. Change and manipulate it. Mold it. Conform it to fit into our lives. Use it to fill a void in our lives. Stifle it. Over protect it. My use of the pronoun “it” was intentional here. 

Or we can embrace the baby and the new life. We can become cocreators with the baby of a new and improved world. We can allow the baby to transform us. Allow him or her to help us to be able to conceive of new and previously unimagined possibilities. 

Just what or who are these “babies” in our lives?  An illness like my cancer. A small act of kindness done to you.  One that you do for a brother or sister in need.. Consistency. The loss of a job. Making a meal. The sending of an unexpected email. The mending of an important relationship. The forgiving of a friend or family member. The reading of an inspirational book. Holding a baby for a frantic mom. A moment spent in prayer or meditation. The allowing of someone to comfort us.  Referring to a person as “they” even though you might not understand why.  The making of an amend.  The creation of art. A hug. The recognition of and gratitude for what we get to do today. Being honest and admitting to a lie. Teaching a great lesson. Not saying something.  Going to chemo with a cancer patient. Doing a mundane job well. Reconnecting with…..? Stopping on the side of the road to clean up a dead animal on Xmas morning. (I saw that this morning at 7 am- no lie!) The list of unimagined possibilities is endless. None of these require us to do anything earth shaking. They are quite ordinary, small and somewhat insignificant things from that cosmic perspective. Yet they can also be transformative…. just like a new baby in our midst.  

I have been inspired by a recent book. Life is Magic by Jon Dorenbos. Dorenbos’ life was shattered when, at the age of 12, his wonderful childhood was taken away abruptly. His dad and hero, the president of his Little League, his coach and confidant brutally and unexpectedly murdered his mother in their garage. He cleaned up the crime scene, put the body in the trunk, prepared breakfast for his son, got him to his practice and went to the police and turned himself in. BAM! The loss of two parents in one fell swoop. Later in life, after tremendous amount of internal work ( and help) Dorenbos recovered and healed. He later became a long snapper in the NFL. Just as his career was in full bloom, he was diagnosed with the “widow maker”,  an aortic aneurysm just waiting to happen. His NFL career was over just like that! 

Yet his tale is NOT a sad one. There are two quotes in the very first chapter of the book that have moved me. “ Our main concern is neither the pursuit of pleasure nor the avoidance of pain, but rather find meaning in life.”  The second one is a bit paraphrased by me: “ You can look at the shit that goes on in your life and ask ‘Why me’? Or you can be grateful that that situation or condition did not kill you, and that you still have time left to recover and you can pledge to live each moment left fully aware of how precious it is!”  The chapter ends with Jon preparing himself to meet with his father for the first time since the murder in 1992. His express purpose for that meeting is to express his forgiveness to his father for the act of killing his beloved mother. WOW!

We ONLY can find meaning if we are willing to look for it. To create it. We can ONLY pledge to live each moment aware of how precious it is if we are willing to live in the present. To do it. 

The cries of a baby are always about the NOW. The joy of a baby is also in the NOW, especially when in your arms, embraced. 

That is my goal and hope in 2020, whether it be my last winter on the planet or just another one added on to the current 58th and counting.  To embrace the present with great abandon. To neither live in the regrets of my past nor to spend any time in the imagined wreckage of my future. To work on forgiveness. To wake up every day prayerfully focused on and grateful for what I get to do that day. And those prospects only become available to me if I am game for them.  Willing. 

We already love little Eleonora Rose ( kick ass name, right?) and we have not even met her yet. That will happen later today. Weird, huh? But cool! And why wouldn’t we?

That is what the baby reminds me of at this time of year. “A baby changes everything!” Love is just fashioned out of nowhere. You don’t have to be a Catholic or even a Christian to be a full participant in THAT reality. You don’t even have to be a “believer”. It is in no way exclusive to any sect or group. It is always available. Every minute of every day. 

Peace and Love, 

Mark 

Recovery and the Big C

T’was the night before my cancer check up and all thru the house….

On the eve of my now biannual upper endoscopy, I am reflecting on the significance of cancer in my life. I’m not sure I have any definitive answers but here are some current reflections.

