The Presidential Race

The 2008 Presidential race has brought to front and center something that many thought would never be an issue: the race of the President. We’ve come a long way in the last fifty years, but we still have a long way to go. As enlightened as we think we are, many of us still harbor some latent prejudices, and they cloud our judgment. With the Presidential election upon us, we may soon see where we are in this continuum.

The last three generations have seen a tremendous shift in our society. For those of us in the middle, “Baby-boomers,” mostly, the greatest shift occurred as we were growing into adulthood during the tumultuous 50s, 60s and 70s. Our parents and their forebears grew up more isolated, and our children (and now their children, a fourth generation) have been more exposed to the blending that has been taking place in our melting pot of a nation. Our society is becoming more homogeneous, not in terms of class and social status, but in terms of the differences between peoples. However, some cultural and ethnic differences remain, and they still tend to divide us.

One thing that continues to divide America, and indeed the world, is the very notion of preserving ethnicity. While it is important to remember our roots and keep our cultural heritages alive, we must not continue to isolate ourselves in our ethnic silos. Celebrating various cultural heritages can be enriching and entertaining for everyone.

For the enlightened among us, it’s no longer adequate to think in terms of tolerance – we need to do better. We must learn to accept and respect our ethnic and cultural differences, and understand that each of us sees things uniquely, viewed through the prism of our individual experiences and what we are taught.

Born in the 50s, I came of age as the civil rights movement changed the course of our great country. I witnessed the acts of civil disobedience that exploded into lawlessness and chaos, from Rosa Parks’ refusal to ride in the back of the bus, to Martin Luther King’s assassination, to the riots that followed, to the civil unrest that continued through the Vietnam War era. The civil rights movement was a social revolution of sorts, and we came out the other side of it with a different perspective. We began to realize that in this country we thought so advanced, with opportunity so equal, things weren’t as advanced or equal as we had believed. As the next generation began to germinate, though, this different perspective became genetically encoded as this group grew to be less discerning of differences.

There are many differences that are worth preserving: right and wrong, child and adult, Democrat and Republican… But at our core as human beings, we’re all people. Race, like religion, sex, and age, should not be a determinant in elections, business, education, or rights of any kind. None of us gets to choose our parentage or the circumstances of our birth, so we’ve got to make the best of who and what we are. Of course, as a white, Anglo-Saxon Protestant, middle-aged male, that’s easy for me to say.

During the primaries and the Presidential election campaign, a lot has been said about Barack Obama becoming the first black president, and Senator Obama doesn’t dispute it. He refers to himself, rightfully so, as African-American. I’ve never cared for that politically correct term, but if anyone is African-American, it’s Barack Obama – son of a black African man and a white American woman. In his own words, he’s “an American with the blood of Africa coursing through his veins.” But if we have to label him, why can’t we just see him as the first Hawaiian president? After all, he was born in Honolulu!

This election demonstrates that we’re moving in the right direction. In an era when people of all races, religions, sexes and orientations are finding doors opening, the fact that Barack Obama, Hillary Clinton and Sarah Palin have reached where they are is testimony. But for those of us who remember how things were before the social revolution, continuing to think and talk about the differences between peoples only reinforces a latent prejudice within us. Senator McCain’s campaign has sought to catalyze a reaction with intimations that Senator Obama is somehow different. We need to focus on what we have in common, how we are the same, and how we are all in this together.

Having come to this enlightened realization, I recently found myself needing to identify my race on an application, among the choices: “White, African-American, Latino, Asian or Other;” I thought about it for a moment, chose “Other,” and wrote in next to it, “Human.” When I vote in this year’s Presidential election, I 'll take one step further, and cast my vote for the man who embodies the greatest hope for our future and the future of humanity.

The Terrorists Within

This was published as and op-ed in the October 30, 2008 Trenton Times.

After eight years under a hapless President George W. Bush, I was looking forward to this year’s presidential election with great optimism. Now the anticipation is giving way to frustration and disillusionment, as the candidates, their party machinery and the political system itself focus too often on tearing down rather than building up. Even a man with the strength of convictions of maverick John McCain can’t avoid desperate acts in the face of possible defeat, and Barack Obama and his message of hope can’t withstand the wrecking ball forever.

One of the key issues early in this campaign, and a cornerstone of the Republican party’s platform, has been the war against terrorism. Terrorism is all about putting fear in the minds of a population, so that it acts irrationally and squanders its resources on the wrong things. Ironically, instilling fear is a tool that Republicans seem to wield expertly, in casting aspersions on their Democratic opponents. The Democrats seem less comfortable with this tool, but use it nonetheless. It doesn’t matter that truth is twisted or deformed in the process – as long as it achieves the aggressor’s aim. This form of terrorism is insidious, and ultimately, very harmful. Even our most compelling current challenge, the global economic crisis, has fallen victim to this form of terrorism, as partisanship crept into the discussion and fanned the flames of fear.

It seems that Republicans view a good offense as the best defense, and conversely, Democrats see a good defense as the best offense. What often results from this is that Republicans go into the attack mode first, and try to draw the Democrats into the fray. Democrats, in trying to fend off the attacks, seem weak by comparison. When Republicans attack, they often allege character and personal flaws (“socialism,” “elitist,” “palling around with terrorists,” etc.). When Democrats become the aggressors, their attacks generally seem more about policy differences (“out of touch,” “four more years,” “doesn’t get it,” etc.), and are therefore somewhat less personal.

In effect, these tactics are designed to plant negative thoughts in the minds of voters, either through innuendo or direct accusations. For an event of such import and such historic significance as this election, that’s a sad commentary. Our lives can be much better when we work together and accentuate the positives. Synergy is all about the whole being greater than the sum of its parts, and this unproductive discourse we’re seeing is, at best, a zero sum game. At worst, it’s a downward spiral toward collective failure.

Both candidates have adopted “change” as a theme, although one could argue that Senator Obama adopted it and Senator McCain co-opted it. The change I seek is to find ways to have civil discourse over issues that are important. The loudest voices aren’t necessarily the right ones to listen to. Unfortunately, we don’t often have all the facts, and the mantras that we hear begin to take on an air of reality as they strike chords that harmonize with some of our own thoughts and preconceptions.

I’ve read Barack Obama’s books, not out of blind loyalty to a man whose words resonated with me, but out of curiosity about the man behind those words. I’d read a couple of excerpts of one of his books, and Joe Biden was right – Obama is incredibly articulate. In his first book, Dreams from My Father, Obama talked about his early life, and his search for self which led him to learn as much as he could about his estranged father. In his second book, The Audacity of Hope, he outlined his political and social beliefs in self-effacing and brutally honest terms. He acknowledged his shortcomings, but made no excuses. His words paint a picture of an America that is fair, civil, strong and prosperous, and country and society that all Americans can be even more proud of.

For once, I’d like to see a presidential campaign where the candidates try to win the voters’ support by focusing on what they stand for, rather than trying to malign their opponent’s character, background or motivations. I hope that Barack Obama realizes that there are many of us who are starving to hear of the good that can be done, and notwithstanding the low-road campaign he’s been forced to turn to, will restore his positive message and return to the high road once this is all over. I hope he truly remembers where he came from and his reason for running in the first place. If he does, and if he prevails in the election, our great country will see a resurgence in the world and a return of our standing as a global leader. If he forgets, or if he doesn’t succeed in the election, I fear for our future, because the terrorists within will have won.

