This was published in the April 8, 2010 Trenton (NJ) Times.
Over the past couple of weeks, New Jersey’s new governor has turned our public education system inside out, and has vilified our teachers, the very people in whom we trust the future success of our children. This governor, while his intentions may be honorable, is demonstrating his proclivity for radical surgery – not with a scalpel; not with a hatchet; rather, with a chainsaw. His proposed massive cuts to public education, announced 6 days before school districts’ budgets were due, will reverse decades of progress, and reverberate for years to come.
It wasn’t so long ago that teachers’ salaries were discerned as woefully inadequate. Their salaries haven’t improved much – it’s just that their contracts, many of which were cast in better times, are seemingly more generous than what would be negotiated today. The governor is “asking” teachers’ unions to renegotiate contracts, while at the same time, decrying the pension program the state has failed to fund. Negotiations require give and take; the governor is proposing that teachers give or NJ will take.
Where is the public outrage? Parents, who for so long have demanded so much from public education, seem to be standing by in silence. In our double income society, teachers often serve as surrogate parents, acting as mentors, confidants, and role models. The decimation of our educational system will not stem the flow of jobs out of state, improve the lives of our children, or truly reduce overall costs. In a system that is driven by incentives to teach students to pass certain tests, and in which the teachers are so constrained by “political correctness” and fear of lawsuits, the governor’s proposed financial blow is too much to bear. Instead of fixing what’s broken, it will break the whole system.
Most teachers are highly educated and extremely dedicated, devoting much of their non-class time to serving their students. Specialists teach vital skills that are the bare minimum in the 21st century – reading, research, computer science and more; they challenge our brightest students and brighten our challenged ones. While many teachers have their unpaid summers off, they spend much of the summer taking courses (at their own expense) and readying their classrooms for the next school year. In addition, they often work nights and weekends preparing for class, and purchase things for their classrooms out of their own pockets. How many other professionals would be expected to do the same thing – and do so willingly?
Teachers’ unions provide representation for a large group of employees, and negotiate contracts that, on average, are fair and equitable to their members. One could argue that such unions are too powerful and use the threat of job actions to force their will. But the fact is that many union teachers continue to work without contracts (sometimes for years) because of their dedication to their profession and their students. Again, how many other professionals would be expected to do the same thing – and do so willingly? Perhaps the reason that teachers need a strong union is that no one else will stand up for them.
Governor Christie hasn’t fully transitioned from his persona as a tough prosecutor. His speeches, if you listen carefully, resemble a prosecution: first, he makes a bold accusation; then he selectively presents evidence to support his assertions; and finally, he ends with a summation that wraps it all up. But our teachers and their unions are unaccustomed to being defendants. As a further injustice, Governor Christie also assumes the role of judge, making and interpreting the rules, and instructing an unsuspecting jury.
It is very clear that Governor Christie feels that the NJEA, and by extension, its members, are guilty of wrongdoing and need to be punished. In his prosecutorial style, he’s painted the NJEA as the criminal, and teachers as accessories. Some of it is sincere (though heavy-handed), but some is surely showmanship. As governor, though, use of the bully pulpit should be tempered to maintain a balance between righteous indignation and constructive criticism, and preserve the dignity of those who deserve neither.
Make no mistake, the budget situation is dire. With high unemployment and social service costs on the one side, and reduced tax receipts on the other, something needs to be done. But it can’t be done overnight, and it can’t be on the backs of our already underpaid and overworked teachers. The proposed reductions will surely add to the rolls of unemployment, further reduce tax receipts, and destroy a lot of goodwill among hard-working, generous, caring professionals at a time when their best efforts are needed the most.
Parents, stand up and unite behind your children’s educators; you’ve seen their great work. Senators and Assemblymen/women, stand up for the very survival of our public education system. Governor, you’ve gotten everyone’s attention, but please stand down and work constructively with your education professionals to build a better system. The livelihoods of our children, our most precious resource, depend on it.
Thursday, April 01, 2010
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Joe
On March 5, 2009, my remarkable brother-in-law, Joe Johnson, passed away after a courageous battle against lung cancer. I wrote this tribute for him, and finished it several days before his passing, but did not have a chance to share it with him.
I grew up, the second oldest of six children, in central New Jersey, near the shore. My baby sister and older brother were the radical bookends of our clan, testing the boundaries with our parents, and helping to keep the foibles of the middle four in check. When I went to college, I joined a fraternity, and added many Brothers to my already sizable family. One day, I met a young freshman from a town near my parents’, and he chose me as his Big Brother, essentially a mentor. Not long after, my baby sister called to tell me that she was dating someone she really liked, and he was related to someone I knew. It turned out that she was dating the younger brother of my new fraternity brother. Eventually, they married, and now my Little Brother’s Little Brother is married to my little sister.
Joe is a great guy. Stocky in build, he’s always looked healthy and strong. As a longshoreman, he worked the docks in north Jersey for awhile, until he worked his way up to becoming a Captain for Circle Line, ferrying folks around the Statue of Liberty and across the Hudson River to Manhattan. On one trip, he even let my young son “drive” the boat, thrilling him and worrying the heck out of my wife.