The facts: July 2014 seems like a lifetime ago. That was when I was first diagnosed. I began chemotherapy and radiation immediately which lead up to an esophagectomy in October of that year. I worked up until the day of my operation and was back in the classroom half time in December and full time by February 2015. Other than one scare a year later with its return and subsequent cryotherapeutic procedure, my regular check ups have gone swimmingly for the last 18 months. I went from check ups every 2 months to every 3 and tomorrow is my first one after 6 months. If the next 2 go well, the probability of the Big C coming back goes down considerably.

The challenge: Fighting the cancer, I found, was not the hardest part of the ordeal. So much of that is outside of your control. You focus and get thru all the appointments and then you rest. If it goes well, as has for me so far, you are grateful, prayerful and your loved ones are relieved.

But preparing yourself for reentry into the world after your brush with death? That I found more challenging. That is an internal journey. I did not know what I expected exactly but I did know that I wanted the experience to change me in some significant way.

Certainly, I am changed physically. As a result, many of my behaviors have changed. My diet is radically altered. I cannot eat many of my favorite foods anymore. I rarely eat after 5:30 pm. I sleep on an incline. I stopped drinking alcohol. There are benefits. I am quite a bit thinner and I feel much better most of the time. Amazing what happens when you eat better! Who’d a thunk it?

However, I had this nagging feeling throughout that I did not simply want to “return to normal”. Not that normal life was bad mind you. I am blessed. I have always been blessed. But about 8 months after my surgery I began to feel sad, which was strange because my recuperation was going so well. It’s hard to articulate to why.

The first hurdle: I had to deal with my fear of death. I don’t think I was ever scared of dying actually, but I was scared, surprisingly, about what happens after you die. I always counted on heaven but did have to confront the real ( and seemingly imminent) possibility of eternal damnation for the many ( many ) transgressions I have committed ( and continue to commit ) over my 56 years. When my brother Paul came to take care of me, he alleviated some of those fears. He has some reassuring ideas about the nature of heaven and hell. But it was an old friend’s visit, my former high school teacher Ray Powers, that got me over this worry. He gave me a book on universal salvation called ” If Grace Is True ” by Phillip Gulley and James Mulholland. The message is simple.

I am a highly imperfect father of three children. There is NOTHING that any of these kids could do that would EVER stop me from loving or forgiving them. NOTHING. That is how much I love them. If there is a God, and I believe there is, He ( or She) has a much greater love for me than I have for my wife and kids. How could this God ever not love or not forgive me? I came to understand that He ( or She) couldn’t. To continue, if there is life after death, which I also believe, then our relationship does not end when my body dies. I can be forgiven then too. I’d give my children every opportunity to heal our relationship so I assume so will God. What does that all mean? Well… for me, I ain’t worried about hell after I die ! First challenge conquered! So if that notion wasn’t getting me down anymore, what was?

There is another hell that God ( or anyone else) cannot protect me from. The one of my own making here on Earth. That one I have to deal with everyday. Not that my life, in any way, is a living hell. It is not. But there are many unresolved issues that I assume we all face. They can be personal “mini hells” if you will. We don’t deal with them and we don’t resolve them. They linger. Or maybe we simply have no idea about how they fit in to our lives of sometimes silent desperation. They plague us. They can be ephemeral or perennial and persistent. They are obvious and yet they are illusive. I came to the realization that it was here, in this vagueness, that I needed healing. Again, don’t misunderstand me. I certainly feel blessed to have survived this wild ordeal. I grateful for my loving family and for my wife. I could never have made it without them. But there was something more here being stirred up in me.

My brother Paul suggested that I go speak to a deacon at my church. He thought that I needed to “process” this life transforming experience. He encouraged me to get “spiritual direction”. I did not really understand what that was and why I needed it but after some resistance, I decided to set up an appointment with Deacon Larry. What did I have to lose?

At that first meeting, I told Larry that I was really not sure why I wanted to meet with him other than my brother had suggested it. But I guess I did have quite a few existential questions right off the bat.

First, why me? Not why had I gotten cancer. Why had my recovery gone so well? Did my prayers really work? I had seen so many others suffering so much more than me, for much longer and not getting any better. My younger cousin Joannie had just died of cancer leaving behind a husband and two children. Prayer had worked for me. Why hadn’t prayers worked for her? Within a week of my diagnosis I had three meetings with three different oncologists and immediate access to the finest of health care. I realize that most people in our world do not have access to that level of care. Why? Why was I spared? I still don’t know.

