Black and Blue

“Too often we judge other groups by their worst examples, while judging ourselves by our best intentions.”

Well said, even if his dancing was a bit odd.  I’m not prone to being a Bush apologist, but he nailed this one.  With regard to his awkward gyrations, we should all know by now, that he is kind of goofy.  For the record, no one would be making a point of this had it been Obama at a Black charismatic venue.   Have you ever seen one of these funerals, or should I say celebrations?  Perhaps Bush was just channeling that part of the interfaith experience.  It does appear that he got the current President swaying too.  Although, perhaps that was the “crack the whip” effect you may remember from recess.  I’m still going with goofy as the operative word for his behavior even though I applaud him for being genuine.

It is not as simple as “Back the Blue” or “Black Lives Matter”.  In every walk of life, there are terribly misguided individuals either acting alone or through similarly deluded groups, who, by their actions, tarnish the image or perception of the particular profession, religion or race vis a vis culture, to which we either place them, or to which they purport to belong.   Surely judging others using such a broad brush is narrow minded and the root of negative stereotypes.   Or as the old saying goes “Don’t let one bad apple spoil the whole bunch”.  I would also suggest that the whole bunch, as described by certain stereotypes and slogans, should not spoil a good apple.  From a race perspective, lest we forget, Homo sapiens are the only bunch left on this sphere.

This is not to say, however, that your experience shouldn’t guide you, especially when there are safety concerns.  It is easy to say, for example, let all of the Syrian refugees into the United States because we don’t want to judge all Muslims as radical jihadists.   There is a very real conundrum and balance between preserving our liberty and keeping us safe.  To express this in everyday terms, I use the following example.  I will usually stop to help someone on the side of the road if it is apparent they really need it, being the “Intuitive Judger” I am.  This is obviously less acute since the onset of mobile phones.   I once went out of my way to take a man from Richardson to South Oak Cliff.  Before I let him get in my car, I asked him if he had any weapons on his person.  He acted offended.  Because I’m black, he asked.  I just ignored him and asked whether, or not, he wanted a ride.  I have probably taken too many chances by doing this kind of thing.   I surely don’t want my kids or my wife doing the same.     

I do want to make a point regarding judging others that I believe a lot of folks miss.  I have heard and read that we are not to judge the behavior of others.  This could not be farther from the truth in my book.  We do and should judge actions of others as well as taking the appropriate measures when those actions infringe on others’ rights.  What we mustn’t do, is judge what is in their heart and soul.  That is up to God.  Once in Sunday School, we were discussing a situation where a woman was on death row and had a spiritual epiphany, accepting Jesus Christ.   There were several Christians lobbying for her pardon.  Most of the class thought likewise.  As I’m apt, I expressed my dissenting view, being that it was awesome she had accepted Christ and that her sins may be forgiven, but that did not absolve her debt to society.  One fellow came unglued and told me that was not “Christ-like”.  I was a bit taken aback, but countered by referring to how Jesus treated the criminal on the cross next to him.  The man was not spared suffering on the cross, yet was promised a place in God’s house.  Let’s face it, we’re all likely to suffer and we’re all going to die.

The movie A Time to Kill, starring Samuel L. Jackson and Matthew McConaughey was a good, yet very disturbing film.  Samuel L. Jackson’s character murders the perpetrators who brutally raped and killed his daughter.   No father could deny such rage in similar circumstances.  I completely understand and can even see myself possibly reacting this way.  As disturbing as the rape and murder scene was, what bothered me most was that the court allowed Jackson’s character to walk free.  In my mind, he was guilty of breaking the law, even if his actions were understandable.

Speaking of walking free, it should be noted that negligence is usually not intentional, yet a crime nevertheless.   No one at my company would be able to keep their job or security clearance if they had done anything close to Hillary Clinton’s blunder.  Apparently the nondisclosure statement we all sign is meaningless.  Is this legal precedent now?   There must be 3 Americas.  Those caught in the cycle of poverty, the privileged, and the extremely privileged.  I guess it was just a right wing conspiracy.  This whole ordeal reminds me of the stupid incidental contact rule in the NFL.  “Well, Troy, that was a good no-call since there was no intent.”  Huh?   So I guess there should be a manslaughter pass interference penalty which is fewer yards than the “I meant to paralyze that mother before the ball got there” penalty.   By the way, the NBA is also pretty ridiculous (well, for many reasons, as an entire post could be dedicated to this topic) when the referees try to determine whether it is a flagrant foul, and if it is, whether it is of the flagrant 1 or the flagrant 2 variety. 