A Bitter Bill to Swallow

This was published as an op-ed in the October 2, 2008 Trenton Times, in response to the failed vote in the House of Representatives on the economic "bailout" plan, in advance of the revote expected on October 3.


There are many words in the English language that have dual meanings, but the duplicity of one word, “oversight,” is at the heart of the singular most important debate of our time. Our economy is in shambles, in large part due to the lack of oversight by our government, which allowed this perfect storm to brew without taking any definitive action. It seems, however, that there has been plenty of oversight, of the “Oops, I guess that one got by me” variety.

While few Americans are thrilled about the thought of investing $700 billion with no guarantee that any of that investment will be worth anything in the future, there seems to be little doubt that something urgently needs to be done. The mere failure of Congress to pass the “bailout” plan caused a one-day drop in market value of over $1 trillion. My guess is that when Congress reconvenes, it will reach agreement on the plan, repackaged as a “rescue” plan, with a couple of face-saving tweaks to give some of the previous opponents cover. This bitter bill to swallow is perhaps all that stands between us and the abyss.

What should have been a non-partisan call-to-arms has devolved into a childish morass of finger-pointing and name-calling. Our Republican President, as lame a duck as he may be, tried to rally the Congressional forces together to do the right thing, and do it quickly. There can be no denying that the current economic debacle is having global consequences, and our already shaky world standing is taking yet another hit. Nevertheless, the President’s call was met with backlash, even from his own party.

It’s amazing that Senator McCain “suspended” his campaign to go back to Washington to help get the bill passed, with the result being that 2/3 of his party’s contingent in the House of Representatives voted against it. At the same time, Senator Obama decided to remain on the sidelines and leave the legislative action to those who have been most engaged, and 60% of his party voted for the bill. The same day that Senator McCain said he was “suspending” his campaign, he appeared at the Clinton Global Initiative meeting and gave what was arguably the best speech on the economy of his campaign, and made a big point of his personal magnanimity in putting his campaign on hold.

Despite Senator McCain’s stated desire to eliminate partisanship from the discussions about how to resolve this problem, it seems that his involvement has done anything but that. The plan, put forth by the Republican administration, went down in defeat. When the votes were counted on Monday, Senator McCain’s party came up far short of the number that needed to be delivered, and the Democrats came up with more than should have been necessary. In the insanity that ensued, Republicans accused Democrats of killing this vital bill.

Our economy is teetering precariously on the brink of disaster. As we’ve heard ad nauseum, “It’s not just about Wall Street, it’s about Main Street.” At the heart of the problem is the credit market, which provides money for people and companies to buy things, so that everyone benefits. People benefit by being able to have things today and pay for them in the future. Companies benefit in the same way, but also by having working capital to conduct business. Certainly, the credit market mess has an impact on Wall Street, because the companies that depend on credit to do business become less profitable when they can’t borrow to meet their normal business needs. The solution needs to be one that shores up the credit market, so that the rest of the economy isn’t held hostage. Then we can figure out a way to make sure this can’t happen again. This is a time for first aid – the patient is bleeding to death.

Congress needs to pass the bill, whether it’s a “bailout” bill or a “rescue” bill. But in doing so, it needs to ensure that it has the power to control the way the funds are allocated, and maximize the possible return on our citizenry’s unprecedented financial investment. Congress clearly cannot give a blank check to the Treasury, and hope that it doesn’t gamble all our money away.

So, in the end, what remains to be seen with whatever solution Congress adopts is whether, in this instance, Congressional “oversight” becomes a responsibility or continues to be an excuse.

Tribute to a Great Man

Several years ago, the passing of Johnny Carson gave me pause. He touched many people, and the outpouring of affection from fans and friends was incredible, but it’s a shame that he wasn’t around to receive it. It made me realize that we often say great things about great people when it’s too late for them to hear it, and that’s what is really sad. It also made me realize that I have a chance to say great things about a great man who’s still very much alive, my dad.

My dad is a man of humble beginnings, a man whose own father died at a young age. Born in Tennessee, he moved north to New Jersey as a teenager. Even after sixty-some years, he still has a tinge of a Tennessee twang. When World War II struck, he was drafted into the army during his high school junior year. He never went back. His army service did, however, give him an opportunity to either go to college or learn a trade, and he chose the latter.

He and my mom reared six kids, three boys and three girls. We each had our quirks, and each posed a challenge for our parents. I was second oldest, so my older brother had broken the ice for me. Then again, I think he broke the ice on me. We bickered a lot as kids, but that changed as we grew older. My mom's desperate refrain, "Just wait 'til your father gets home," made us all a dad-fearing bunch.

My dad was a small residential building contractor as I was growing up. I remember going to work with him, helping when I could, but mostly just watching. My older brother got to help with the more complex stuff, like operating power tools and doing trim work. I was the guy with the shovel or the broom most of the time, but when we were installing subfloors or sheathing, my dad entrusted me with a hammer and nails. More than once, I heard him say, “Bob, you hammer like lightnin’ – never strike twice in the same place!”

When I was in high school, my dad acquired an in-ground swimming pool franchise, and we became pool builders. All my years of experience with a shovel paid off, as we had a lot of digging to do. We poured a lot of concrete in those days, and built a few cabanas along the way.

As I was growing up, my dad spoke with some disdain about engineers. Since he was a bright guy with a lot of practical experience, most engineers couldn’t match his pragmatism and simplicity. So, of course, when I decided to go to college, I went into engineering. It wasn’t until well after I graduated that I realized that he was proud of my achievement, and that he really didn’t think that engineers were useless.

I recall in high school and college, thinking about how different my dad and I were. That was then, this is now. Now I realize how similar we really are. Some of it is genetic, but some is from the example he set, and the many things he taught and I learned with neither of us realizing it. He taught me responsibility and independence, integrity and tenacity. And he taught me the building trades.

We never had the father/son talk, but by his example, he showed me what to look for in a wife: a woman with charm, intelligence, strength and warmth. My parents have been married more than 55 years, and care for each other deeply, although at times they see things differently. They’ve always been good together.

My dad taught me loyalty and humility, and showed me that while they don’t always produce the best results, they always matter. He's hit a few bumps along the way, but he's always taken the high road, where the bumps are there to give you a better view. He’s always been there for me, and I’ll always be there for him, a sort of in loco parentis quid pro quo.

He’s a creature of habit, some more endearing than others. We used to get a kick out of his annual trek to Florida to visit family. He always stopped at the same hotel in Dunn, North Carolina. And for the longest time, we could always predict what he would order at a restaurant: prime rib, end cut. Until recently, he awoke in the wee hours of the morning, and went to bed in the late afternoon. And for the past fifty years or so, he’s always had an Oldsmobile. Now that they’re no longer made, he’s vowed to keep his ’89 running as long as he does.

He has a wry sense of humor, and a quiet demeanor. He generally keeps his opinions to himself, but every now and then, makes a thoughtful and profound observation. Of course, having been raised in the era of the Depression and the Second World War, he harbors a few prejudices and occasionally says things that just aren’t politically correct. Nevertheless, he treats people with dignity, and appreciates the goodness in them.

Over the past few years, my dad has had more than his share of medical problems. He’s scored a hat trick against cancer, surviving skin, prostate and lung cancers. After the first two encounters, he still had enough gumption to, almost singlehandedly, reroof the house he built almost 50 years ago. The house was a great home to all of us growing up, and surely it will be his home for the rest of his life.