Joe is the kind of guy who will do almost anything for anybody. He was a great son-in-law and friend to my father, who passed away last summer, and the two of them were often like peas in a pod. Every now and then, though, Joe would mischievously provoke Dad by asking him about doctors, ostensibly the bane of his existence. And Joe would also push Dad to achieve more. I remember a time about eight or nine years ago, when Dad was nearing the end of a long project, almost single-handedly reroofing the house he built about 50 years earlier. I had recently started helping Dad, respecting his leisurely pace; he was becoming a little nervous about being on the roof and had begun to welcome the help. Joe came over one day, and talked Dad into finishing the last ten percent in one shot. Actually, he made it tough for Dad to say, “No,” by simply ripping off the rest of the old roof.
About six years ago, Joe got the news that we all dread – he had cancer, a particularly nasty kind of non-small cell lung cancer. It was the same type that had claimed his own father at an early age. Joe’s genetic predisposition certainly increased his risk, but no one ever would have ever suspected it, given his apparent health and age (early forties). He had surgery to remove the cancer and half of one of his lungs, and followed that with rounds of radiation and chemotherapy.
For a while, things were looking good – he went back to work, got most of his energy back, and returned to doing most of the things he did before. His continuing treatments have been difficult, and at times, he’s had to slow down, but his recovery from the surgery was nothing short of remarkable. He has beaten unbelievable odds with his determination, and his indomitable spirit and drive. While incurable, his cancer has found a formidable foe.
I’ve now known Joe for over thirty years. In that time, I’ve never known him to feel sorry for himself or feel that he is better than anyone else. Ever since his initial diagnosis, Joe has made a point of enjoying life and his family. He’s spent a lot of time with his three wonderful sons, sharing their love of baseball, enjoying outdoor sports, and taking them places. I know that he’s great for my sister, and a great dad for his boys. His example of class and fatherhood is one that he can truly be proud of, and the world is certainly a better place because of a guy named Joe.
Joe
I grew up, the second oldest of six children, in central New Jersey, near the shore. My baby sister and older brother were the radical bookends of our clan, testing the boundaries with our parents, and helping to keep the foibles of the middle four in check. When I went to college, I joined a fraternity, and added many Brothers to my already sizable family. One day, I met a young freshman from a town near my parents’, and he chose me as his Big Brother, essentially a mentor. Not long after, my baby sister called to tell me that she was dating someone she really liked, and he was related to someone I knew. It turned out that she was dating the younger brother of my new fraternity brother. Eventually, they married, and now my Little Brother’s Little Brother is married to my little sister.
Joe is a great guy. Stocky in build, he’s always looked healthy and strong. As a longshoreman, he worked the docks in north Jersey for awhile, until he worked his way up to becoming a Captain for Circle Line, ferrying folks around the Statue of Liberty and across the Hudson River to Manhattan. On one trip, he even let my young son “drive” the boat, thrilling him and worrying the heck out of my wife.
Joe is the kind of guy who will do almost anything for anybody. He was a great son-in-law and friend to my father, who passed away last summer, and the two of them were often like peas in a pod. Every now and then, though, Joe would mischievously provoke Dad by asking him about doctors, ostensibly the bane of his existence. And Joe would also push Dad to achieve more. I remember a time about eight or nine years ago, when Dad was nearing the end of a long project, almost single-handedly reroofing the house he built about 50 years earlier. I had recently started helping Dad, respecting his leisurely pace; he was becoming a little nervous about being on the roof and had begun to welcome the help. Joe came over one day, and talked Dad into finishing the last ten percent in one shot. Actually, he made it tough for Dad to say, “No,” by simply ripping off the rest of the old roof.
About six years ago, Joe got the news that we all dread – he had cancer, a particularly nasty kind of non-small cell lung cancer. It was the same type that had claimed his own father at an early age. Joe’s genetic predisposition certainly increased his risk, but no one ever would have ever suspected it, given his apparent health and age (early forties). He had surgery to remove the cancer and half of one of his lungs, and followed that with rounds of radiation and chemotherapy.
For a while, things were looking good – he went back to work, got most of his energy back, and returned to doing most of the things he did before. His continuing treatments have been difficult, and at times, he’s had to slow down, but his recovery from the surgery was nothing short of remarkable. He has beaten unbelievable odds with his determination, and his indomitable spirit and drive. While incurable, his cancer has found a formidable foe.
I’ve now known Joe for over thirty years. In that time, I’ve never known him to feel sorry for himself or feel that he is better than anyone else. Ever since his initial diagnosis, Joe has made a point of enjoying life and his family. He’s spent a lot of time with his three wonderful sons, sharing their love of baseball, enjoying outdoor sports, and taking them places. I know that he’s great for my sister, and a great dad for his boys. His example of class and fatherhood is one that he can truly be proud of, and the world is certainly a better place because of a guy named Joe.
Monday, September 21, 2009
The Healthcare Debat-cle
A couple of conservative friends recently shared a pair of YouTube videos with me entitled, “Senior Citizen Speaks Out On Healthcare Bill.” In them, John C. Crawford of Texas blasts the bill in a compelling story, but unfortunately, I think at least half of it is built upon misinformation. I've watched these videos several times, and searched the H.R. 3200 document for the "exact excerpts," which don't exist. Some of the citations appear very similar to a viral email that FactCheck.org debunked most of in "Twenty-Six Lies about H.R. 3200."
It's amazing to me how someone can say, with a straight face, that something is not being taken out of context, when that's precisely what is being done. I'll accept that this man is a genuine person, and that his story is real. But what irks me is that he seems to be reading from some right wing interpretive (and creative) document and taking it at face value. Opinions are like epoxy: they start with a combination of basic elements, and harden when a strong catalyst is added. It’s ironic that 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.