Since I’ve started down the sports trail, maybe a recent baseball example will help show how incredibly  righteous we are when taking sides.  I haven’t written about my Texas Rangers in some time.  A lot of water has flowed under the bridge since they broke my heart in 2011.  Earlier this spring they made news due to their take no prisoners, frontier justice approach to responding to perceived disrespect shown them during last fall’s game 5 of the American League Divisional round of the MLB playoffs.   Toronto Blue Jay Jose Bautista flipped the bat towards the Ranger dugout after hitting a homerun during that fateful game.  I was also kind of ticked about it, but mostly because we had blown that game and two other chances to close the series in Texas.  What made this especially difficult to swallow was that replay was used by MLB to highlight and advertise the rest of last season and the beginning of this season.  I guess the Rangers were tired of seeing it as well, as they exacted their revenge in a typical show of unwritten baseball etiquette (stupid by-the-way; now I’ve denigrated all of the professional leagues of my favorite sports) as they plunked Bautista during the last 2016 regular season game with the Blue Jays in Arlington.   What happened next went beyond typical payback.  Bautista, still angry that he was hit, made a late and illegal slide into second baseman, Rougned Odor, who was obviously ready for such an attempt.  As they squared off, Odor landed a right to Bautista’s face, nearly knocking him off his feet.  As the dust cleared and the game ended, all anyone could talk about, was how awesome it was that little Rougned and the Rangers took care of business, of course because “Joey Bats” and the Blue Jays deserved it. 

Without question, Bautista is an ass.  There are even those in the Blue Jays camp who will attest to such.  And as much as I enjoyed seeing him get his butt kicked, it started to really bother me that it was my team that dealt him the blow.  I am still very much in the minority amongst my friends and Ranger faithful when I say this was wrong.  We’ve made a hero out of Odor, not for his play, but his punch.  He is an outstanding player.   I have heard that he has admitted to perhaps being wrong.  I am glad he has reflected on his actions.  The reaction of fans to these kinds of things is not unlike how various segments of the population react to more important societal issues.  We immediately take sides and try to justify our emotional response.  Moreover, few actually take the time to understand the facts, but would rather buy into slogans and rhetoric.

I’ve done my fair share of reflection during the past several years regarding increased tensions between and among races, cultures, politics and authorities.  I recently tried to remember all of the times I have been stopped by and/or had dealings with the police.  It was rather like CBS’s The Big Bang Theory when Sheldon does the math regarding how many men Penny had been with.   As Penny, I was shocked, realizing that I’d been stopped near 25 times and had received some 8-10 tickets, mostly for speeding.  Although most were not contentious,  I did encounter harsh and unprofessional behavior on a few occasions.   I have been berated and ridiculed, baited and profiled.   

About 20 or so years ago, I was stopped by the Arizona Highway Patrol near Marana.  I was returning from a Raytheon business meeting in Tucson.  I had flown into Phoenix and borrowed my parents’ car, something I had done a few times as it was cheaper to fly to Phoenix and charge mileage than to fly to Tucson.  Of course, the real benefit was getting to see Mom and Dad.   I was dressed in slacks and a white shirt while sporting a shorter, more professional hairstyle at the time.  I was also driving a Cadillac.  I mention these things because I was once profiled by a Jarrell, Texas local when driving my 1984 Z28, wearing what is now referred to as a “wife beater” (T-shirt without sleeves) and my Austin-era mop as my coif of choice.   After I challenged the Jarrell officer’s claim that he had captured me weaving on video, he apologized and admitted to stopping me only because of potential drug running that had been rampant in the area.  My car and I apparently fit the profile.  It was not the time or place to make any further stink, and I still felt bad for that town as they were still recovering from the devastation of an F-5 tornado.

Getting back to the Arizona incident, the first thing the State Trooper told me was that it was a felony to go more than 10mph over the posted speed limit of 75mph and that he was taking me to jail.  I told him that I didn’t realize that I was going that fast and that I wasn’t used to the smooth acceleration of the Cadillac.  After many derogatory comments towards me, where he was clearly trying to bait me into saying something disrespectful, he told me that I didn’t seem very upset about going to jail.  I just kind of shrugged my shoulders and indicated that I was just really tired.  He handed me a ticket and told me that if he ever caught me in Arizona again, the only thing between me and a jail cell was the hood of his car.  I just stood there dumbfounded and read the ticket which showed 82mph.  My dad was so angry, but we never did anything about it, probably because I was leaving to go back to Texas the next day.  He had been unsuccessful in complaining about a Trooper that treated him badly in the sixties.

A more recent incident was a few years ago in Melissa, Texas.  We had started the process to buy Bobbi a Honda CRV.  We had the car to try it out for a few days before we decided.  As I had not driven it yet, I literally put the wheels into motion to pick up Danny from Bonham where he had been playing bass that Sunday morning.   As I came off the freeway onto the long sweeping exit ramp, I was met by Melissa’s best.  I was speeding, yet another victim of the municipal money-making scheme at work.  This one is almost as good as the speed trap in Globe, Arizona.

Since we didn’t own the car yet, I had to provide all the paperwork.  As I was gathering it from the glovebox, I joked that I wasn’t sure this car could go that fast.  The cop acted confused about the circumstances and I again mused that if I were stealing a car, it wouldn’t be a CRV.  Not even a hint of a smile.  He was a very stern young man.  He then noticed a blade of grass on my shorts and started asking me questions about what I had been doing.  I could not believe he thought it was marijuana and I laughed saying I had been mowing the yard.  Again, not amused, he mentioned that it smelled like coffee in the car.  I picked up my cup and said “you mean this?”  I guess he thought I was trying to throw off the drug-sniffing dogs by disguising the smell of the cocaine I was transporting in my stolen CRV.  I was obviously irritated to have gotten a ticket and to have been treated in such a way, but more astounded by what was either a poor attempt to hassle me, or a display of complete ignorance and naivety.