Nowadays, with all he's been through, he feels that he’s not half the man he used to be. Oddly enough, he’s still twice the man I am.

Life's Lessons Learned

Every now and then, I think back to some of the defining moments of my childhood, and some of the lessons my parents taught, or tried to teach me. Two incidents really stand out, each with its own distinct conclusion and meaning. Of course, as time heals all wounds, it also has a way of changing history, so maybe it didn’t really happen this way…

I was in the third or fourth grade, trying to find a way to fit in with the other kids. The youngest in my class, a bookworm with a birthday three days before the cutoff, and a middle child, I just didn’t have that rebel gene. But I wanted so desperately to be cool. Mom and Dad smoked and that seemed cool. I would soon find out how wrong I was. One day, as my mother was sending me off to school, she reached in to my coat pocket to insert money for the Scholastic books that I wanted to buy. To my horror and her dismay, when her hand emerged, it held one of her cigarettes and a book of matches. What ever divined her to reach in to that pocket at that time, I’ll never know or understand, but what happened next, I’ll never forget.

My father was still home, just about to leave for work. As the kitchen fell silent, he said, “Bob, when I get home, you and I are gonna sit down and have a smoke, man-to-man.” I remember my emotions, not of pride, but of shame and fear. I knew I was in big trouble, and figured I would be severely punished. I don’t know how I made it through the day, but I know I put the time to good use trying to think of all the angles possible to garner sympathy and understanding. A loose tooth managed to get a lot looser that day, and just before my father came home, it managed to “fall” out, and it was a bloody mess. No humane parent could mete out punishment to a child in that state, right? Wrong!!!

He gave me a little time to get myself together, then the family gathered in the kitchen. I was to be used as an example to my older brother and four younger siblings. Dad sat me down on a chair opposite his, and pulled out his pack of Pall Malls. This was not looking good – these were not on the same level as the mild, mentholated, filtered Salems that Mom smoked. Nevertheless, Dad was determined to, as he put it, “teach you to smoke like a man.” He lit one up for himself and drew it in deeply, slowly exhaling for effect. He then lit one up for me, and told me to do the same thing. It was hard to do, bawling as I was, but I had no choice – there was no way out of this. So I did as I was told, and choked and coughed like there would be no tomorrow. The lesson was learned, and I wouldn’t touch another cigarette until college, when the peer pressure overshadowed the lesson I’d learned so well.

The second incident occurred when I was about thirteen or fourteen. I had a newspaper route, with about twenty customers, a route that covered about a mile between Shrewsbury and Little Silver. Just off the route was the Little Silver railroad station, with its newspaper, magazine and candy stand. As a kid with a little bit of money, the lure of candy was strong. Eventually, though, the lure of the Playboy magazine on the rack behind the counter became too great to resist, and I bought a copy. I remember hiding it under my bed. One day, my mother confronted me in front of my father with the magazine she had found while cleaning my room. Again, I was horrified and ashamed. I was in big trouble!

This time, though, and I’ll never forget it, Dad said, “Bob, I don’t want you to be buying this kind of stuff and hiding it around the house. From now on, I’ll buy it and you can borrow it.” I think I can still hear the sound of two jaws simultaneously dropping to the floor, mine and my mother’s, but maybe she was complicit in this. There may have been a momentary elevation of my pride, but somehow the magazine never seemed the same after that, and my growth in maturity was instantaneous.

These two incidents are among many that helped shape me, and their impact was both profound and lasting. I recall them with humor and fondness, but most of all with the deep respect for two parents who taught me so much.

If Not for Moms

If not for moms, I wouldn’t be here to write this and you wouldn’t be here to read it. This statement of the obvious aside, consider the roles mothers play in our lives, and indeed the world we live in. When we do that, simply loving them and appreciating them will seem wholly inadequate.

Before we are born, mothers provide us with a safe, comfortable, yet cramped environment. They nourish us without thought or hesitation. After we are born, they continue to nourish and protect us, through an invisible umbilicus. They’re there to teach us, to mend our hurts, and to instill the beginnings of our belief systems. They tell us the truth, generally, and show us how to take care of others.

In terms of what’s best for us, mothers are seldom wrong. And while they may not necessarily be nosy, mothers don’t miss much. As Spanky said in the Little Rascals, “You can fool some of the people some of the time, but you can’t fool Mom!” Even when our mothers are not around, the moral compasses they’ve set for us guide our subliminal conscience.

As we grow, they continue to take care of us, both emotionally and physically. Though relations may become strained, their love is almost always unconditional and complete. As young men grow older, they look to their mothers for examples of what they want in their own partners. As young women grow older, they often find themselves mimicking their mothers, a silent and subtle tribute to their influence.

In world affairs, though women can be as tough as nails, they often show a tenderness that portends motherhood, demonstrating patience and a willingness to understand, yet a resoluteness to stand up for what is right. It’s difficult to imagine a mother as a dictator, but easy to imagine one as a fair and humane leader.

Several years ago, my wife and I had the privilege of being recognized and honored by President George W. Bush for our volunteer work. When I introduced my two sons to him, he issued an Executive Order to them, which was to me a most profound message: “Listen to your mother.” Imagine the world if everyone did so!

At First Sight

When I first saw her across the crowded room at a college dance, it took my breath away. But then a friend brought me back to earth with, “Morgs, give it up – she’s taken.” She was way out of my league. Who was I, anyway, to think she’d even acknowledge my existence. Little did any of us know, she would define my existence.

I made a point of talking to her that night, although I’m sure I made no impression. She and her friends were friends with my friends, and our paths would surely cross again in the future. I remember telling my compadre, “I’m in Luuuvvvv…,” something we kidded each other about any time we met a girl we wanted to get to know, but this was different.

This girl who captivated me had been dating a guy for several years in high school and into college, and although I was discouraged, I wasn’t deterred. A year or so later, my opportunity arose. She was no longer “taken,” and in fact, had dated another friend of mine. As it turned out, I had dated a friend of hers, so our paths did continue to cross. When I finally mustered the courage to ask her out, we settled on a safe date, dinner with mutual friends. The significance of the calendar date, February 14, was lost on me.

We attended different colleges, about fifteen miles apart. Mine was a predominantly male school, hers one hundred percent female. When I arrived at her school at the appointed time to pick her up, the girls at her dorm told me that she had gone home for the weekend. A lesser man might have taken that as a sign and given up on the spot. Not me – I didn’t even know where “home” was, but I was determined to see this through. Someone gave me her phone number, and I called her. She gave me directions to her house, and I was on my way.

When I arrived at her house, she gave me some more troubling signals. She said her father had become ill and had been taken to the hospital, but she would still go out with me. At about nine o’clock, she would have to call in, and might have to go home. I thought this was quite an elaborate ruse, but I was really spellbound. We met our friends and had dinner, and at about nine, she excused herself to make a phone call. I anxiously awaited my fate, wondering if I had passed the test, or if her father’s illness was going to be her excuse to end her suffering gracefully. She came back to the table and announced that everything was fine. As is turned out, her father had really been taken to the hospital, and this was for real!

What started out on such shaky ground eventually blossomed, and we married and had two wonderful boys. We still keep in touch with many of our old friends from those days, and every now and then, we reminisce about how we got together.