Secondly, and more perplexing, how could I go beyond just getting back to normal? Similar to what recovering alcoholics sometimes say, giving up drinking is the easy part. Learning to live well sober is the challenge. I could relate. The physical recovery from cancer is
comparatively easy. Going thru treatment is never boring! I loved the drugs! You are very focused. (except when the narcotics are kicking in, of course- but who needs focus then?) But living more fully as a recovering cancer survivor was what I am after and that was, and is, much harder.

Larry gave me my first real introduction into the writings of of Fr. Richard Rohr. Rohr is a Jesuit priest that leads the Center for Action and Contemplation. He is also a cancer survivor. Many of our initial discussions revolved around his book “Falling Upward: A Spirituality for the Two Halves of Life” Rohr contends that “Most of us tend to think of the second half of life as largely about getting old, dealing with health issues, and letting go of our physical life” or falling down. But his idea of what the second half of life should be is exactly the opposite. Rohr suggests that this narrow, realistic worldview impedes our opportunity to embrace what he calls the “broader and deeper world where the soul has found its fullness”. Live’s trajectory can be falling upward instead of falling down. It is a much more optimistic and constructive approach.

How does he suggest we fall upward? Well, one way challenging idea that he promotes is for us to leave behind our “either/or” dualistic thinking. Instead of dividing every moment between up and down, good or bad, totally right or totally wrong, Democrat or Republican, conservative or liberal, with me or against me, etc., Rohr says we should move towards ” both/and” or non-dualistic thinking. This will lead us to what he calls ” contemplative seeing”.

What the heck is that? The metaphor he uses is that for the first half of life we ” write the text” of our lives. It is full of judgment and ego manufacturing and institution building. Exclusion and editing is a big part of the first half as we can’t leave in ALL the text, unlike this blog.

For the second half of life we ” write the commentary on the text. ” That requires understanding and synthesis. Anyone that reads commentary understands that it is highly subjective and can lead to conflicting explanations. The best commentary includes the acknowledgement of many different perspectives that sometimes clash and sometimes cohere. Good commentary leads to the connection and integration of disparate ideas. How to get there?

Fr. Richard suggests that we take these conflicts head on in silent reflection and that this wisdom or contemplative seeing will “emerge gradually as we learn to incorporate the negative ” or as Jesus puts it, ‘ forgive the enemies’ both within and without.” Kinda heady but what does that mean to me?

Well, first I need to understand that I am blessed regardless of the test results. I am not blessed any less if my cancer comes back tomorrow than I would be if it doesn’t. There is a big difference between blessings and luck. Many years ago I read a book by Mathew Fox entitled “Original Blessing”. In it, he suggests that the idea of all of humanity being born with “Original Sin” can lead to a warped understanding of our relationship with God. Instead we should revel in the understanding that we have been blessed right from the start. My blessing is not contingent on the outcome. It is there whether I realize it or not. As it always has been and will be.

Second. Acceptance seems to be the key. It always is, isn’t it? Accept the love that this world offers without a fight. Accept others as they are. Accept the fact that as often as we will soar, we will also crash. Accept that even those who love us will disappoint and hurt us. Accept our imperfect selves. Accept our humanity. Accept our mortality.

Accept the pain. There can be quite a bit of pain at times. But the pain of life gives us more opportunity for authentic growth than joy. Joy, according to Rohr, ” is too often manufactured and passing…. pain’s effects are not passing, and pain is less commonly manufactured. Thus it is a more honest doorway into lasting communion than happiness.” If we don’t accept and deal with life’s pain and avoid it, we will never allow “the truth of life to teach you on its terms.”

Third, (and most challenging) the idea of transformation instead of transaction. We seem to be so unconsciously conditioned for lives of transaction that we don’t allow for transformation or renewal. I began to think of the way I look at life many times.

If I do this, I’ll get something for it. If I listen to what the doctor says, I will recuperate and get back to normal. If I go to school and work hard, I will get a good job some day. If I raise my kids right, they will be successful (and I, in turn, get to be proud). If I do a good job, I will get a promotion. If I change jobs, I will get more personal fulfillment. If I take a trip, I will get recharged. If I buy a new, expensive standup paddle-board. I will be happy. If I pray, read the Bible and go to church and receive the sacraments I will get closer to God. If I listen to what God wants and do it, I will get into heaven. The mental transactions I make are endless.