The aforementioned 1984 Z28, now the property of my nephew Josh, has a storied history.  It has been stolen and recovered twice.  The wheels have also been stolen.  The first time it was borrowed without my permission, the Mesquite, Texas police caught the guys pretty quickly.  I asked how they knew it was stolen before I’d even reported it.  They told me, they noticed the car playing “cat and mouse” with another car.  I didn’t, and still don’t, know what that really means.  Then one of the cops took me aside and told me the real reason the guys were stopped.  They were “Niggers in the wrong part of town.”  Okay then.  I was completely shocked while at the same time glad about getting my car back.  Wow!

I also had a friend who was a cop.  To my surprise, as we spent time during his early years on the force, some of his comments and actions exposed him as a bigot.  Somewhat odd, since he was also a minority.  I don’t know him to have used his authority as a police officer to this end, but strongly suspect it was probable as much controversy followed him throughout his career as Police Chief.   

It may sound as though I am building a case against law enforcement officers.  No!  I am just recounting some of my personal experience.  I guess I should have included some positive ones, like the guy who let me off, and gave me his condolences, because I was getting married the next day.  Once, a Dallas policewoman went beyond the call of duty, and perhaps protocol, by trusting me to literally ride shotgun as we chased down some guys who were hitting golf balls into our condo pool area.  It was a bit strange that her shotgun was on the floor between my legs.   The Dallas detectives that retrieved my car the second time it was stolen, were awesome.  They had also been the ones to arrest David Crosby at a local club for illegal possession of a firearm.  Despite the bad press McKinney Police have gotten, I could not be more impressed with my interactions, the speeding ticket (52mph in a 45mph zone) notwithstanding.  The officer who worked with my son Trey to retrieve his stolen iPhone was exemplary.  They also came to the house to interview my kids when neighbors reported vandalism and saw teens running away towards our backyard.  This was also performed with the utmost respect for the boys.  These don’t seem like big things, yet professionalism shines through during all activities. 

To be honest, I’ve been told by more than a few, that my outward demeanor often does not match my true feelings.  I can be a magnet for controversy.  My buddy Jack once said, “JD, shit just follows you”.  Friends Dennis, Mark and Jenny have noticed that I can piss off people, without saying anything, only by the way I carry myself.  They also know I’ve done as much with my words.  Another friend, Tom, used to tell me that during financial presentations, I sometimes had the “what the hell are you talking about” look.  So if these things are true, maybe I’m not the only one like this.  Hum?   This should be a lesson for me and those in positions of authority.  I realize the majority of law enforcement officers are highly trained, qualified and possess the proper attitude to serve society.  However, there is no doubt that some do not possess the correct attributes.  Inasmuch as I continue to respect authority, I take issue with the “Back the Blue” slogan.  Even though it has been around for a long time, “Back the Blue” sounds like you don’t believe “Black Lives Matter”, especially in view of the recent strife we’ve seen.  It sounds like taking sides.  In the same manner, the oft misunderstood “Black Lives Matter” mantra sounds like it is in opposition to “Back the Blue”.  I am not backing the militant faction behind “Black Lives Matter” nor am I backing negligent and corrupt policemen. 

I have watched the videos of the Minnesota and Baton Rouge shootings.  Based on what I’d heard, I expected to see clear evidence of police negligence.   I honestly couldn’t tell much from either one of them.  I know there are a lot of folks who swear they can, and they’ve already positioned themselves.  I do know there shouldn’t be 13 dead human beings, regardless of which bunch they belong.  I also know that these, and all the other similar tragedies that have befallen our nation, are separate and distinct episodes that need to be examined and treated as such.   

I am sure there are some common undercurrents to some of these events.  I believe respect for property and authority is learned in the home.  I was taught to be respectful of others, particularly of adults and authority figures.  Since my parents were all of these, I was frankly a bit afraid of disappointing them.  I know a lot of my fellow classmates probably felt similarly about my dad and his staff at Tempe High School.  Could it be that we’ve lost a bit of this formative respect for respect, so to speak?  I don’t mean that this is a one-way street.  We need mutual respect for human life and dignity.  Of course, it all starts with self-respect which has its roots in how we were treated as kids.  Some folks just have never been taught by any example, or rather have been taught by poor example.

When I say self-respect, I do not mean pride.   I believe that misplaced pride may be at the root of much racial tension.  Proverbs 16-18 warns us that pride comes before fall.  Without doubt, being proud sometimes gets in the way of relationships, including our spiritual ones.   We must admit that we need God in order to fully experience the depths of faith.   Likewise, we must allow ourselves to need each other, to be a community.  As we grow older, this becomes less of an act of goodwill and more of a necessity.  Some would rather die, than become dependent.

I was reading someone’s Facebook post the other day about Linda Ronstadt and how she was proud to be Mexican.  Assuming that she is a United States citizen, as I think she was born in Tucson, I believe what the person meant was that she was proud of her Mexican heritage.  I know this sounds harsh, but why is she proud?  She had nothing to do with it.  What if my ancestors were slave owners or my forefathers Nazis?   I’d be neither proud nor connected in any way other than genetics.  It may be that I am splitting hairs, but better phrasing would be to say that Linda acknowledges and/or embraces her heritage.