Mr. Crawford makes a big deal of the "Death Counseling" concept which sounds an awful lot like the "Death Panels" we've heard so much about. The death counseling provisions of H.R. 3200 are as innocuous as a summer breeze and as common sense as coming in out of the rain if you want to stay dry. They merely allow payment to doctors if they provide counseling on end-of-life issues. I recently lost my father after a 5-year battle with lung cancer and its side-effects. He went through so much, and so much of it proved unnecessary. If he, and we, had known what was in store for him and what his options were, his suffering would have been greatly reduced, he would have been more at peace, and it would have cost a whole lot less. He had a living will, but it wasn't really clear. He was lucid to the end, and I tried to have a discussion with him about what kind of care he wanted. His hearing was just about gone, and he asked with a quizzical look, "What kind of stairs do I want?" When we finally cleared that up, he said, "You'll know what to do when it's time." Well, I didn't, and I wish we'd had professional help. A couple of his doctors hinted at things regarding end-of-life, but when we pressed them for recommendations, they backed off quickly.
A couple of things President Obama said in his address to Congress about healthcare reform keep me optimistic. First, he said, "I am not the first President to take up this cause, but I am determined to be the last." Second, he pointed out the obvious, that the spiraling cost of healthcare (like our deficits) is unsustainable. Third, he acknowledged that there are people on both side of the aisle who are obstacles to progress. And fourth, he said, "I believe it makes more sense to build on what works and fix what doesn't, rather than try to build an entirely new system from scratch." I'm very much for healthcare reform, and support the concepts that Obama spoke of in his address to Congress. However, I have a healthy skepticism, and want to know more precisely how things will work, and more precisely how they will be paid for. Being told that it will work and that it won't cost taxpayers a dime doesn't do it for me. The idea of offsetting much of the cost by stopping excesses, abuses and fraud in Medicare and Medicaid doesn’t do it for me either, since we shouldn’t be paying for such waste in the first place. It also doesn’t give me much confidence that government can manage a new program any better.
In reading some of the misquotated citations from H.R. 3200, I actually found that I was impressed with the depth of understanding of the authors. Instead of finding some covert, clever language, designed to create a foundation for socialized medicine, I found some reasonable concepts to allow individuals to make up their own minds (if they'd only choose to do so). For those who find the terms of H.R. 3200 to be deleterious to their health and welfare, I'd encourage them to read the terms of their free market insurance policy. That would be an eye-opener.
I think the root of our healthcare problem is in misapplied incentives. Doctors are incentivized to prescribe unnecessary drugs and perform unnecessary procedures to protect themselves from lawsuits - a perversion of preventive medicine - prevention of lawsuits trumping prevention of disease. Pharmaceutical companies are incentivized to make as much money as they can in the short time that they have market exclusivity, due to the pressures that are building to allow more and earlier generics and foreign sources; as a result of the short term thinking, R&D is suffering, and new products aren't forthcoming. Hospitals and clinics are incentivized to perform unnecessary procedures to pay for the expensive equipment they have and the fancy new facilities they're building to meet the needs of a clientele that wants the very best. And on and on...
I don’t agree with a “government option.” Government has no business running a business when there are plenty of businesses that are capable of providing service. What is needed is regulation - government’s insurance role should be to insure that there’s a level playing field and that nobody is denied coverage; any insurer must provide coverage for high and low risk alike. To allow the greatest competition, purchasing of insurance across state lines should be encouraged, not forbidden. Government should define a minimum (not minimal) standard of care (including end-of-life) that insurance companies must comply with. Beyond that, people can pay for whatever additional services they want, either through additional insurance or out of their own pockets.
Government should also define or adopt medical practice standards for all conditions, which doctors’ practice or malpractice should be measured against. Malpractice lawsuits should be strictly limited to illegal practices and gross negligence. Any punitive damages should go into a fund to pay for insuring those who can’t afford it. As long as doctors adhere to defined standards of practice, they should be protected from suit.
While I share the concerns and skepticism of many, I don't subscribe to the notion that healthcare can't be fixed so we shouldn't try. There is a lot of misinformation out there, on both sides, but the great thing about our country is that everyone gets to have their say. Out of that, I hope, will come a compromise solution that does the greatest good for the greatest number of people. But my hopes will only be realized if we think for ourselves, and “build on what works and fix what doesn't."
It's amazing to me how someone can say, with a straight face, that something is not being taken out of context, when that's precisely what is being done. I'll accept that this man is a genuine person, and that his story is real. But what irks me is that he seems to be reading from some right wing interpretive (and creative) document and taking it at face value. Opinions are like epoxy: they start with a combination of basic elements, and harden when a strong catalyst is added. It’s ironic that 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.
Mr. Crawford makes a big deal of the "Death Counseling" concept which sounds an awful lot like the "Death Panels" we've heard so much about. The death counseling provisions of H.R. 3200 are as innocuous as a summer breeze and as common sense as coming in out of the rain if you want to stay dry. They merely allow payment to doctors if they provide counseling on end-of-life issues. I recently lost my father after a 5-year battle with lung cancer and its side-effects. He went through so much, and so much of it proved unnecessary. If he, and we, had known what was in store for him and what his options were, his suffering would have been greatly reduced, he would have been more at peace, and it would have cost a whole lot less. He had a living will, but it wasn't really clear. He was lucid to the end, and I tried to have a discussion with him about what kind of care he wanted. His hearing was just about gone, and he asked with a quizzical look, "What kind of stairs do I want?" When we finally cleared that up, he said, "You'll know what to do when it's time." Well, I didn't, and I wish we'd had professional help. A couple of his doctors hinted at things regarding end-of-life, but when we pressed them for recommendations, they backed off quickly.