And if I do do all of these things and don’t get something out of if well… not fair! That is what is always implied with a transaction. If God has gotten rid of my cancer, what should my response be? What do I owe Him (or Her) ? Obligations and debts are just different forms of transactions.

If you get me thru this cancer check tomorrow, God, I will do such and such, I promise ! Still trans active. So how do I get to transformation?

Honestly? Not sure. That is the challenge. It must begin with my willingness to be transformed.

If tomorrow the results of my endoscopy are bad, I can still allow that experience to be transformative. Heartbreak and disappointment can be devastating or they can be constructive. That’s up to me. By the very same token, I can allow a good prognosis to have no positive effect on my quality of my inner life. That would be equally sad as there would be little to no transformation. That’s up to me too.

Serendipitously, we will read about the transfiguration of Jesus in church this weekend. Let me give you the rundown of that story for those not familiar. As three of his disciples look on, Jesus’ appearance is magnificently changed before them. His countenance becomes dazzling. Afterward, he instructs them to not tell anyone about they have just witnessed. And the disciples don’t seem to agree on how to respond. I understand. How am I called to respond?

That is becoming a little clearer. The answer seems to have less to do about “doing” and more about “being” different. Doing is still connected to transaction. Being is more connected to transformation.

Krista Tippett, is the host of NPR’s radio broadcast and podcast called On Being. Her latest book is called “Becoming Wise: An Inquiry into the Mystery and Art of Living”. Tippett focuses on what she calls “the gift of presence”. We can experience exhilaration by engaging in life for its own sake, not as a means to an end. In other words, it is not just another transaction. I am just starting to understand.

In this light, being a cancer patient is a privilege not a death sentence, even though, chances are it will eventually kill me. A privilege? Yes, a privilege in the sense that I have access to some thoughts and feelings that would never have been possible at this stage of my life. We cancer patients are these granted privileges. And so there is opportunity.

Faith leads me to believe that my cousin Joanie’s transformation is further along. And her friends and family become living manifestations of the loving transformation that she has begun. We all get to transform in the same way some day.

After 3 years, I finally feel like I am making some real progress. They are baby steps for sure, but progress is progress and movement is better than feeling stuck.

I do, however, still have one lingering trans active question. If I do buy that expensive standup paddle board that I referred to earlier, (and that I have been eyeing all summer) , will it make me happy? After all, our annual trip to the beach starts the day after the doctor’s visit! Happy Summer! Peace.

Leave a comment

On conservativism (sort of)

The constant presidential news this summer has been vexing to my spirit, as my brother Paul would say. I have been critical that besides Charles Krauthammer and George Will, there have been few intelligent conservatives voices commenting honestly or insightfully on our national situation (i.e.debacle) To be fair, many liberals have been equally inane.

After reading Deviate: The Science of Seeing Things Differently, I was inspired by the author Beau Lotto’s suggestion that by challenging our assumptions and experimenting with new ones, positive “neurological effects” can be had. At my age, I need all the positive neurological effects I can get!

The biggest way challenge to one’s assumptions (i.e. worldview) according to Lotto, is to assume ” you might be wrong about your “knowledge” of things “.  By actively seeking new assumptions one can increase the chances of “beating the kurtotic biases that past experiences have given you”. In other words, if we challenge ourselves to look more deeply into positions that are drastically different from our own, we can even move closer to the “truth” if there is one. And in the process, we will ultimately feel better.

What better way to challenge my assumptions as a ” left of center ” baby boomer than to read John B. Judis’s book about William F. Buckley, Jr. subtitled “Patron Saint of the Conservatives”.  Since I had started my summer reading with Al Franken’s new memoir, Giant of the Senate, I assumed my neurological pathways were in need of something drastically different than the Minnesota senator’s witty perspective.  Judis’s book on Buckey provided just that.