She’s the type of person who lights up a room when she enters it. She’s not a showboat, and shies away from being the center of attention, but she has a warmth that makes everyone feel comfortable around her. She’s classy and sassy, and sometimes a bit brassy. She more than makes up for my quiet demeanor, and makes me proud to be with her. She’s a great mother, and as a teacher (now a school librarian), she touches the lives of many young children. I don’t mind sharing.

Recently, she arrived at a meeting that I was also attending, and sat across the room so as not to disturb the meeting. As I sat and looked at her, I thought, “I’m in Luuuvvvv…” Oh, and by the way, Valentine’s Day 2012 is our thirty-seventh together.

Land Of The Rising Son

Last summer, soon after he graduated from The College of New Jersey, our oldest son, Jason, decided to move to Japan. His mother and I didn’t take it as an affront that he was going to live just about as far away from us as he possibly could, but the thought did cross our minds. Before Jason even got on the plane in August, Chris and I conspired to visit him for Christmas, and take our younger son, Adam, with us. Back from our whirlwind Christmas tour of this fascinating country, we now understand why Jason has chosen to make it his home for a couple of years, and we are quite proud of the man he is becoming.

So if not just to get as far away from his parents as possible, you may wonder, “What in the world would make him want to live there?” Well, at TCNJ, he majored in biology and minored in English, but studied Asian culture and Japanese language. He studied for a semester in Japan, and along with several friends (including his girlfriend from TCNJ, Caitlin, who now lives a short tram-ride away), signed up with the Japanese government’s JET (Japan Exchange and Teaching) program to teach English. How ironic that he was going to Japan to teach English, a language we rarely heard him speak!

In the few months leading up to our departure, Jason offered meager advice about what we should study and what travel arrangements we should make. Before he left, he had handed us one of his Japanese language textbooks from TCNJ and told us to study some Japanese lettering so that we would be able to find our way around. Of course, we didn’t do that. As our departure time drew closer, he offered more advice over the internet, which in toto, was just about perfect. He made suggestions about conversion of cash, train travel, places to visit and places to avoid, and what to expect in terms of English-speaking people.

The airline tickets were earned with frequent flyer miles, not from decades of travel, but from miles and miles of credit card receipts (more aptly, “Frequent Buyer Miles”). I was concerned about how easy the online ticketing process was, and thought for sure that we’d be bumped, the flights would be cancelled, or in light of recent carry-on restrictions, our seats would be removed to make room to stow more checked luggage owned by paying customers. As it turned out, except for one small incident, the flights were terrific - on time, surprisingly good food, and very pleasant flight attendants. The one small incident occurred after our brief changeover in Chicago. Chris and Adam are both white-knuckle flyers, and as we ascended back into the storm clouds over the Windy City that day, our plane was struck by lightning. It sent the flight attendants scurrying, and after a couple of minutes, the captain announced over the intercom, “You may have noticed that we were just hit by lightning. The flight crew has checked everything, and we don’t see any problems, so we’re going to continue on our way.” I could be mistaken, but I think I also heard him mutter, parenthetically, “(We’ve only got about 6000 miles to go, most of it over open water, so we’re gonna give it a shot…).”

We also experienced time travel, almost like, “Back to the Future.” We initially traveled from Newark to Chicago, then from Chicago (struck by lightning) to Japan. Because of the travel time and the time differences, we left on a Friday morning, and arrived on a Saturday afternoon. On the way home, though, we left Tokyo at 3:00 on a Sunday afternoon, and arrived in Chicago at 1:00 that same afternoon! As we were about to leave Japan, I remarked to Adam, “We’re going to arrive in Chicago two hours ago!”

In addition to flight arrangements, I also made hotel arrangements at four different hotels online, which normally wouldn’t have concerned me, except that the information available about the hotels was somewhat sketchy. During the trip, I sheepishly approached each registration desk, wondering if there would be room at the inn. I really lucked out, though, and almost everything worked out perfectly. The hotels were clean, well-appointed, efficiently small, and staffed by very nice English-speaking people. Most of the hotels were within walking distance of trains, arguably the best means of travel around the country. In fact, in Kyoto, our excellent accommodations, the Hotel Granvia Kyoto, were at the train station.

As an aside, for anyone planning to visit Japan, we heartily recommend obtaining a Japan Rail Pass, which only visitors can obtain, and only by purchasing vouchers at select locations outside the country and exchanging them at select locations in Japan. They don’t make it easy, but they do make it worthwhile. The trains are clean, the bullet trains are spacious, and they are all ON TIME! The rail pass is valid on many of the bullet trains and many local trains, trams, buses and ferries throughout the country. Just flash your pass and you’re on your way! Some of the train stations, including the one in Kyoto that included our hotel, were teeming with people. The choreography of the masses looked like that of a gargantuan ant farm, with people crisscrossing at breakneck speed. A couple of times, I was swept some distance out of my way, as I feared one misstep might cause the whole cast to tumble.

We found it fairly easy to find our way around, particularly in the big cities, and especially in Tokyo. Many signs are in English, and things are well marked. In fact, we had less difficulty following signs and directions in Japan than we did when we returned to Newark Airport and tried to follow the signs to the shuttle bus for the remote parking lot.

Jason and Caitlin met us in southwest Japan on our second day, after we’d warmed up our shiny new rail passes with several legs of the trip from Tokyo. While we were visiting their home town of Kumamoto and then nearby Kyoto, Jason and Caitlin acted as tour guides, taking us to some of their favorite haunts and eating establishments. The scenery was incredible, the food was excellent, and the shopping was amazing. We even went to a karaoke bar. When asked if I would try to sing karaoke, I replied, “There isn’t enough beer in Japan to make me do karaoke!” Well, apparently there is…and allegedly, there’s a video.

Some of the cultural differences we encountered were fascinating. The Japanese seemed almost obsessive about washing hands before eating, handing out wet towels or towelettes whenever we sat down at a restaurant. But they didn’t offer us any napkins, so I guess the idea is to pre-emptively wipe your hands and face. Also, in lavatories, there were sinks, but generally no towels or dryers to dry with. So you either had to wring your hands dry or wipe them on your pants, which of course weren’t dirty because you had pre-emptively wiped your hands at mealtime.

It also seemed as though the Japanese were preoccupied most of the time, because they seldom looked us in the eye unless they were either serving us, or it was otherwise part of their job. Normally, I try to make eye contact and say, “Hi,” as I pass people. In our travels, most of the people either looked down or straight ahead, as if oblivious to us. Maybe they are just overwhelmed by the sheer number of people they encounter every day, and are just operating on overload. When they were serving us, though, they were held in rapt attention and almost tripped over themselves to help us. One exception was a cabbie in Tokyo who, although apparently Japanese, was the quintessential cabdriver from hell, never leaving the comfort of the driver’s seat of his smoke-filled cab, and driving at about 50 mph through the busy streets of Tokyo. He must have gotten his training in New York City!

We also found that many Japanese people smoke cigarettes, and look like they only recently started, ever conscious of this powerful new thing between their fingers, and puffing furiously. At a couple of restaurants, the smoke was so thick that I longed for the smoke-free restaurants in New Jersey. At one place in particular, a young woman chain-smoked, and even the nearby exhaust hood was no match for her.