To name a few, we have Black Pride, Celtic Pride, Proud to be Texan, Gay Pride, and so on.   While this seems innocuous on the surface, this is how people start taking sides, by defining themselves as members of such groups.  And it is not just self-defining, as others in their attempts to be politically correct, get it terribly wrong.  This reminds me of the bumbling Michael Scott character from NBC’s The Office as he confronts Oscar, “your gayness does not define you. Your Mexican-ness is what defines you to me.”  Even Michael is a stereotype.   My goodness, there is so much more to a person than their skin pigmentation, culture and sexual orientation.   So be an individual, the ultimate minority.  Resist being defined by slogans and cultural perceptions.  Don’t be spoiled by the whole bunch.

Pulling Jesus From a Hat

This is as good a time as ever, I suppose, to get back in the proverbial saddle.  I haven’t blogged in over two years for a variety of reasons, some of which may be revealed over the next few entries.  I will try to test some fresh or perhaps, refreshed perspectives on religion, politics, social media and the relationships that ripple the “Waters of Our Lives.”  Thanks Mr. Shakespeare for reminding us there is nothing new under the sun.

During the past couple of years, I’ve experienced some life lessons disguised as close friendships.  I have had to relearn that I am an extremely sensitive individual despite what some may think given my outward persona.  Relationships, especially my ultimate ones, are my roots.  Some folks say family should be your anchor.  I believe this is true, but consider family to also include those to which you have a special bond even though they are not related by either blood or marriage.  I have called these people soul friends in past posts.  To be blunt, it just really sucks when you lose a friend regardless of circumstances.  It has been frustrating to those loved ones, that I cannot let go of people or things over which I have no control.  The “Serenity Prayer” has never been more apt.  That being said, my wife and soulmate has told me that she understands that this is the way I was made and that she just wants to help me through it.  Wow!  Anchors aweigh, thank you Lord, I have the best.  

Despite having worked hard, mostly through prayer, at not being hyper-focused on things I can’t change, I may have unwittingly substituted a renewed interest in politics and a fascination with social media.  Prior to last year, I was on Facebook, yet was rarely active.  A job and location change with fewer security requirements actually allow me to possess a cell phone at all times, so I got a really big one that I could read without having to squint.  In addition to the move from my last position, the aforementioned reference to my estranged relationships, have provided me further incentive to become focused on other activities, and so it is, said social media.

Enter, Danny, my middle son, with a strike of unabashed enthusiasm for Ayn Rand and Rand Paul.  I am sure my fiscal conservatism and Libertarian leanings had some influence on him, but his desire to become more knowledgeable about capitalism and politics has become captivating. I am very happy that all of my kids have chosen to be readers and sponges, seeking out new and old ideas alike.  They have their Mother’s influence to thank for their appetite, not only because of the great food she prepares, but also due to her insatiable hunger for reading and collecting books.  Danny has recently devoured Rand’s The Fountainhead and Atlas Shrugged as well as presidential candidate Paul’s most recent book, Taking a Stand.  Although I do not accept her presumption regarding altruism and am not a true disciple of objectivism, Rand’s works may provide the best ever case for capitalism, and against socialism.  As for Paul, I am a proud supporter, yet fear he doesn’t possess the charisma or the social agenda so many conservative Americans think they want. 

A prophetic verse from Emerson Lake & Palmer’s 1973 Karn Evil 9, 1^st Impression describing a Carnival-like (KarnEvil), then future society comes to mind.   

“Not content with that,

With our Hands behind our Backs,

We’ll pull Jesus from a Hat,

Get into that, Get into that.”

 It was the night of the first Republican debate, and I was excited to see if our guy would make any headway.  The Fox News presentation started like the Super Bowl pregame show and quickly turned into a circus.  More from ELP's progressive rock epic rings true.

“Welcome Back My Friends to the Show that Never Ends,

We’re So Glad You Could Attend,

Come Inside, Come Inside.”

This was no debate, but a question and answer session dominated by the leader in the polls and worst qualified candidate, Donald Trump.  I will give him kudos for the one question he actually answered, that being that he reserved the right to run as a 3^rd party candidate.  He also gets points for not using the god card.  I guess he can afford to be his own person even if that person is not one I want running the country.  Every single candidate besides Trump and Rand Paul proverbially pulled Jesus from a Hat!  It was one of the most egregious displays of using God to further personal gain that I have ever witnessed.  We are instructed in Matthew not to display our faith through performance.  I do believe some of these guys are sincere, but terribly misguided in their approach.  After the debate, a friend mentioned on Facebook that he was definitely choosing a godly candidate like Ben Carson.  Huh?  I left that alone, but wanted to share that Rand Paul is a devout Presbyterian (not an oxymoron despite the grief we take), yet took the high road, by not pulling Jesus from a hat.

Even though I am a Christian, I believe strongly in separation of church and state.  Christian values were important in the establishment of this country as were many other cultures and philosophies.  These values are still relevant to individual leaders as well as the American consciousness, but I don’t think it matters if my future president is a Christian.  If you don’t think God works through everyone, then you never paid attention in Sunday School.  A Muslim president may not be tenable now, or ever, to the populous, yet pitting the two subject Faiths is certainly not Christian nor do I believe it is healthy for the country. 