A couple of things President Obama said in his address to Congress about healthcare reform keep me optimistic. First, he said, "I am not the first President to take up this cause, but I am determined to be the last." Second, he pointed out the obvious, that the spiraling cost of healthcare (like our deficits) is unsustainable. Third, he acknowledged that there are people on both side of the aisle who are obstacles to progress. And fourth, he said, "I believe it makes more sense to build on what works and fix what doesn't, rather than try to build an entirely new system from scratch." I'm very much for healthcare reform, and support the concepts that Obama spoke of in his address to Congress. However, I have a healthy skepticism, and want to know more precisely how things will work, and more precisely how they will be paid for. Being told that it will work and that it won't cost taxpayers a dime doesn't do it for me. The idea of offsetting much of the cost by stopping excesses, abuses and fraud in Medicare and Medicaid doesn’t do it for me either, since we shouldn’t be paying for such waste in the first place. It also doesn’t give me much confidence that government can manage a new program any better.
In reading some of the misquotated citations from H.R. 3200, I actually found that I was impressed with the depth of understanding of the authors. Instead of finding some covert, clever language, designed to create a foundation for socialized medicine, I found some reasonable concepts to allow individuals to make up their own minds (if they'd only choose to do so). For those who find the terms of H.R. 3200 to be deleterious to their health and welfare, I'd encourage them to read the terms of their free market insurance policy. That would be an eye-opener.
I think the root of our healthcare problem is in misapplied incentives. Doctors are incentivized to prescribe unnecessary drugs and perform unnecessary procedures to protect themselves from lawsuits - a perversion of preventive medicine - prevention of lawsuits trumping prevention of disease. Pharmaceutical companies are incentivized to make as much money as they can in the short time that they have market exclusivity, due to the pressures that are building to allow more and earlier generics and foreign sources; as a result of the short term thinking, R&D is suffering, and new products aren't forthcoming. Hospitals and clinics are incentivized to perform unnecessary procedures to pay for the expensive equipment they have and the fancy new facilities they're building to meet the needs of a clientele that wants the very best. And on and on...
I don’t agree with a “government option.” Government has no business running a business when there are plenty of businesses that are capable of providing service. What is needed is regulation - government’s insurance role should be to insure that there’s a level playing field and that nobody is denied coverage; any insurer must provide coverage for high and low risk alike. To allow the greatest competition, purchasing of insurance across state lines should be encouraged, not forbidden. Government should define a minimum (not minimal) standard of care (including end-of-life) that insurance companies must comply with. Beyond that, people can pay for whatever additional services they want, either through additional insurance or out of their own pockets.
Government should also define or adopt medical practice standards for all conditions, which doctors’ practice or malpractice should be measured against. Malpractice lawsuits should be strictly limited to illegal practices and gross negligence. Any punitive damages should go into a fund to pay for insuring those who can’t afford it. As long as doctors adhere to defined standards of practice, they should be protected from suit.
While I share the concerns and skepticism of many, I don't subscribe to the notion that healthcare can't be fixed so we shouldn't try. There is a lot of misinformation out there, on both sides, but the great thing about our country is that everyone gets to have their say. Out of that, I hope, will come a compromise solution that does the greatest good for the greatest number of people. But my hopes will only be realized if we think for ourselves, and “build on what works and fix what doesn't."
Sunday, July 12, 2009
One More Day
Six years ago, my Dad, Wm. Clyde Morgan, was diagnosed with lung cancer. He passed away on July 1, 2009. The gift of the last six years is due to several doctors and nurses who took a sincere interest in him, and the wonderful care that my mother and sisters provided.
He kept his sense of humor to the end – in the week before his passing, he was expressing frustration at not knowing what the plan was for his treatment, and said he was going to call hospital information and ask about the condition of Mr. Morgan in Room 585. I remember telling people how we would know when Dad was getting better – he’d start telling jokes.
When my Dad was sick this last time, I kept thinking I’d see him tomorrow, so I could learn more about his life. He kept fighting to see one more day, out of his deep love for Mom and our family. Sometimes, I’d see him the next day, and he’d look stronger than the day before. He’d lived for one more day, and I’d still think I’d see him tomorrow.
He ran out of tomorrows. Now what we have are yesterdays, the memories of the fine man he was, his infectious smile and laugh, his sense of humor, his great wisdom, and his sense of honor. He’s left a great legacy in our memories, and we’ll always keep him in our hearts.
He fought the good fight. He finished the race. You done good, Clyde.
He kept his sense of humor to the end – in the week before his passing, he was expressing frustration at not knowing what the plan was for his treatment, and said he was going to call hospital information and ask about the condition of Mr. Morgan in Room 585. I remember telling people how we would know when Dad was getting better – he’d start telling jokes.
When my Dad was sick this last time, I kept thinking I’d see him tomorrow, so I could learn more about his life. He kept fighting to see one more day, out of his deep love for Mom and our family. Sometimes, I’d see him the next day, and he’d look stronger than the day before. He’d lived for one more day, and I’d still think I’d see him tomorrow.