We were also struck by the young adults, whose dress ranged from school uniforms to western styles. Apparently, school uniforms are considered attractive among students, and play an important part in their adolescent mating rituals. On the other hand, we saw many young men dressed in the gangsta look, with their baggy jeans hanging at mid-butt, and their baseball hats askew. I wondered if they’d one day emulate Jason’s eclectic style of dress – bright colors, plaids with stripes, too-small tee shirts, etc. (I used to say that he shopped at Barnum & Bailey).

The streets and countryside were essentially devoid of trash and graffiti, largely due to the work ethic of the people employed to clean up such things. But keeping these things under control serves as a deterrent to others, who are less likely to create a new mess rather than just add to an old one. I can’t recall noticing any chewing gum crushed into the sidewalks, like so many stars that mark the entrances to our shopping malls, so apparently it’s not a problem either.

After about a week in Japan, we finally began to understand the language that Jason and Caitlin spoke with some fluency. By then, we had mastered, “Domo Arigato,” while choking back, “Mister Roboto.” Perhaps the most useful phrase we learned was, “Nihongo ga wakarimasen,” which means, “I don’t understand Japanese.” But the most important phrase was, “Otearai wa dochira desu ka?” meaning, “Where is the bathroom?” The Japanese vocabulary is a fascinating mix of old Asian and adapted western words. In the Japanese language, there are limited sounds; their vowels don’t have both long and short versions, and some consonants don’t exist, so adapted western words are the closest they can come. For instance, taxi is ta-ku-shi, and milk is mi-ru-ku. In many cases, the “u” at the end is nearly silent, although I think it’s still there (the Japanese don’t waste much). One very popular word is “gozaimasu,” which doesn’t translate well, but is a polite form meaning, “to be.” It’s used in greetings, thanks and instructions, and seems to punctuate a lot of Japanese sentences.

We also learned about currency exchange, with the Japanese yen being about equal to a penny, and figured out how to negotiate with automated tellers to tap our bank accounts back home. The international MAC machines are only found at the post offices, and are lined up like slot machines, with customers queued up to wait for the next available one.

At 6’-2” with a full head of not-too-short red hair, Jason stands out among the crowds in Japan. Though he’s generally quiet, he enjoys a bit of attention, and being firmly in the minority in heavily Japanese Kumamoto, he’s really hard to miss. At 5’-4” with dark hair, Caitlin blends in a bit more. They both live in areas that are safe and secure, even for a city environment. They’re fairly well-paid, and hold some sway in their respective school systems. They’re both enjoying teaching for now, and will probably return home and continue their own education before moving on in their careers. Most of all, though, they’re independent but still have each other to lean on.

The experience of visiting Japan for Chris, Adam and me was an adventure of a lifetime. Visiting Jason was wonderful in so many ways. Leaving him to come home was more difficult than seeing him off in the first place, though. He’s doing quite well, and is proving that he doesn’t need his parents as much as we’d like to think. So I guess we did okay after all…


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Here are a few of our pictures. The rest can be viewed by scrolling back to the top of the blog and clicking on the link, "Bob's Pictures" in the sidebar on the right.

Morganisms

If things aren't going well, watch out for the shih-tzu-nami!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If Republicans are for smaller government, why do they keep running for office???

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Where there's a will, there's a way; where there's a "won't," there's no way.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Where there's smoke, there's smoke.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If you find that there's too much "latitude" between True North and Magnetic North on your moral compass, rely on your GPS (Guilt-Producing Subconscious).

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It's far more important to fix the problem than to fix the blame.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fond memories, like fine wines, improve with age.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Isn't "obituary deadline" a bit redundant?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It's ironic that as humans, we're endowed with the incomparable ability to think for ourselves, but so many of us are entrapped by the incomprehensible tendency to avoid doing so.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Opinions are like epoxy: they start with a combination of basic elements, and harden when a strong catalyst is added.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We are all geniuses in hindsight, and tend to assess risk in terms of what just happened. If we could focus our efforts on calculating real risks and mitigating them in reasonable proportion, no doubt we’d spend a lot less time worrying about what could be happening, and a lot more time enjoying what really is.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It's important to remain upbeat, even when you're getting beat up!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Always take the high road - there's a lot less traffic!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Learn from the Past
Deal with the Present
Prepare for the Future

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Whenever you try to kill two birds with one stone, be sure the birds are not flying directly overhead.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Resluts!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You know you're in trouble when...
The contractor you depend on for service requires more service than he provides.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Remember: It's not the time you put in. It's what you put in the time you put in.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lawn Order

You’d think that in a household with three lawn mowers, the lawn would almost be afraid to grow. Not so at my house. None of the mowers are new, but the one that works best and most reliably is the oldest model, which, according to some paperwork, first appeared about fifty years ago. Amazingly, the old one still has most of the original parts.

My neighbors probably get a kick out of watching the old clunker, sputtering and wheezing while traversing the lawn, week after week. The newer models run a bit faster, but don’t cut as well. It’s as if they can’t wait to finish, but it’s not like they have something else to do.

Of the three mowers, all the same brand, only the old one is self-propelled. The newer ones are a lot sleeker and are equipped with lots of electronic gadgets (like ipods and cellphones), but they’re not very fuel-efficient and they're really hard to start. Riding the newer ones isn’t an option either, so they have to be pushed - gently.

The situation isn’t likely to improve. The three of us are getting older - my sons and I. Maybe someday soon they’ll have their own lawns, and at least until they have kids, they’ll be the ONLY mower in their household.

Under God With Liberty

This was written when George W. Bush was President.

Four score and 136 years ago, our forefathers had the foresight and intelligence to amend the Constitution of the fledgling United States of America to ensure various freedoms, including freedom of religion. Over time, this evolved into separation between church and state. The importance of that separation has never been more self-evident than it has in recent years.

I am comforted that our President is a deeply religious man. However, I am troubled by his apparent belief that his policies are God’s will. The role of religion should be to help define the man and not government policy. We need only to look at examples of sectarian governments in the Middle East to realize the inherent conflicts of interest. Our forefathers, many of whom were deeply religious, understood that. They wrote the Bill of Rights to define our freedoms; they accepted that the Ten Commandments defined our morality. It is in this divergence that there is room and need for both.

Governmental laws have some basis in the religious beliefs of those who create them. Religion and government can and should work hand-in-hand. However, religion should neither drive nor be driven by government. When religions adopt political agendas, they lose their neutrality, and thus become part of the problem rather than the solution. Similarly, when governments adopt moral agendas, they lose their ability to represent all of those they serve, and they often alienate some religious groups in the process.

Governments have physical boundaries, defined by the constitutions of the nations or states that sponsor them. Religions are boundless, in that they are borne by people, who can be part of any nation or state. Religion is passed on from generation to generation, much like genetic heritage, serving as a beacon to travel through life, and its adaptation to change is subtle and deliberate. Governmental laws are man-made, providing a framework of rules of acceptable behavior, but they can be changed, abandoned, or overturned, often with little or no consequence.

Religion has been vitally important throughout history; it has held people together, thrust them apart, and set them against each other. One common belief among many different religions is that each is absolute and righteous, but absolutism is not the same as absolution. A religion perverted to suit the political aims of its leaders is as offensive as a government claiming divine providence. Neither gives its followers or subjects much choice but to obey or become outcasts. Those who succumb often do so out of fear, and often fear leads to desperation.