I have many friends scattered across the political spectrum.  If I chose them based on shared political views, I’d have few.  I am a fiscal conservative and a social moderate.  From an economics point of view, it cannot be refuted that bigger pie for everyone is better than trying to reallocate a smaller one that will continue to get smaller if those who invest capital are not incentivized.  And even though I have my own moral and religious beliefs, I don't prescribe that these all be laws of the land.  It is really about how much liberty you are willing to cede for your cause.  I'm primarily only interested in trading a bit for my family's safety.   I am therefore, a classic liberal.  That is, being liberated from government.  

Ben Franklin said that “Those who surrender freedom for security will not have, nor do they deserve, either one.”  Following the debate, I had a heated argument over the Patriot Act (oxymoron) with one of my best friends.  Senator Paul challenged Chris Christie regarding administration of the Act, indicating that fewer innocent citizens and more suspected terrorists should be targeted.  Christie replied that you don’t know until you sort them out.  The audience got a laugh, but Paul’s point was that legal methods such as search warrants should be used.  My friend thought Christie was right.  I did not as I scrambled to remember the Franklin quote above.  No one wants another 9/11, but if you live scared and skirt the laws in place to protect individual liberty, the terrorists win and the soul of freedom bleeds!  I suppose they also win if our flesh bleeds.  As individuals, we generally don’t care about anything unless it affects us directly.  I’m betting that my friend would be really interested if they came for his arsenal.  As I finish this post after the tragic events in Paris, my stance will be challenged more than ever.  This is as it should be in a free society.  I don’t have the answers, but only know what we potentially stand to lose.  Clearly, these are confusing times.

The most difficult issue for me to abide by given my conservative nature, and political aversion to social law, is abortion.  As much as I support one’s right to make this choice, it is gut-wrenching to hear the callousness with which a human life is considered.  I believe that when one is faced with such a situation, it should be treated as a moral and ethical dilemma.  At the very least, some soul searching would be in order, preferably some spiritual guidance.  It might have gone without saying that I don’t like paying for Planned Parenthood with my tax dollars.

I believe the core difference in political ideology has to do with what one considers basic or natural rights.  I have found that what some folks call rights are only based on their utopian views as shaped by today's construct.  Free healthcare and education are cited as examples.  Certainly these things would be desirable, especially if they were actually free.  They cannot be free, nor are they what I consider inalienable rights.  We have the right to life and to pursue happiness.  Odd that many that are quick to tout higher ideals, forget the basic right of life.

Has anyone ever noticed that the term “Politically Correct” is also an oxymoron?  We practically bend over backwards to keep from offending folks because of their race, religion, sexual orientation, etc.  When it actually comes to politics, however, the gloves come off.  I have never seen such proliferation of hate, ignorance and misinformation as on Facebook, mostly aimed at those with different political views.  Of course it is not limited to social media.

A few years ago, I was asked to attend regular interfaith gatherings as a representative of my church, I believe mostly, due to interactions I had had with an associate pastor (not the one I accompanied to these meetings, btw).  He believed I would be a good choice since I seemed to be a “progressive” thinker, perhaps accepting of other religions and cultures.  I know I am a progressive rocker, not sure about progressive thinker.  Overall, it was a great experience.  Everyone was very thoughtful and I learned a great deal.  Then it happened.  It was maybe the 3^rd or 4^th meeting that someone went on a political rant and starting bashing George Bush.  Many others joined in.  What the hell?  I sat quietly, not something at which I’m particularly adept.  While Bush was far from a perfect president, I have the distinct impression that he was a sincere public servant and a good leader, not something I can say about many.  I was actually more bothered that someone felt comfortable in that setting to say such things.  But, what really blew me away was the response I got when I recounted this experience to the associate pastor.  He told me that liberals tend to be more in touch with their spirituality.  In other words, no one would expect that a dumbass conservative would be attending an interfaith gathering.  Holy Shit, so to speak.  I was almost speechless, but managed to reply that I thought he was being extremely shortsighted.   As usual, I thought of stronger words as I ruminated on the encounter.  What an outlandish display of arrogance.  I still admire this guy for his biblical knowledge, but it just goes to show that few are immune to the phenomenon of perpetuating misinformation and stereotypes.

I know we’ve all experienced it, but it is true beyond all doubt that church is among the most socially and politically charged venues.  Again, if I chose my church based on whether everyone agreed exactly with me, I wouldn’t find one.  In many ways, it is preferable to congregate with those who share only the most essential spiritual beliefs.  Certainly, my family and close friends have no qualms about giving me their opinion and I’d have it no other way.  That is how we grow and learn.  My hope is that I can, likewise, be positively influential.  My entire family has grown and prospered as a result of our association and fellowship at Trinity Presbyterian Church.  Indeed, my boys have all developed into incredible young men with impeccable character, due in large part to their church experience.  We all are, however, “still reforming.”

It was, in fact, Danny’s interaction with his friends at TPC, which motivated him to learn more about his faith and political ideals.  When he felt as though his views were being challenged by his friends, he turned to literature, both of a religious and social/political nature.  Although he confided in us, he did the investigation on his own.  Of the many things that bothered him, the most offensive was that his friends considered their view to be more Christian.  In other words, they believe that a socialistic government is more Christ-like because it is about taking care of people less fortunate.  Wait a minute. Did I not just describe basically the same kind of biased interchange with my pastor friend?  If you are being coerced via law, it is not benevolence.  In fact, Socialism is by nature an authoritarian system.  Then there is that term Democratic Socialism (yet another oxymoron).