He ran out of tomorrows. Now what we have are yesterdays, the memories of the fine man he was, his infectious smile and laugh, his sense of humor, his great wisdom, and his sense of honor. He’s left a great legacy in our memories, and we’ll always keep him in our hearts.
He fought the good fight. He finished the race. You done good, Clyde.
Eau de Clyde
I find myself remembering an odd but very comforting thing about my Dad, who passed away on July 1, 2009 – when I was a kid, we’d all gather around him when he came home from work, wearing this cologne – a proprietary blend, I think.
I call it Eau de Clyde: one part Mennen Skin Bracer, one part coffee (milk, no sugar), one part sawdust, two parts perspiration, one part Pall Mall, and one part Miller High Life.
Even after 45 years or so, it still lingers…
I call it Eau de Clyde: one part Mennen Skin Bracer, one part coffee (milk, no sugar), one part sawdust, two parts perspiration, one part Pall Mall, and one part Miller High Life.
Even after 45 years or so, it still lingers…
Friday, June 12, 2009
Facing Your Enemas
Once upon a time, discussions of this sort would have creeped me out. Now that I’ve matured, and learned the facts of life, it’s a lot easier to talk or write about these things – maybe too easy…
Despite dire warnings, the recommendations of doctors, loved ones and numerous celebrities, the very thought of it may be enough to bring the bravest and toughest among us to our knees. The indignity of it, the invasion of privacy, the probing, the pictures… Of course, I’m referring to a colonoscopy, which for many of us is a least-prized 50th birthday present.
At a small party my wife and I attended recently with a group of contemporaries, as conversations with folks our age tend to go, the discussion eventually got around to the subject of colonoscopies. Almost everyone had been through at least one, but two people hadn’t had theirs yet. One had scheduled an appointment, and it was coming up soon, so the taunts and teasing escalated as the night wore on. The conversation was hilarious as several people recounted their close encounters and contemplated posting their pictures on FaceBook, MySpace, or better yet, YouTube! Only my wife and another couple knew that my colonoscopy a month earlier had uncovered early stage colorectal cancer.
For those who haven’t had “the procedure” yet, the prep is the worst part, but for most, it’s not so bad. A handful of tablets or magic powder and a torrent of fluids the night before clears the way for the doctor to perform the exam while you’re in a blissful state of sleep. If it’s any consolation, you can imagine that the doctor’s perspective is a lot different, and that you’re certainly on the better end of things. If you’re employed, it’ll mean a day off, but you’ll need a chauffeur, which may make things a bit more challenging, and a bit less private. But once the procedure is completed, you’ll get over it and reward yourself by gorging and replenishing your system.
In my case, I had put the procedure off for several years, and finally ran out of excuses. The doctor who performed the routine examination removed a small non-suspicious growth, and as a matter of routine, sent it to the pathology lab, where it was found to be cancerous. Although surprised by the results, she felt that she had gotten it all with the initial excision. This was substantiated with additional testing performed at a cancer center that she recommended. While the doctors are confident, there’s no certainty that it’s gone. However, all indications are good, and with (ugghh!) more frequent ‘oscopies, the doctors feel they can effectively monitor for recurrence. I suggested that with training, since I spend so much time with my head up my butt, I could keep a close eye on it myself. Ever the professionals, they felt that an expert (second) opinion would be more beneficial than just relying on my own point of view.
The reason that colonoscopies are such a good idea is that they are relatively simple to perform, very effective at detecting disease, and don’t require hospitalization. Colorectal cancer is the third most prevalent, and the second most deadly form of cancer in the US. In 2015, an estimated 135,000 new cases were diagnosed, and approximately 49,000 lives were lost to the disease. Almost 1 person in 20 will be diagnosed with it during his or her lifetime. If the procedure is performed in time, doctors can detect many colorectal cancers early, when the cure rate is very high. If not caught soon enough, colorectal cancer is one of the more insidious forms of cancer, showing few, if any, symptoms. If caught in mid- to late-stage, the prognosis is equivocal, and the road ahead is potentially painful and debilitating, and very expensive.
Take it from me - denial is an ineffective preventive or defensive strategy, and avoiding the unpleasantness of a colonoscopy and its prelude is not a wise course of action. Some things are best dealt with head-on (pardon the metaphor), and the consequences of inaction or procrastination can be fatal. And as I’ve learned, having your head up your butt doesn’t provide as good a view as a trained professional can get. So, if you’ve been depriving some doctor the joy of examining your nether region, park your excuses and make the call. It could just save your life – it surely saved mine.
Despite dire warnings, the recommendations of doctors, loved ones and numerous celebrities, the very thought of it may be enough to bring the bravest and toughest among us to our knees. The indignity of it, the invasion of privacy, the probing, the pictures… Of course, I’m referring to a colonoscopy, which for many of us is a least-prized 50th birthday present.
At a small party my wife and I attended recently with a group of contemporaries, as conversations with folks our age tend to go, the discussion eventually got around to the subject of colonoscopies. Almost everyone had been through at least one, but two people hadn’t had theirs yet. One had scheduled an appointment, and it was coming up soon, so the taunts and teasing escalated as the night wore on. The conversation was hilarious as several people recounted their close encounters and contemplated posting their pictures on FaceBook, MySpace, or better yet, YouTube! Only my wife and another couple knew that my colonoscopy a month earlier had uncovered early stage colorectal cancer.