In some ways, religion and nationalism are similar. Both offer a central theme to rally around; both can be extremely powerful, and can evoke strong emotions; both can be exclusionary and bigoted. Religious symbols have deep meaning, and can inspire a pride akin to nationalism. Religions are steeped in tradition, and the tradition itself affirms the religion, enabling passage from generation to generation, and assuring some consistency across the continents.

Religion is deeply personal. For some, it brings a sense of belonging; for others, it brings a sense of hope; for still others, it brings a sense of peace. We all decide what and how much to believe in, but once committed, we tend to be devoted to those beliefs and willing to accept much from our religious leaders and scriptures on faith.

Nationalism is also felt very deeply on a personal level. National pride is seldom more evident than when there is a perceived or real threat to national security. As long as the response is decisive, its propriety is seldom questioned, and we tend to rally around our leaders.

As Abraham Maslow observed in the middle of the 20th century, once physiological and safety/security needs are met, people tend to seek a sense of belonging. Nations, even dysfunctional ones, provide safety and security for their loyal citizens; religions often fulfill a sense of belonging. When safety and security is threatened, and there is no sense of nationalism, which is clearly the current case in Iraq, people look to fill the void in any way they can, and seek safety and security in community. They often find and build community in their religious sects, but differences between the sects lead to civil discord.

Leaders emerge and identify with their followers, and in so doing, exert their own influence and indoctrinate with their own version of truth, perverse as it may be. As humans, we are endowed with the incomparable ability to think for ourselves, but many of us are encumbered by the incomprehensible tendency to avoid doing so. Too often, we allow our views to be subjugated by those who have the more powerful voice, or the more charismatic delivery. We blindly follow those who would lead, and many who would lead follow a distorted path. We treasure those we are taught to love, and despise those we are taught to hate. If we allow ourselves the freedom of thought, we may keep from destroying all we have wrought.

A Different View of Global Warming

You may not have noticed, because it’s been a gradual change in the international climate. There’s evidence of a global warming that is thawing things long-frozen. It’s not evident everywhere, but in some surprising regions. And it’s not all bad news.

For those of us who grew up in the Cold War Era, the icy relationships between many nations was the norm. To keep the peace, each threatened war. Now, it seems, many of those former adversaries have found a way to get along, and many barriers have come down. Nevertheless, there remain several volatile regions, and a number of upstart countries that continue to upset the international balance.

This new global warming is manifested in a broad and sweeping international exchange. Many countries are becoming melting pots of different nationalities, as companies globalize, and business travel expands. Indeed, the international travel experiences of many of our college youth have made the world a much smaller place. Where, as children, many of us were content to travel out of state for vacations and education, many of our children now travel to foreign lands for the same reasons.

My own son, who showed little interest in travel during many of our family outings, has been to Europe three times, took summer classes in southern France, and spent a semester in Japan learning the language and culture. Twenty-two years ago, Jason was born with a shock of red hair, full of wonder and promise. This fall, still with his shock of red hair and full of wonder and promise, now a fresh graduate of The College of New Jersey, he will begin a year in Japan teaching English. Many of his friends have also traveled extensively during college and will be teaching our language in foreign lands as well.

The world is becoming a very small place. The products and services we use come from all over the globe. I recently bought four Arrow shirts at a department store, and when looking at the labels for their composition, found that one was made in Viet Nam, one was from Thailand, one was from Bangladesh and one was “Heche en Mexico.” Soon after, I spoke with a customer service representative from a credit card company – she had a delightful southern belle’s name and an interesting southern accent, tinged with a taste of India. A mere generation ago, none of these would have seemed possible.

As the world becomes smaller, and national boundaries fade, the need to communicate in various languages becomes more important. All of mankind’s advances are built on the scientific and intellectual knowledge base of previous generations. The most efficient way to build on that knowledge is to make it universal through translation, so that language is not a barrier to progress. But translation alone is not enough; cultural differences must be bridged in order to build trust, the key to communication.

Our children are more tolerant of the differences between cultures, having been raised at a time when discrimination on the basis of race, color, sex or creed was at its lowest ebb in our history. With their greater tolerance and their intellectual curiosity, as they travel, hopefully they serve as goodwill ambassadors, leaving their hosts with favorable impressions of us and building the trust necessary to allow communication to thrive. With that, we can truly be proud of our legacy.

For many generations, parents have worked to insure that their children’s lives were better than their own. We may have reached a point of diminishing returns, where the material advances are no longer sustainable. But richer lives for our children need not be measured by possessions; peace and collective prosperity may be better and more noble measures of their success, gauged by what they give rather than what they receive, and what they share rather than what they consume.

By sharing our language and culture with others, and by learning other languages and cultures in return, our children can build bridges and tear down walls, and continue the thaw that has begun. This global warming is perhaps the most encouraging sign of the times. Our attempts to plant democracy in the Middle East need more fertile lands and a warm, less incendiary climate. Maybe our youth can help to turn swords into plowshares, harness the winds of change, and sow the seeds of peace.

The Closet Conspiracy

Deep in the recesses of your closet, an amazing transformation is taking place. Clothes, which have been hanging in obscurity for years are slowly but surely shrinking. This may not be alarming in itself, but there’s a vast clothing conspiracy that threatens us all, if not physically, at least psychologically.

Have you ever noticed that the longer clothes hang in your closet, or remain stuffed in drawers, the smaller they get? It could be the darkness, or maybe some sort of atrophy is taking place, but there can be no denying it – those clothes used to fit! The conspiracy extends beyond size, though. It involves other articles of clothing, accessories, and that omnipotent cleaning agent, bleach.

Socks are the footsoldiers in this conspiracy. It’s just not possible that so many pairs have been reduced to individuals. They must either be deserting, or involved in some sort of foreign exchange. Or maybe there’s a parallel universe, where single socks are respected for their individuality.

Collar stays are another mysterious part of this conspiracy. First of all, why are they called stays, when clearly they don’t? Secondly, they must have socks genes in them, because those that do stay are almost always alone, and never with the shirt that bore them.

Belts, like clothes, shrink over time. Either that, or the holes keep moving. Neckties seem to get shorter, too. They no longer seem to reach the belt to hide the used holes that have moved into view. Then again, even new ties seem to be shorter. Maybe it’s a union thing.

Then there are buttons, particularly shirt buttons. For some reason, those that are near the top or on the sleeves seem to have a desire to unthread, while those below the beltline seemingly won’t come off with anything short of a chainsaw. And what happens to that last buttonhole at the bottom of the shirt? Almost invariably, it seems to close up – there’s a button there, but no hole!

Favorite clothes are most susceptible to bleach. In fact, there doesn’t even need to be contact. The mere presence of bleach in the area is enough to cause a reaction. Or is it jealousy of the other clothes, and our favorites fall victim to attack when we’re not looking?

This misfortune befalls us as we get older and our closets and drawers become more and more full. We add new clothes at a faster rate than we discard old ones, and in so doing, neglect the old ones. Those that are neglected hang together, hiding behind each other, conspiring to never be worn again, like that will teach us a lesson. But then they attack our favorites and chase our socks away.

Perhaps the solution lies in outing this conspiracy. Until then, at least for the items of clothing that have merely shrunken out of our reach, we can donate them to smaller, less well-rounded people, who might use them enough to keep them from shrinking any further.

"Quailty" is King

Once upon a time, the term, “Made in USA,” meant something about the high quality of the goods and the pride of the workers who made them. Then something happened. We took our collective eye off the ball, and turned inwardly, concerned more about “me” than “us.”