 

I suspect a wider perspective will accrue to Danny and his friends as they strive to learn during their college years and beyond.  From my perspective, a healthy dose of economic theory along with religion and philosophy curricula wouldn’t hurt anyone. 

In a world where most people don’t really want the truth, but only constant reassurance of what they believe is the truth, I want to reiterate how proud I am of my children and how they have become critical thinkers.  I give my dad much credit for playing the Devil’s advocate, when as kids, my sister and I thought we had all the answers.  It is difficult at best, in this day and age, to uncover the truth.  Despite what Bill O’Reilly advertises, a “No Spin Zone” does not exist.  Thank goodness for the occasional segment with Dennis “Miller Time” to cut to the chase, and through the “Fair and Balanced” arrogance.  Indeed, the sentiment may be legitimately thought provoking, but even the meme presented above has been spun to help prove my point.    Even I can pull Jesus from a Hat.

 

Roll Up, Roll Up

See the Show!

The Wonder Years (Part 2) - Filling in Time

On the heels of my most recent post, my dad and I were discussing how often people remember seemingly concrete events differently.  It reminds me of the classic sitcom theme where everyone recounts a story line, spinning it in a way to make themselves look like the hero.  File this under funny, but true.  If I learned nothing else from my philosophy classes, it is that perception is not reality, even though perception absolutely shapes future events. The latter is what people mean when they say “perception is reality”.  However, in real life, memories are often augmented by the subconscious, in order to rationalize and make sense of situations.  And we know that our perspective changes dramatically as we mature.

 

I too, have noticed after discussing some of my memories in detail, my recollection of the “full story” doesn’t always make perfect sense or jive with others who've experienced the same event.  I have become more aware, the older that I get, that I tend to subconsciously fill in missing pieces of my memory with what I think are logical or probable events.  It really makes you think about scientists who do the same thing in their research. The science fiction book Jurassic Park was based on filling in the missing genetic code of the dinosaurs with frog DNA.  Our brains may not use complicated algorithms, but for sure we do try to complete what is sometimes a puzzle for us.

I’m pretty sure that I have also been guilty of combining separate but similar events.  I don’t always acquiesce, but certainly do acknowledge that I may not remember all the facts perfectly.  A nod to the concept of absolutes suggests that even though we may both be mistaken about certain events, it is indeed impossible for us both to be absolutely correct if we disagree.

It is truly humbling to discover you have gotten it wrong.  I try to remember these times and learn from them.  My buddy Mark and I possess similar sports memories, although his starts a bit before mine, ha!  I watched so many Dallas Cowboys games as a kid, that I am full of specific memories about them.  I once convinced Mark that I was right about a play in which Walt Garrison was kept out of the end zone by Ken Houston of the Redskins on the last play of a Monday Night Football game.  I convinced him that the two hit helmet to helmet and there was a standstill just short of the goal line.  I then saw a replay sometime thereafter, which clearly showed that Mark was right to begin with, that Ken Houston was holding on to Walt Garrison’s waist in order to keep him from scoring a touchdown.

I also recently recounted the capture of a snapping turtle (see picture in Wonder Years Part 1 post) that I thought my cousin Kenny shot. Dad relayed another time that Kenny had shot a turtle, oddly some ten to twelve years after the one to which I was referring.  Moreover, I lived in Dallas and was not present at the time of the second turtle incident.  Was Kenny the lone gunman or was there as second shooter?  Only J. Edgar knows for sure, but he could not recall.  So neither one of us could remember how we caught the original turtle nor how it was landed, but figured it possible that I subsequently heard the Kenny story and attached it to my turtle.  Just as long as we don’t use turtle DNA to fill any perceived gaps in the JFK assassination.

For the record, I do not subscribe to any conspiracy theory for the same basic reasons as hinted above.  How are we filling in these gaps of information?  Furthermore, though we understand basic physics, are we so sure we know it all now?  We once thought the world was flat.  The pristine ketchup incident of 1997 opened my eyes.  I dropped a plastic squeeze bottle of ketchup from the kitchen table some 8 to 10 feet from the refrigerator.  It landed directly on its bottom with lid flipped open.  No harm, no foul.  Upon returning the bottle to the refrigerator a few minutes later, I noticed fresh ketchup on the far side of the unit, the one closest to the wall.  How on earth did that occur?  I could see the ketchup making it that far, yet how did it get on the other side. I suspect air current from a vent had something to do with dramatically changing the direction of the rogue condiment.  Or...... a four-year old Mike could have squirted it there when I wasn’t looking.  

When I was four, I do remember watching the funeral of our fallen president on television.  I specifically recall the white horses pulling the caisson.  I was upset, probably a cue I took from Mom.  I deflated my football with a sewing needle and threw it down to the basement because I was ashamed of having ruined it.  Mom claims I did this because I was so distraught over the funeral.  There could have been some truth to this, but still think I just wanted to see what would happen if I stuck a needle in it.  I was, perhaps, just experimenting with basic physics.  I will say that the more I learn about the Kennedy assassination, the more I seem drawn to the aura surrounding that day in history.  Indeed, visiting the Sixth Floor Museum, formerly the Texas School Book Depository can be an emotional experience.    