It will come to the surprise of no one that I am a lifetime Liberal. One of my favorite conservatives is my mother’s little brother, Uncle Don. I dedicate this blog to him.  We have (enjoyed?) a lifetime of robust political repartee around many a holiday table. We almost always disagree with each other’s political perspective but enjoy the banter. And while I don’t find some of the sources of his information to be all that credible,  I suppose he feels the same way about mine. For example, he probably choked on my previous mention of Al Franken’s book as I know he is not a fan. As an octogenarian, I do respect him for his commitment to continue to being well read and well informed. And he did introduce me to Micheal Smerconish, whom I like.  Over the years,  I have tried to take some of my uncle’s conservative recommendations and subsequently have read a couple of Bill O’Reilly’s books. He is ( or at least was) one of my uncle’s favorites. To tell you the truth, I’m still not a big fan of O’Reilly’s works. “Killing Kennedy” was entertaining, I’ll grant you that, but I much preferred Reza Azlan’s historical account of Jesus in “Zealot” over O’Reilly’s ( and  Martin Dugard’s ) take in “Killing Jesus”.  I digress.

To the point.  I wish I had read this book on Buckley many years earlier. I think I could have appreciated my uncle’s perspective much better.  I had only known Buckley as oft described “intellectual behind the Reagan Revolution”. Since it would be an understatement to say that I was no fan of Saint Ronnie, I knew right off the bat, I would “hate” Buckley’s perspective of the world as well.  And while I do have many misgivings about what Buckley did and said, and perhaps thought, I do wish he were around today. His erudite conservatism is sorely needed in today’s political discourse.

Buckley was best known as the founder of the conservative magazine National Review and as the right wing provocateur  debater on “Firing Line” a PBS show that was on the air for over 30 years. He was a practicing Irish Catholic like myself.  Unlike me, he was a fierce anti-communist.  Surprising, at least to me, Buckley had real philosophical problems with American capitalism. According to him, ” The American capitalist is the inarticulate, self-conscious bumbling mechanic of the private sector, struck dumb by the least cliché of socialism, fleeing into the protective arms of government at the least hint of commercial difficulty … uniformly successful only in his ambition to grow duller and duller as the years go by. ” He goes on to say that they are held in “accumulated contempt by academicians, poets and moralists” for having sown the seeds of their own and other’s destruction. He wrote essays critical of commercialism and materialism. Clearly, Buckley was a different type of critical conservative than I had imagined.  As I continued to read, I found that there were several things I actually liked about him.

First, he was exceedingly well read.  His thought was well grounded in the works of many political scientists and philosophers, most notably,  Albert Nock and Whittaker Chambers. When part of the right wing began to move towards “anti-intellectual” populism, Buckley refused. He continued to write and publish lengthy articles that attempted to reason nuanced positions that required reflection, thought and response. Even Reagan once kidded him for being ” sesquipedalian” ( I’ll let you look that word up-it’s a real word, I promise) by  stating that he could not understand Buckley’s request to ” indulge me in a timorous moment of matitutinal disquietude”  without putting his decodifying scrambler on.  Buckley worked at clarifying his argument in the best possible way as it lo I does not always lead to simple explanations. He challenged simplistic metaphors of complex positions.  He was unapologetic about using an expansive vocabulary. As a language teacher,  I respect that.

At the end of its’ run, his TV show “Firing Line” reportedly ( I never watched it) became less political and more intellectual. Even when he had on old antagonists like William Sloan Coffin, he was more polite and deferential and less combative in his debate than he had been in the beginning. The show became more academic and intellectual where issues were discussed at length. As a result , it was described as no longer being ” good television” as the voyeristic political crowd began to largely abandon the show.  With the desire to shape political debate by raising it to a higher philosophical level he often risked ” academic obscurity and dullness”.  Since I attempt to teach philosophy to high school students, I can relate to his approach and appreciate the challenge of his position.  As my sometimes canterkerous, yet highly astute colleague and close friend,  history teacher Norm Crosby often laments, it is more and more difficult teaching to the young TV generation that is so used to style ( i.e. being entertained) over substance ( i.e. grasping the concepts and understanding the material) . Buckley would have agreed.

Buckley took on right wing fringe groups that he often referred to as “kooky”. He cut down the John Birch Society and the Liberty Lobby as vociforacely as he fought the against the crazy left wingers. Seems like a breath of fresh air in an age when our current administration lends credence to sources like InfoWars, Brietbart News and the National Inquirer.

He provided a platform for unpopular, well reasoned voices within his own conservative movement. He continued to publish articles by George Will that were critical of the New Right even when the rest of the editorial staff of National Review wanted to let Will go. He published articles with which he disagreed. He would publish letters critical of himself and respond to them in kind with reasoned defense and argumentation.  He did not shy away from academic debate even when his position was hard to defend. He once put a gay conservative’s criticism of National Review on the cover of the periodical. He was for the legalization of marijuana.