Remember the ad campaigns for Ford (“At Ford, Quality is Job One”), and Maytag (the lonely Maytag repairman)? Those ads have faded away, and so has the sentiment behind them. Have you noticed the decline in quality of products under those two great names? They’re not alone – many great names are suffering the same fate. Even Craftsman and Kenmore, the stalwart store brands of Sears, aren’t what they used to be.

One of the factors behind this is greed, pure and simple. Companies have become so short-term, bottom-line oriented, that investment in the future has suffered. And what greater investment in the future could there be than satisfying customers so they return for more? Incentive-based compensation programs have wreaked havoc on our values. We’ve all witnessed the huge windfalls that company executives have reaped while they drove their companies to bankruptcy, by cooking the books to achieve short-term objectives. Not only does this hurt the companies and their investors, but employee loyalty and pride suffers as well.

Businesses, in an effort to trim their costs to improve their financial outlook (or at least their look), often reduce benefits to employees; that is, if they don’t lay them off first. I recently reviewed a resume from someone who had been downsized, and was looking for a new professional opportunity. It was clear that he embodied one of the very things that had cost him his job. He spoke of his focus on “Quailty.” Wow! If I was looking for resluts, he’d be my man.

For those of us planning for retirement, Social Security’s no security - many of us have paid in to the program for years, only to hear that our checks might not be coming when we’re finally able to collect them. Gone are the days of great pension programs in private industry. Many have been replaced with stock option programs, which make retirement a game of chance, rather than a matter of choice. Of course, not everyone can improve their lot by misrepresenting the facts to drive the value of their company’s stocks up, and then cash in before anybody catches on, can they?

Another factor is competition. We have been world leaders in raising the standard of living in poor countries, in part by outsourcing production to them, and in so doing, exporting our prosperity. The irony here is that we outsource because it is cheaper; the prosperity that results in other countries increases their standard of living, which is a good thing; the resulting buying power increases demand for goods that are produced, and the cost goes up. We’re going to Hell in a Hyundai. Just look at the cost of oil, now that other countries (particularly China and India) are becoming industrialized and are competing with us for this vital, limited commodity.

In economics, it has often been said that a rising tide lifts all boats. The analogy doesn’t take into account those boats that are firmly tied to their moorings. In many ways, we are anchored by our greed, and our tendency to avoid low-paying and low-skilled jobs, choosing outsourcing instead. Our middle class is shrinking in the process. The gulf between the upper and lower classes is growing wider. But wasn’t it the middle class that was responsible for most of the progress we’ve made over the past hundred years or so? We’re failing our youth by making them feel that being in the middle class isn’t good enough for them. We’ve adopted our parents’ notion that we want the next generation to be better off than ours, but ignored what it takes to achieve that – sayin’ it don’t make it so.

Unions were responsible for much of the growth of the middle class in the past. But many of the unions have succumbed to the same element, greed, and have lost their luster. In addition, they've lost much of their competitive edge. Instead of providing job skills and job opportunities, they’ve focused on job security, and in some cases, so much specialization that they’ve priced themselves out of the market. Unions have a place in our future, but they have to adapt to it.

Once upon a time, the term, “Made in USA,” meant something about the high quality of the goods and the pride of the workers who made them. Our great nation needs to return to those bygone days. We need to take pride in our work, and concern ourselves with the quality of the goods we make. We need to export our products instead of our production. Our lives and our national security depend on it. It’s no longer about me. It’s about U.S.

Circle of Life

I think I’ve figured out the circle of life. At birth, we start with a clean slate. In childhood, we learn everything. During our teen years, we think we know everything, and others, particularly parents, know nothing. Early adulthood is the time when we test everything we know. As we reach midlife, we realize that almost everything we know is wrong. Then come our senior years, when we no longer realize that almost everything we know is wrong and don’t really care. Finally, in old age, we’ve forgotten much of what we knew, and the slate is clean again. The circle is complete.

Watching infants can be fascinating. Armed with only some pre-programmed instincts, they begin to connect the dots of their surroundings, and express their delight as they figure things out, and dismay as they meet with frustration. Their innocence, though short-lived, brings joy to those around them. To see them develop is rewarding in itself, but helping them balance their successes and failures and not allow either to define their existence, pays dividends as they grow and contribute to society.

As the hormones kick in, and the bodies begin to mature, the minds of children take on an air of independence. They test the limits set by others, and develop a feeling of invincibility. Unfortunately, for some, tempting fate is a losing proposition. Fortunately, for most, they survive, either by luck or by design. Luck is their own, but design is usually in the form of someone else’s guidance or protection.

Young adults begin to take on responsibility, and experience true independence. This new perspective is often quite revealing, and they begin to appreciate the guidance and protection they’ve received throughout their lives. Their parents, who for so many years became stupid, miraculously recover and become smart again. As they become parents themselves, they begin to understand, and yes, even emulate, the parents they swore they’d never be like.

As we reach midlife, we consider whether we’ve made all the right choices and taken advantage of all of the opportunities presented along life’s way. We realize that we haven’t, and try to make up for it while there’s still time. We see reality differently, with less optimism and more pragmatism. We know that the present is the only truly manageable dimension of time; the past cannot be changed; and the future can be planned, but what will be, will be.

In our senior years, complacency sets in and we become more and more steadfast. Intellectual atrophy begins to take its toll, and we don’t think as deeply anymore or worry as much (at least, not about important things). As we ease into old age, memories may begin to fade and the dots may begin to disconnect, but the memories that remain are as vivid as can be, and should be captured for future generations. We find ourselves becoming dependent on others to help us balance our successes and failures. Those who help are often the same ones who have a full schedule taking care of children, shouldering their responsibilities, and managing their own lives. But they help willingly, because they are deeply indebted to their elders, who have made so much possible through their generosity, and whose wisdom remains a source of inspiration.

So, enjoy and nurture the wonderment of a child. Be patient, yet strong, with a teenager who pushes your buttons, or takes unreasonable risks. Accept responsibility and become independent as soon as you are ready, but you alone are accountable for your actions or inactions. When you start to study the balance sheet of your life, don’t panic; take the time you have left and make a difference. Try hard not to become complacent, and keep your mind sharp by keeping it active. Above all, be thankful for all you have, generous with all you give, and gracious for all you receive. With that, you’ll truly make a difference.

Communification

Maybe most of the turmoil in the world boils down to misunderstanding. Maybe the problem is with the English language, and our American dialectic permutations of it. Messages can be befuddling, and the receiver may not perceive what the sender intends. Let’s just say that we need unification of communication - communification.

President Bush is famous for his malapropisms and mispronunciations. He talked in his first debate against then-presidential candidate Senator Kerry about how the enemy fought “vociferously.” You’d think that would have made them less deadly and easier to find. He talks regularly about looking for nucular weapons, but somehow I don’t think he’ll find any in Iraq, North Korea, or anyplace else, for that matter. But in the debate, he probably meant “fiercely,” and just got caught up in the moment. We also know that many people mispronounce nuclear, but if Bush hopes to be able to eradicate the threat of nuclear devastation, he needs to find a new, clear word. Maybe “atomic” would work better for him.