It is clear that even our most recent experiences can affect our perception of the past.  Filling in time, we are.  And at times, past, present and future seem to be one in the same.  This is the only way I could ever make sense of the John Calvin and Presbyterian concept of Predestination.  Our life is like a book.  It exists at a single point in time, yet if you read it, it takes time.  Freewill suggests the book isn’t finished.  For sure, the beginning affects the later chapters.  Perhaps the rest of the book also affects the beginning.  It sure does in our memories.

I had many books as a young boy.  Several were from the Golden Book series.  My favorite of these was The Sky.  I was apparently fascinated with heavenly bodies.  I mean the sun, moon and stars.  Dad, Dianne and I experienced a real heavenly body of sorts, an awe inspiring natural event one Fall Sunday evening.  Our collective memories are still processing the circumstances, but either on the way, or from church, at dusk, the entire northern hemisphere lit and glowed the brightest orange.  In a tenth of a moment, a huge fiery ball occupying what appeared to be most of that north sky, screamed towards the earth. My god, the sun must have fallen!  Dad thought it might have landed only a few miles away. I believe he read in the newspaper that it landed somewhere in Canada, several hundred miles away.  To think people get excited over meteor showers.  They have no earthly idea.

My Golden Book became real after I'd seen that meteorite.  What also seems real to me is hearing music in my head when I sat on the front porch steps of my Denver, Indiana home reading the book.  What’s truly weird is that the music I think I was hearing wasn’t produced until 1969 and later.  I had not discovered it until the mid-seventies. The music was that of the original King Crimson featuring Greg Lake and a later incarnation of the band which had John Wetton as the vocalist. Aha, another case where future events are linked to the past, a variation of Déjà vu perhaps.  It may also be that the music reminds me of the moon and stars.  Certainly the use of the mellotron, a keyboard instrument used to play preset strings has that feel. Whatever it is, those Crimson songs are pinned to my Golden Book experience and my Wonder Years.

The Wonder Years (Part 1) - Over the Hills and Through the Woods

One of my favorite television shows was The Wonder Years featuring Fred Savage as Kevin Arnold and Daniel Stern as the narrator of Kevin’s thoughts.  Part of the fascination is that the time-frame of Kevin’s life and experiences parallel my own.  Why is it, that even the colors of the sixties and seventies now seem faded?  Not everyone did drugs, did they?  That’s just the pictures, Leo.  A student in my wife’s class once commented about something that occurred “back in the day”, before there was color.  Unfortunately, she wasn’t joking.  It also must be part of getting old that makes us long for what we perceive as the good times.  They probably weren’t all that wonderful, but the memories seem uncomplicated by adult concerns such as politics, sex and religion.  I tried to explain my feelings to someone once by suggesting that their friendship reminded me of The Wonder Years.  I suppose the point to which I was driving, was the innocence associated with just hanging out with each other and being genuine without agendas or hidden motives.  How rare is it when people can share time without being burdened by expectations, theirs and/or others’?   We used to do it all the time when we were kids.   I wish I could have captured it in a bottle.

And the passing of time was your friend for the asking
And all you were asking was the passing of time

-Gordon Haskell

I’ve captured many wonderful experiences in my memory.  I pray that I am able to hang on to them throughout my life, but if I don’t, perhaps documenting them will prove beneficial.  My early life will sound like a replay of the Andy Griffith Show, progressing to The Wonder Years and then That 70’s Show.  There was Coach in the 90’s, which Bobbi’s friend and workmate referred to as “Dave”.  Not sure I was that much of a typical Jock, but it did resonate on some level.   A friend once told me that I said what everyone else was thinking, but didn’t have the courage to say.  Not always a good thing I might add, but that was Coach.  The fact that these shows hit the mark, suggests that my experiences may not have been all that uncommon.

Dave, Dianne and Mike with stringer full of Bluegill

When reading Larry Bird’s autobiography Drive several years ago, I was surprised to hear him describe catching Bluegills with a cane pole and hunting mushrooms.  Being an Indiana boy myself, those were also two of my very favorite childhood activities.  A mess of Bluegill and Morel mushrooms would sometimes be served together at my grandmother’s breakfast table.  The usual fare of oatmeal was great, but the taste of the fried vittles I had helped procure, was special.  I remember being less excited about fried squirrel.  At least once, I had frog legs and turtle soup at that table.  I know for sure, I did not try the brains once offered. Suddenly, Cousin Eddie from Christmas Vacation comes to mind.

  

Mamaw Ed, Dave & Dianne

The trip to my grandma’s house was, in fact, over the hills and through the woods.  It was about a 2 ½ hour drive south from our home in Denver, Indiana to Bliss and Edna Sinclair’s quaint rural abode just outside the smallest of towns, Quincy, Indiana. The trip would become a two-day affair after our move to Arizona in 1967. Their house was near the front of the five-acre wooded lot surrounded directly by a well-maintained lawn which extended into multiple pathways into the woods.  This lot had once been a part of the 120-acre Sinclair homestead where my dad and his sister were born.  The pond was to the west, neatly fenced and also well-kept so as to allow maximum access to the pond’s waterline.  The woods deepened just to the south of the pond and house.  There was a garden and blackberry patch on the southwest side of the pond where I once encountered a black snake.  I was undeterred in collecting enough berries for a pie.