For those who haven’t had “the procedure” yet, the prep is the worst part, but for most, it’s not so bad. A handful of tablets or magic powder and a torrent of fluids the night before clears the way for the doctor to perform the exam while you’re in a blissful state of sleep. If it’s any consolation, you can imagine that the doctor’s perspective is a lot different, and that you’re certainly on the better end of things. If you’re employed, it’ll mean a day off, but you’ll need a chauffeur, which may make things a bit more challenging, and a bit less private. But once the procedure is completed, you’ll get over it and reward yourself by gorging and replenishing your system.
In my case, I had put the procedure off for several years, and finally ran out of excuses. The doctor who performed the routine examination removed a small non-suspicious growth, and as a matter of routine, sent it to the pathology lab, where it was found to be cancerous. Although surprised by the results, she felt that she had gotten it all with the initial excision. This was substantiated with additional testing performed at a cancer center that she recommended. While the doctors are confident, there’s no certainty that it’s gone. However, all indications are good, and with (ugghh!) more frequent ‘oscopies, the doctors feel they can effectively monitor for recurrence. I suggested that with training, since I spend so much time with my head up my butt, I could keep a close eye on it myself. Ever the professionals, they felt that an expert (second) opinion would be more beneficial than just relying on my own point of view.
The reason that colonoscopies are such a good idea is that they are relatively simple to perform, very effective at detecting disease, and don’t require hospitalization. Colorectal cancer is the third most prevalent, and the second most deadly form of cancer in the US. In 2015, an estimated 135,000 new cases were diagnosed, and approximately 49,000 lives were lost to the disease. Almost 1 person in 20 will be diagnosed with it during his or her lifetime. If the procedure is performed in time, doctors can detect many colorectal cancers early, when the cure rate is very high. If not caught soon enough, colorectal cancer is one of the more insidious forms of cancer, showing few, if any, symptoms. If caught in mid- to late-stage, the prognosis is equivocal, and the road ahead is potentially painful and debilitating, and very expensive.
Take it from me - denial is an ineffective preventive or defensive strategy, and avoiding the unpleasantness of a colonoscopy and its prelude is not a wise course of action. Some things are best dealt with head-on (pardon the metaphor), and the consequences of inaction or procrastination can be fatal. And as I’ve learned, having your head up your butt doesn’t provide as good a view as a trained professional can get. So, if you’ve been depriving some doctor the joy of examining your nether region, park your excuses and make the call. It could just save your life – it surely saved mine.
Thursday, May 07, 2009
Saved by the Ax (Things Could be Worse)
This is a piece I wrote that was published as an op-ed in the Trenton Times on April 5, 2009. Beware of the jaw-dropper at the end of the first paragraph, and know that I'm fine.
When I received word late last year that my executive position in engineering and support operations at a local biopharmaceutical company was being eliminated as part of a reduction in force, I was understandably disappointed, but moderately optimistic. Since then, I’ve seen the bottom drop out of the job market and the ranks of the Brotherhood of the Vocationally Detached swell to almost unprecedented levels. Mom always told me, “Cheer up, Bob, things could be worse.” So I cheered up, and sure enough, things got worse. The colonoscopy that I’d been putting off for several years while I was too busy at work revealed early stage cancer.
My purpose in writing this is not to garner sympathy. I’m writing in hopes of a catharsis for myself, and possibly to encourage someone else who might be faced with similar circumstances. So here’s my advice in a nutshell: Learn from the past; deal with the present; and plan for the future. You can’t change the past; you live in the present; and your future will be what it is, but can be guided by how you prepare for it.
With regard to my medical condition, the lesson is a hard one: I should have listened to the expert advice (including my wife’s), and had a colonoscopy five years ago. There’s no certainty that it would have uncovered my problem, but it certainly would have reduced any anxiety about the procedure itself. For those who haven’t had it yet, the prep is not so bad, and the procedure is done while you’re in a blissful state of sleep – the doctor definitely has the worst view. So for the present, I’m dealing with it fairly well - gathering information, aggressively pursuing treatment, and now, announcing it to the world! As for the future, I’ve awakened to my mortality, and am taking the time to organize notes and records so that it won’t be such a chore to figure out where things are or how circumstances should be dealt with whenever my time is up.
The road ahead is not clear yet, but with age and otherwise good health on my side, the prognosis is excellent. Also a comfort, my wife’s medical plan is a good one, so loss of coverage with my job wasn’t a double-whammy. It may be a defense mechanism, but I’m even able to see humor in the situation, although most of it is probably too graphic to recount here. Odd as it may seem, I’m feeling pretty lucky. Usually, this type of cancer isn’t found until it’s further advanced. Ironically, if I was still working, I might have continued to make excuses for not having the procedure until it was too late. As such, I’m offering myself up as somewhat of a poster-boy, although anxious to know what the poster will ultimately look like, especially in light of pending healthcare reform.
With regard to my vocational detachment, the lesson is also a hard one: I had a good run, and my company treated me well, but I focused too hard on the job and didn’t prepare adequately for the inevitable changes that were occurring as the company shifted focus and was sold several times. The present is rife with challenges, but opportunities as well, and I’m reaching out in many directions to find the right mix of both. For the future, the networking I’m doing now (and have neglected in the past), will continue to pay dividends for both me and those in my network.