After the election, President Bush stated that he had a mandate. I’m not sure if that was intended to be an admission of an indiscretion or a declaration of victory. Given his “homo-pathy,” I doubt that he was making a veiled confession, à la former New Jersey Governor Jim McGreevey, whose man-date clouded his judgment and compromised his ability to lead. Then again, based on the divisive nature of his campaign and the resulting polarization of the electorate on many issues, it’s inconceivable that the President meant that he had a clear direction from the American people, right?

Aside from mistakes or duplicity (intentional or otherwise), there are words that just don’t say what they mean. After all, we park on our driveways and drive on our parkways; our noses run and our feet smell. Grocery store circulars are rectangular. This is probably the result of someone’s grand design to keep people guessing.

Then there are words that are inadvertently distorted by their users, and through their colloquialism, become accepted parts of the language. Take, for example, “irregardless.” Though probably a blend of “irrespective” and “regardless,” it really breaks down to mean the opposite of what it says. And how about “inflammable,” which means, oddly enough, “flammable.” If indecent means, “in really poor taste,” why doesn’t ingenious mean, “really stupid?” And since “oversight” is either the act of overseeing or the result of inattention, is Congressional Oversight a responsibility or an excuse?

We also make words much more complicated than they need to be, or use words that are obscure, and in the process, obfuscate the irrefutable derivations of their etymologies. Of course, that’s an oversimplification.

Speaking of oversimplification, let’s not forget oxymorons. Many politicians are clearly vague about what they stand for, or consistently inconsistent in their deeds. Others are decidedly indecisive, or surprisingly unflappable.

It has been suggested that President Bush’s brother, Jeb, is being groomed for a run at the Presidency. Is it appropriate to groom a Bush? Shouldn’t they be pruned? And why isn’t “pruning” the effect of drying plums? Wouldn’t it just be plum dandy to have another Bush in the Rose Garden?

So it’s no wonder we offend people and don’t understand why. It’s difficult enough to figure out what we’re saying in our own language, but imagine the translation errors! On top of that, add a little Texas Swagger-Speak, and Lord a’ Mercy! Who knows what we mean?

Finally, the concept of fear and loathing may relate to clear communication: we often fear that which we don’t understand. In time, we hate that which we often fear. Maybe the key to peace is understanding. Maybe the key to understanding is using words that are less inflammatory…and so it goes.

Dogmata

Sometimes we just have to make difficult choices. And often, they’re not between right and wrong, but between the lesser of evils. Such was my dilemma this morning as I walked our dog.

Travis is a great dog, a melting pot of pedigrees, and very much a creature of habit. He lives for his morning walks with his dad, and hesitates to go out of the house without his leash. His exercise routine consists of walk, sniff, walk, sniff, leg lift, walk, sniff, leg lift…, and ends with a carefully considered fertilization of our pachysandra bed, which thrives on his daily contributions.

So, imagine my surprise and horror when, halfway through the walk, he suddenly stopped in front of one of my neighbor’s homes, and proudly presented a gift that they would surely remember. My first reaction, of course, was to look around and see if there were any witnesses. Then, my conscience took over, and I thought of the consequences if this roadside bomb got into the wrong hands or feet.

Completely unprepared, I was up the street without a shovel, if you will. I looked around for a solution, and spied an advertising newspaper in a bag in front of another neighbor’s home. And now the dilemma: do I violate the pooper scooper laws, or do I steal the bag. Even though the “No Pile Left Behind” laws are underfunded and underenforced, I believe in them. Assuming that the advertising newspaper was not something that Nick and Susan looked forward to anyway, I liberated it from the bag and left the paper at their mailbox.

Now, for Travis’s part, he was quite bewildered by my intervention. I won’t soon forget his look of righteous indignation, since he was only doing what dogs do. His eyes betrayed his question, “What gives you the right to make my business your business?” It never occurred to me that I may have violated his rights. But he’ll just have to get over it, and maybe learn that keeping the peace in the neighborhood is everyone’s business.

I wonder how Congress would have dealt with this matter. I guess the Republicans would have denied responsibility and blamed it on another dog, while at the same time beginning to take action, and the Democrats would have carefully studied their options, while filibustering to keep the resolution from coming to a vote. The Republicans, if the President felt it was unfinished business, would have found the biggest, baddest bulldozer in the land, emblazoned it with the Presidential Seal, excavated half the neighborhood and beamed as they declared, “Mission Accomplished!” Then they would have contracted with Halliburton for the endless reconstruction effort and feeding the army of people required to justify the cost of the project, and then defended the resulting increase to the budget deficit as a national priority. The Democrats, on the other hand, might have deferred action to examine Travis’s motives and build a coalition, while at the same time reassuring everyone with, “We have a plan!”

Some choices are harder to make than others. Only history can judge whether our physical and financial security is better under a man with a plan or a dude with a ‘tude, and the history books won’t be written for awhile. Stealing the bag was an easy choice, since it’s better and less embarrassing to ask for forgiveness now rather than to have asked for permission in the first place. So, Nick and Susan, please forgive me for stealing the bag. And Travis, thanks for giving me something to think about while walking the half-mile back home, bag-in-hand. I get it now – it was really a gift for me! How thoughtful!

Solitary Confinement

Consider, if you will, the effect of a sentence of life in solitary confinement without the chance of parole. Such is what I imagine that Terri Schaivo endured for the last fifteen years of her life. She committed no crime to warrant her punishment, but she bore it nonetheless. No one gains by continuing such punishment, and so it is right that it ended.

Terri’s husband, Michael, held out hope for several years that his wife would recover. He did everything in his power to make that happen. But when it became clear that there would be no recovery, he realized that he had lost her. Terri’s parents, the Schindlers, never gave up. Unfortunately, the price of their faith was the continued punishment of the daughter they love so much.

Legally, Michael Schaivo had the right and the responsibility to make decisions on his wife’s behalf. Despite attempts by others to rewrite the laws and reinterpret the existing laws, that fact remains. His decision to discontinue the mechanical feeding of his wife was undoubtedly a difficult one, and should have been a personal one. However, it became public, serving as a lightning rod for those who support right-to-life, while demonstrating the need for clear personal care directives. I wouldn’t wish his decision on anyone, and I admire his determination to see it through, despite the acrimony surrounding it.

I also admire the Schindlers, for keeping their daughter foremost in their thoughts. However, perhaps it’s time for them to shift their focus to their memories of Terri when she was healthy, and remember her as she was before fate dealt its terrible blow. To have hoped for nothing short of a miracle, and to have tied up the federal government and the high courts of the land is not a fitting memorial. However, they can be proud of the fact that their efforts caused a great stir in the country, and as a result, many people have learned the importance of personal directives. Surely, that can be part of Terri’s legacy.

If you don’t want your spouse to have to make difficult choices for you if you become incapacitated, then you should make sure that your directives are clear and legally binding. If you don’t trust your spouse to make the right choices in the absence of such directives, that’s a different problem altogether, but all the more reason to make sure that your directives are clear.

For my part, I don’t want to be kept alive artificially. If there’s no hope for recovery, there’s no point in depleting financial resources and adding to the spiraling healthcare costs in our country. However, if there’s a medical benefit to be gained, if my delayed demise can help doctors to learn valuable information, or allow my idle organs to be used to extend someone else’s life, I’ll be happy to stick around.

Terri's plight is finally over, and her solitary confinement has ended. As sad as her story has been, she leaves the world a better, more enlightened place. For that, we should all be grateful, and her family can truly be proud.