Buckley was willing to depart from traditional hardline conservatives on many political issues. He was for the Carter-Torrijos Treaty that gave back the Panama Canal to Panama. When most conservatives supported P. W. Botha’s White political party in South Africa, Buckley supported the ANC. When staunch conservatives like Evan Meachem fought against a national holiday for Martin Luther King, Buckley disagreed. He allowed for editor Joe Sobran to write articles critical of Israel at a time when all that would get you for doing so was the “anti-Semite” label. One can only speculate about what he would have said about Trumpism as he was not an apologist for boorish behavior and shallow, bombastic political thought.

From my recollection as a political science major in the late 70’s and early 80’s,  I would never have associated any of these aforementioned political positions with Buckley, the man that we lefties accused as being the ventriloquist behind Reagan’s dummy.  In addition, Buckley was funny. His words are fun to read.

While Buckey and I are both fellow practicing Roman Catholics, we would probably not agree much on the social and political implications of the Gospel. He was steadfastly opposed to Pope John XXXIII and Pope Paul VI’s commitment to détente and anticolonialism, understandable for the raging anti-communist that he was. While I would vehemently disagree with Buckley’s position on these religious issues, I have had, over the years, many of my own disagreements with the church. It was difficult for me to remain Catholic during the Benedict years, to be honest. So I can relate to his attempt to remain faithful to his understanding of his Godly vocation as well as his decision to stay in the church even when he found the institution and its’ leader misguided.

My long time liberal friends will probably find my kind words for this arch conservative quite shocking.  Certainly, I could write voluminously on where Buckley and I diverge politically, socially, religiously and morally.  Yet , I have attempted to ” pick the flowers and not the weeds” as Micheal Moore once said defending his recent documentary ” Where Should We Invade Next?”.  In this film, Moore goes to other countries around the world that have better ideas that we currently have. Instead of invading for oil or geolpolitical issues, he proposes that we should pilfer their ideas. In the process, he willfully leaves out mention of the bad ideas.  So maybe there are good ideas from the right that the left can pilfer and vice versa.

I have realized for a long time now that we are socialized into not liking the people and the things we know little about. And we are rarely encouraged to look into them and find out why.  As a personal example, in the 80’s, when I was an organizer for the Industrial Area’s Foundation in the South Bronx, I ran into my first Muslim coworker. We often argued about one of his heros, Malcolm X. At the time, I could not appreciate his admiration of the person I had written off as a “hateful racist”.  20 years later, I when I finally got around to reading Alex Haley’s opus ” An Authobiography of Malcolm X”, I was astounded.  When I finished the final chapters of that book, I learned for the first time that after his pilgrimage to Mecca, Malcolm X recanted much of what he had previously said and was totally changed by the experience.  He admitted to his own previous narrow mindedness.  That important part of his life had been curiously left out of my education. Much like my reaction to when I discovered in later years that Helen Keller was a raging communist, I felt defrauded by what seemed to be an intentional, “patriotic” omission of our history.  This is yet another reminder to me that we rarely get “the rest of the story”, as Paul Harvey used to say.  That is, unless we challenge our assumptions and seek ” the rest of the story ” out.  That rarely happens on social media! I now think that every high school student should ” An Autobiography of Malcolm X ” before the graduate. With all the salaciousness of Malcolm Little’s life before his conversation, they won’t be bored! Could I say the same about Judis’ book on Buckley? Maybe.

I had a similar experience a few years ago when I watched the HBO documentary about Barry Goldwater called ” Mr. Conservative”. All I had known about Goldwater were ” the greatest hits” that I had learned with a decidedly leftist slant. I knew he had gotten trounced in the 1964 election and I was familiar with his famous quote, ” I would remind you that extremism in the defense of liberty is no vice! And let me remind you also that moderation in the pursuit of justice is no virtue!”  That was all I needed to know about a man I had considered evil. After I watched the documentary, I realized that there was much more about Goldwater of which I had no idea, yet I had derided him plenty over the years. I stopped. I acknowledge that a better understanding of the philosophy of the intellectual right is needed. Reading this book has provided that for me. But understanding does not mean total acceptance or acquiescence.