The current job market is daunting, and with so many layoffs being announced, the competition for relatively few job openings is fierce. The flip side, though, is that many companies are not only downsizing for the sake of reducing costs; the smart ones are learning from the past, and dealing with the present by reorganizing to realign themselves for the future. They’re also realizing that experienced people who have seen ups and downs before can provide an immeasurably valuable perspective to help focus their vision. The opportunities that result are ripening for those of us who understand where we can truly add value to a company as the economy recovers, as it surely will. For those of us whose finances are drowning in the perfect storm of unemployment coupled with tanking retirement investments, adding value is also the best hope for our own economic recovery.
Some would regard these life events as an emotional roller coaster. They’re actually more like the stock market or the current financial crisis – you never know when there’s going to be a rise or fall (opportunity or challenge), but you know something’s going to happen. As an engineer with an MBA, I’ve learned that meeting a challenge or solving a problem requires an understanding of the situation, identification and analysis of alternatives, planning for the chosen solution, implementation of the plan, and follow-up with adjustments when needed. The challenges that I and many others are faced with require a thoughtful and diligent problem-solving process, and the opportunities are there for full recovery for all of us.
Learn from the Past. Deal with the Present. Plan for the Future. And for goodness sake, if you’ve been putting off seeing your doctor, schedule that appointment now!
Okay; if you're still with me, check out this companion piece, which won't be published in print for reasons that will become obvious.
My recent essay, “Saved by the Ax,” is really about Making Your Adversity Something Special. That’s a bit of a mouthful, so an acronym is in order: MYASS. That’s right, “Saved by the Ax” is really about MYASS, so this story is just another way of looking at it.
As MYASS was developing, I had trouble keeping my thoughts from wandering and my ideas focused. In other words, I was having difficulty keeping my head in MYASS. As hard as I tried, I just kept putting more stuff in MYASS, and eventually had to take some out, because MYASS was just getting too big and ugly.
When I was nearly done, I had several people look at MYASS to see if it was okay. Several responded that I should Keep It Short & Sweet. In other words, using another acronym, they were actually saying, “KISS MYASS!” While that may sound harsh, I appreciated their advice, and now MYASS is in better shape than it ever was before.
So now MYASS is ready for primetime. I’m trying to get MYASS in print or on the radio or on TV. If that happens, MYASS will be around forever. In fact, you’ll be able to google MYASS. Yes, you’ll be able to look up MYASS on the internet. Perhaps MYASS will develop a following, and have a Facebook identity, or show up on YouTube, or even better, LinkedIn. If it gets established on LinkedIn, you’ll be able to pull all kinds of things out of MYASS whenever you need them.
MYASS features two Circumstances Having Equally Exacting Kickers, again begging an acronym: CHEEK. When you put my two CHEEKs together, you can see MYASS whole! One CHEEK relates to my unemployment, where I’m out on MYASS, and the other CHEEK relates to my early stage colon cancer, where I’ve got a bug in MYASS. While each CHEEK is clearly separate, they come together to a point that is both simple and profound.
As MYASS has developed, I’ve become rather attached to it, partly because MYASS embodies my intelligence. Although MYASS isn’t very deep, if you have a slow computer, MYASS might freeze. You may have to get out of MYASS at that point, then boot MYASS again, then get back in to MYASS and pick up where you left off. MYASS gets backed up every time I change something, so if you’re interested, you might want to take a fresh look at MYASS once in a while. I hope you’ll treat MYASS with a little respect, and once you’ve had enough, I’ll promise not to ask you to look at MYASS again!
When I received word late last year that my executive position in engineering and support operations at a local biopharmaceutical company was being eliminated as part of a reduction in force, I was understandably disappointed, but moderately optimistic. Since then, I’ve seen the bottom drop out of the job market and the ranks of the Brotherhood of the Vocationally Detached swell to almost unprecedented levels. Mom always told me, “Cheer up, Bob, things could be worse.” So I cheered up, and sure enough, things got worse. The colonoscopy that I’d been putting off for several years while I was too busy at work revealed early stage cancer.
My purpose in writing this is not to garner sympathy. I’m writing in hopes of a catharsis for myself, and possibly to encourage someone else who might be faced with similar circumstances. So here’s my advice in a nutshell: Learn from the past; deal with the present; and plan for the future. You can’t change the past; you live in the present; and your future will be what it is, but can be guided by how you prepare for it.
With regard to my medical condition, the lesson is a hard one: I should have listened to the expert advice (including my wife’s), and had a colonoscopy five years ago. There’s no certainty that it would have uncovered my problem, but it certainly would have reduced any anxiety about the procedure itself. For those who haven’t had it yet, the prep is not so bad, and the procedure is done while you’re in a blissful state of sleep – the doctor definitely has the worst view. So for the present, I’m dealing with it fairly well - gathering information, aggressively pursuing treatment, and now, announcing it to the world! As for the future, I’ve awakened to my mortality, and am taking the time to organize notes and records so that it won’t be such a chore to figure out where things are or how circumstances should be dealt with whenever my time is up.