Pard, Dianne, Dave and Dad.  Where's Cousin Eddie?

I retrieved mostly bluegill from the pond, but occasionally caught crappie and remember once snaring a bass on a fly rod.  On the southeast side of pond, turtles seemed to rule and it was difficult to keep any type of bait on your hook.  We mainly used red worms and catalpa worms, but I also seem to recall using grasshoppers and grubs and perhaps food from the kitchen in a pinch.  We also primarily used cane poles, equipped with bobbers.  We used more sophisticated equipment when we fished at one of the several larger ponds and lakes in the area.  Mom and Dad took us frog-gigging once, but for some odd reason couldn’t find a lid for the bucket.  Funny, maybe that was the prototype mission for Mexican Duck Hunting (See Treasure of San Pedro post).  You can gig a frog, but he doesn’t die right away and continues to jump like, well, a frog.  I think we ended up with few frogs that night, at least enough for me to have frog legs. 

Papaw Bliss, Dave w/unfortunate turtle, Dianne

Also, near the south side of the pond, I shot my first rifle.  Dad braced me against a fallen tree.  I’m not sure how old I was, but still remember looking through the scope, squeezing the trigger, being startled by the shot and feeling the recoil impact to my shoulder.  I also went deer and squirrel hunting with my dad. We never shot a deer, but just being in the woods with my dad on a cold morning was exciting.  I loved wearing my long underwear, jeans and what I used to call my “army” boots.  The fur-lined hat with flaps that snapped together was also part of my preferred ensemble.

Hunting Morel mushrooms was more my speed.  I loved to find and eat them.  Better disguised in nature than Easter Eggs, they would frequently be underfoot before being discovered.  These fungi are often found growing near the base of trees like truffles.  Unfortunately my dog Dono would occasionally mark that territory just before we spotted them.  Good thing they weren’t Easter Eggs.  I recently discovered that Morels can also be found in North Texas.  A Spring Break mushroom hunt may be in order.

Other memorable activities around my grandparent’s place included roasting weenies and marshmallows, eating my Grandma's awesome snickerdoodles, and catching lightning bugs (They’re still doin’ all right, Sis).  An attempt was even made to ice skate on the frozen pond, perhaps a foreshadowing of my winter sports skills. I must have also spent hours twisting the rope-suspended swing on the east side of the house just to experience the dizzy unwind.  Who needs hallucinogens?  I almost forgot that I even had a freakin’ pony, although I believe he might have been Satan himself.  Trigger, the neighbor’s gentle horse was a better companion.

Dianne, Dave and Dono (Frozen Pond)

Another great thing about being at Grandma and Grandpa’s place was that my Aunt Maribel and my Aunt Jenny lived nearby.  My dad’s sister and her family lived near Mooresville.  They had an awesome house on a lake and every toy known to man, or to my youngest cousin Mark as it were.  They had a downstairs seemingly dedicated to fun.  Mike, Mark, Dianne and I enjoyed converting the downstairs playroom into a “Scary House”.  Dianne and I always thought that the house was really creepy at night anyway.  Poor Mark usually got the worst of the pranks and wound up being really frightened and getting us into trouble.  That being said, it seemed almost believable that werewolves lived down by the lake.  Right, Dianne?

Dave, Dianne, Mike and Mark in the McGinnis Playroom

McGinnis’ were also the only ones I knew who had color television.  See, I told you it was black and white “back in the day”.  I can distinctly remember watching a Star Trek episode in color for the first time.  It was the episode where there were only kids on the planet because everyone had this disease that made them age quickly.  I must have caught that disease that night.  At any rate, I never wanted to watch black and white again.  After we got our first color TV in about 1973, the battle for the TV really got ugly, especially when Little House on the Prairie starting competing with Monday Night Football.

I’ve joked about my mom being the ultimate yuletide spirit.  Aunt Jenny, one of her four sisters, also had the heart of Santa Claus.  In other words, she spoiled us rotten.  She and Uncle Harold had a store in Quincy.  What I remember most, was being allowed free run of the General Store, getting to have any candy or pop I wanted.  I remember all the paraffin shapes filled with fruit juice.  How strange that I actually enjoyed chewing the tasteless wax.  I also recall loving Cherry Jacks, a combination of cherry and licorice I believe.  My favorite of all favorites, however, was my beloved Choc-Ola, a chocolate beverage served in a pop bottle.  I think that it still marketed, but as Yoo-Hoo. Dianne was into Orange Nehi.  I also remember getting to pick out a toy from her store.  It was like Christmas anytime we visited Aunt Jenny.

 

There are so many wonderful memories and they continue to surface as I try to document my Wonder Years.  I’ve friends with similar experiences.  A couple of years back, a friend from work brought me back Morels from his trip to the Midwest.  Last summer, friends visited their home in Illinois.  I could see, smell, feel and hear their trip reflections like I was there.  Well, because I kind of was.