John McCain’s rebuke of congress for its tendentious (another good Buckley word- look it up) behavior was particularly edifying. Many in our government seem to be making each day of 2017 feel less believable than the one that came before. It is maddening. One way out might be to try to see things differently.  That is a timely message for all of us wherever we reside on the political spectrum. I’d say that is a rather conservative approach, no?  Peace.

I would never have read Judis’s book if it had not been for you, Uncle Don. Thanks and peace to you, too.

On Freedom(s)…

I recently played a favorite Devo song of mine, Freedom of Choice, to my 11th grade Theory of Knowledge class. The International Baccalaureate program affords students many choices in their studies. In order to write their Extended Essays, for example,  students must first choose a mentor and more importantly, a research topic.  When they do their TOK presentations, they have an almost limitless number of real life situations from which they can choose. Many other IB classes have assessments that also require students to make choices on the topics they study as well. Intuitively, one might think that most students would love this freedom. In most cases, however, they don’t. Many either procrastinate or end up choosing topics that they seem to only be moderately interested, if at all, in studying. Few seem to come to their mentors enthusiastically with potential ideas they really want to explore. It appears that so many choices become distressing instead of freeing. I felt the class needed to hear Mark Mothersbaugh’s  words for inspiration and clarity ( or at very least for a discussion ) . The song was inspired by Buriden’s ass paradox about the nature of free will.  The donkey ( or the dog in Devo’s tune) dies because he can’t make a decision. The song concludes with the prophetic lines: ” Freedom of choice is what you got. Freedom from choice is what you want. ”  Several of the class concurred with the sentiment of the musical message finding so many choices indeed overwhelming. It was a 7:30 am class in June. Most simply chose to think about other more important things like the summer before thier senior year.

But freedom has been on my mind lately. My 20 year old son, after many years of adhering to a very regimented schedule  ( he is a division 1 collegiant swimmer) decided to study and work in a sustainable community in the jungles of Panama this summer. He has suddenly been exposed to many different people from all over the world with world views of which he had known little. He loves it. He is being inspired to try out new things that he had previously never considered.

He is coming to the realization that the very structured and nurturing life that we have set up for him and his sisters is at the same time limiting. He naturally wants more freedom from this parental control and yet is still confined by the realities of financial patronage.  Given the time and space to explore and dream, his mind has been all over the place and it is all good. It is exciting to watch on the one hand. It is scary to watch on the other. He is beginning the negotiate the world of “freedom from ” to the idea of ” freedom to “.  It ain’t always easy. Our job now is to help him discern the best path for his long term happiness. One thing for certain, we won’t let him die like Buridan’s beast.

Right before the national holiday that celebrates our liberation from the Brits, and right after I had the opportunity to visit Panama, I picked up a copy of Jonathan Frazen’s novel Freedom. It was completely serendipitous. Wow! I have not yet had time to clarify all my thoughts on this expansive work, but it did inspire some preliminary musings on the topic at hand. The main theme seems to be that the way many of us in America understand freedom, at least initially, is too simplified and narrow. A quote from the book:

” People came to this country for either money or freedom. If you don’t have money, you cling to your freedoms all the more angrily.”

That is where he starts but  Frazen’s view on this abstract notion of freedom ultimately goes well beyond personal liberties,  free speech and Citizen’s United. He is suggesting that the consequence of freedom, as opposed the pursuit and attainment of freedom, is what ” isn’t always free.”  And that we are never totally free of the burdens of our inheritance. I found this novel brutal yet redemptive. Pretty interesting. I guess we need the freedom to fail trusting that it will all be fine. Maybe a bit like Julian of Norwich’s words…all shall be well.

On Netflix, Hasan Minhaj has a new comedy special called Homecoming King. At the beginning of his routine, Minhaj, an Indian-American, comically recounts the story of his father deciding to marry his mother without ever having seen her.  It seems to have been an arranged marriage thru grandparents. He contrasts the dating scene choices/arrangements in Aligarh, India with the present day Tinder procurement of  ” love “. I am well aware of the horrors that are faced by girls forced into arranged marriages and am no advocate of that. However, I am challenged to consider the notion that too much freedom of choice in the love game does not always lead to a fairy tale ending either. The wreckage of and unhappiness in many lives in our modern world and in the characters in Freedom seem to stem mostly from an undisciplined freedom of choice and lack of (or disinterest in) self control.  In Hasan’s parent’s case, according to their son, they seem to have carved out something special from what many of us in the west would find culturally distasteful.