The road ahead is not clear yet, but with age and otherwise good health on my side, the prognosis is excellent. Also a comfort, my wife’s medical plan is a good one, so loss of coverage with my job wasn’t a double-whammy. It may be a defense mechanism, but I’m even able to see humor in the situation, although most of it is probably too graphic to recount here. Odd as it may seem, I’m feeling pretty lucky. Usually, this type of cancer isn’t found until it’s further advanced. Ironically, if I was still working, I might have continued to make excuses for not having the procedure until it was too late. As such, I’m offering myself up as somewhat of a poster-boy, although anxious to know what the poster will ultimately look like, especially in light of pending healthcare reform.
With regard to my vocational detachment, the lesson is also a hard one: I had a good run, and my company treated me well, but I focused too hard on the job and didn’t prepare adequately for the inevitable changes that were occurring as the company shifted focus and was sold several times. The present is rife with challenges, but opportunities as well, and I’m reaching out in many directions to find the right mix of both. For the future, the networking I’m doing now (and have neglected in the past), will continue to pay dividends for both me and those in my network.
The current job market is daunting, and with so many layoffs being announced, the competition for relatively few job openings is fierce. The flip side, though, is that many companies are not only downsizing for the sake of reducing costs; the smart ones are learning from the past, and dealing with the present by reorganizing to realign themselves for the future. They’re also realizing that experienced people who have seen ups and downs before can provide an immeasurably valuable perspective to help focus their vision. The opportunities that result are ripening for those of us who understand where we can truly add value to a company as the economy recovers, as it surely will. For those of us whose finances are drowning in the perfect storm of unemployment coupled with tanking retirement investments, adding value is also the best hope for our own economic recovery.
Some would regard these life events as an emotional roller coaster. They’re actually more like the stock market or the current financial crisis – you never know when there’s going to be a rise or fall (opportunity or challenge), but you know something’s going to happen. As an engineer with an MBA, I’ve learned that meeting a challenge or solving a problem requires an understanding of the situation, identification and analysis of alternatives, planning for the chosen solution, implementation of the plan, and follow-up with adjustments when needed. The challenges that I and many others are faced with require a thoughtful and diligent problem-solving process, and the opportunities are there for full recovery for all of us.
Learn from the Past. Deal with the Present. Plan for the Future. And for goodness sake, if you’ve been putting off seeing your doctor, schedule that appointment now!
* * * * *
Okay; if you're still with me, check out this companion piece, which won't be published in print for reasons that will become obvious.
Turning the Other Cheek
My recent essay, “Saved by the Ax,” is really about Making Your Adversity Something Special. That’s a bit of a mouthful, so an acronym is in order: MYASS. That’s right, “Saved by the Ax” is really about MYASS, so this story is just another way of looking at it.
As MYASS was developing, I had trouble keeping my thoughts from wandering and my ideas focused. In other words, I was having difficulty keeping my head in MYASS. As hard as I tried, I just kept putting more stuff in MYASS, and eventually had to take some out, because MYASS was just getting too big and ugly.
When I was nearly done, I had several people look at MYASS to see if it was okay. Several responded that I should Keep It Short & Sweet. In other words, using another acronym, they were actually saying, “KISS MYASS!” While that may sound harsh, I appreciated their advice, and now MYASS is in better shape than it ever was before.
So now MYASS is ready for primetime. I’m trying to get MYASS in print or on the radio or on TV. If that happens, MYASS will be around forever. In fact, you’ll be able to google MYASS. Yes, you’ll be able to look up MYASS on the internet. Perhaps MYASS will develop a following, and have a Facebook identity, or show up on YouTube, or even better, LinkedIn. If it gets established on LinkedIn, you’ll be able to pull all kinds of things out of MYASS whenever you need them.
MYASS features two Circumstances Having Equally Exacting Kickers, again begging an acronym: CHEEK. When you put my two CHEEKs together, you can see MYASS whole! One CHEEK relates to my unemployment, where I’m out on MYASS, and the other CHEEK relates to my early stage colon cancer, where I’ve got a bug in MYASS. While each CHEEK is clearly separate, they come together to a point that is both simple and profound.
As MYASS has developed, I’ve become rather attached to it, partly because MYASS embodies my intelligence. Although MYASS isn’t very deep, if you have a slow computer, MYASS might freeze. You may have to get out of MYASS at that point, then boot MYASS again, then get back in to MYASS and pick up where you left off. MYASS gets backed up every time I change something, so if you’re interested, you might want to take a fresh look at MYASS once in a while. I hope you’ll treat MYASS with a little respect, and once you’ve had enough, I’ll promise not to ask you to look at MYASS again!
* * * * *
Editor’s note: MYASS was found on the internet, and is attributed to Derek Iverson’s, Millenium Year Application Software System. A few of his analogies have been adapted, but most are fresh. I used it previously in a parody about a Multiple Year Analytical Spreadsheet that I developed at work, which I referred to as “Raw Material Inventory – MYASS.” I was working on its companion modules, “Accounts Payable – MYASS,” “Customer Relations – MYASS,” “Project Management – MYASS,” and “SOX Compliance – MYASS.” Each would be a single user per version of MYASS.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
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 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.
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.
Thursday, October 02, 2008
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.
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.
Monday, June 11, 2007
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.
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.
Monday, May 28, 2007
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.
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.
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
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!
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!
Saturday, February 10, 2007
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.
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.
Thursday, January 11, 2007
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.
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.
Sunday, December 03, 2006
Morganisms
If things aren't going well, watch out for the shih-tzu-nami!
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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.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sunday, October 22, 2006
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.
Saturday, September 16, 2006
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
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
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.
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
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
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
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
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.
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