Freedom from decisions and commitment is not true freedom. According to Scott Peck in the Road Less Traveled, love is not an emotion it is a choice. He defines love as ” the will to extend one’s self for the purpose of nurturing one’s own self or another’s spiritual growth “.  That was read at our wedding almost 25 years ago. Operating outside of yourself to tend to the spiritual needs of another is the key according to Peck. That thought was deep when I read it and I still find it to be challenging as well as accurate. The two main protagonists of Freedom, finally learn that lesson by the end of the novel. Peck’s grounded rationality is as countercultural today as when it was written in the 70’s.  It is a very different understanding of freedom to love.  Freedom coming from commitment entered into willfully rather than freedom from commitment.

I turn my focus now to our country’s freedom. I am not traditionally patriotic. I don’t normally get swept up in the Lee Greenwood type patriotism that sings of a freedom that I think many other countries have as well. ( However, I do get pretty worked up during the Olympics every  4 years, I must say. Especially swimming ! ) I guess I just don’t think God favors this country over any other. We are all God’s children, equal in his ( or her) eyes. I find allegiance to a loving diety more important than allegiance to any nation state. Better and the best are highly subjective terms.

I was, however, moved by Arvin Temkar’s reflections in the Sunday Washington Post on why he does, in fact, find the song and attitude of ” God Bless the USA! ” inspirational. He admires “its’ unabashed enthusiasm, its soft solemnity”  as well as its “raw authenticity”. I get that, I guess.

What more interested me was Temkar’s compelling story of Ray Charles. Charles was  being criticized as a “sell out” by a black magazine for recording his customized rendition of “America the Beautiful” in the midst of the civil rights movement. Even though Charles himself found some of the verses  ” too white ” for him to sing and therefore he changed them to express his view of the USA at the time, he was accused of not being critical enough about what was happening to his people and what had happened historically at the hands of institutionally racist ‘Murica, as they say. But he defended his recording by explaining that his attitude really was more like a Black woman reprimanding her child: ” You may be a pain in the ass, you may be bad, but child, you belong to me.”  That kind of attitude and love of country I can better understand and relate to.

That is why my heroes will always look less like nationalists or apologists and more like critics or activists. Jesus comes to mind.  I admire those that speak out and act against fear and enslavement, the antithesis of freedom. We have the freedom to criticize and to work towards improvement. Pretty cool.  The Edward R. Murrows, Rosa Parkses and James Baldwins, John Lewises, Ed Chamberses and Barry Sanderses of the country make me proud to be an American.

A recent Bloomberg editoral in the Frederick News Post noted that our freedom of speech is being undermined. The author raised the idea of ” safe spaces” in the universities and the recent protests against famous conservatives speaking as evidence. On this point I agree. It is shameful. We are all free to tune out those to whom we do not care to listen. But to not allow people to speak simply because they have a different view than us? Disheartening! I don’t like much of what comes out of the mouths of people like Ann Coulter and Milo Yiannopooulis either but I listen and try to respectfully disagree.

The writer also contends that high school teachers are refusing to discuss controversial topics in class for fear of parent reprisals. I find this to be an over generalization. Many high school teachers still are engaging kids in difficult discussions. Sure, it’s harder at times and you can take a little flack every now and again ( I speak from personal experience on that- I have stories) but it happens every day in many dynamic high school classrooms. And the teachers that don’t or won’t bring up tough topics, when essential, are abrogating their responsibility as educators, in my humble opinion.

Granting real freedom will always require trust. Trust requires faith. This writing is being completed on the eve of my son’s 21 birthday.  A world of now legal freedoms will be immediately at his disposal. I wish we could be with him, but I trust he will fine. I am happy that he is beginning to plot his own independence.

When we accept that all freedoms are not without certain limitations, some self imposed and some external,  we can somehow become less encumbered. But total freedom from all encumbrances can lead to a pretty lonely life of solitary confinement. A peaceful paradox, no?

I’ll leave you with the words of Jason Isbell from his second CD. ” And that day will come when I’ll find a reason… what I’m working for is something more than free.” I’ll let you figure out what he means for you. Peace.