Desmond Tutu stated: "Differences are not intended to separate, to
alienate. We are different precisely in order to realize our need of
one another."
Sometimes we get caught up in this belief or that philosophy without
realizing that we need all viewpoints and ideas. One of my grad
professors told our class once upon a time that the collective mind is
always better than one mind, one idea.
I believe that.
It didn't
necessarily come easy for me to accept or believe, but I've grown in
that knowledge, fostered by teachers, by mentors, and by folks who roll
into my life. I think one of the best gifts or "learnings" we can give
to our kids, maybe to each other, is the belief that there is always
difference of opinion, difference of belief and difference between
individuals.
That difference and the acceptance of difference is
sometimes a hard lesson to learn. But I think kids will learn
acceptance and tolerance if we preach it and model it ourselves. It
will cause change and you and I both know change isn't necessarily
easy.
It is difficult because change challenges our patterns of belief
and behavior, and sometimes when our pattern of belief and behavior is
challenged, we take that as an attack on ourselves. It doesn't have to
be viewed or perceived that way though, which I know is easier said than
done.
But as Nelson Mandela said, "Education is the most powerful weapon we
can use to change the world." Part of that education is reflecting on
who we are, what we believe, how we react and why we react. It's all
education really.
So, let's endeavor to teach ourselves, each other and our kids.
Tolerance is learned behavior. We can teach it. I think in the long
run, our world will be better off. Don't you? Something to think about . . .
Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!
Thoughts on everyday life and inspiring others to contribute to life in a positive way.
Friday, August 2, 2013
Wednesday, July 31, 2013
Up On The Pedestal
On the mantle
above our fireplace sits two decorative but small candelabra with scented
candles. A small musical picture frame
that contains Kim’s and my wedding program.
A gift from my sister-in-law.
We have a small
side table in our dining room, void of any furniture except for that. On it are
pictures of our kids, our dog Bailey, and two pictures of Kim and me. One from our wedding and the other on a trip
when we were engaged. Our favorite
pictures.
I’m sure you
have similar items, trinkets and knickknacks in your house or office. Reminders.
Things near and dear and valued.
Sometimes we put
people on mantles and pedestals.
Not sure why we
do. But they are there nonetheless.
Famous athletes
who earn millions of dollars for hitting a small round ball. For shooting a ball through a hoop. For throwing a football. Maybe catching or running with one. Sometimes the glamorous who appear in movies
and in our television shows acting funny, romantic, serious or dramatic. Perhaps ones who sing so sweetly and play
guitar.
Not sure why
they’re there. But there they are. Up On The Pedestal.
The problem is,
at least one of the problems, is that they are human. Very human.
When they don’t
act as we think they should, off the Pedestal they fall. Some slowly, gracefully, like the actor or
actress who age beyond the action hero role they normally play. Perhaps the face becomes too wrinkled. Hair turns too gray. Can’t quite sing as they used to once upon a
time. We’re shocked that this singer,
that actor turns 50 . . . 60 . . . 70.
Even worse when
this person or that person makes a mistake.
Takes a wrong step. Heaven forbid
he or she fails to live up to our expectations.
The role that we’ve assigned to them.
No longer Up On
The Pedestal.
Some of it their
own tragedy. Drugs. Sex.
Stupidity. Lack of guidance. Lack of direction. Too much money, glamor, notoriety too
soon. Far too soon at such a young age.
Human. Very human.
I’m careful of
who I put Up On The Pedestal. Very
careful.
Because once up,
the only place they can fall is down.
Knocked down by accident. Taken
down because . . . well, just because. I’ve
decided long ago that I don’t really want to be Up On The Pedestal. Not really.
It’s a long, and often lonely, way down.
Besides, I’m not that famous. Not
famous at all. Too old. Too wrinkly.
Too many mistakes. Too many
missteps.
Human. Very human.
Our heroes. Those we think are
heroes. Those who we think we like and
want to be like. All human. Very human.
And they, like we, make mistakes.
Take missteps. Human. Something to think about . . .
Friday, July 26, 2013
Sinner And Saint
I’m a sucker for
the guy who’s down and out, but climbs back and makes it. The underdog.
Seemingly beaten at every turn.
Knocked down. Even kicked while
he’s down. But somehow manages to get
back up on his two feet and keeps walking.
Been there. A whole lot of times, but then again, I think
I have a lot of company.
I’ve always been
intrigued by some of the characters in the Bible. Perhaps it’s my growing up in a very
traditional, Catholic home and educated through elementary in a Catholic school
that I’ve always been intrigued by Sinners And Saints.
I have several
favorites.
Peter jumps to
mind. He just seems like a good guy to
me. Good heart. I picture him gregarious. Full of fun.
Full of laughter. Impulsive. Remember the story when he’s out fishing in
the boat with the rest of the Followers, the Apostles, and he recognizes a
familiar voice from the shore telling them to throw the net over the other side
of the boat. I mean they’ve been fishing
long hours and caught nothing. Here’s
this guy from the shore telling these experienced ‘professional fishermen’ what
to do and how to do it. But, they throw
the nets over the other side of the boat and what happens? The nets almost break because of the number
of fish they caught.
But Peter is
impulsive. He recognizes the voice as His
Friend walks on the water to meet them.
Peter jumps overboard and decides to walk on the water too. Doesn’t work so well for him. Probably not for us either.
Peter also
denied His Friend when His Friend was being tried by a kangaroo court on
trumped up charges in the middle of the night.
Peter ignores Him. Peter decides “he
doesn’t know Him.” Harsh thing to do for
a friend, don’t you think?
But . . .
Somehow, Peter
overcame all the impulsiveness. Peter
overcame the betrayal of His Friend and was given charge over the Followers,
the Church.
Hmmm . . .
Then there’s
Paul. Before he was Paul, he was
Saul. In today’s vernacular, Saul was a ‘hit
man’, an enforcer. He had people
killed. Thrown in prison.
But . . .
On a trip to go
round up or kill some more Followers (probably), the story goes that he had a
vision, heard a voice. He was blinded
(like he wasn’t blinded all that time before???) and he changed course. Took a new direction. In so doing, he changed his life. Saul, now Paul, became one of those he
persecuted.
Lots of other
stories. I’m sure you have some of your
own.
As a teacher and
counselor, it gave me no greater pleasure than to see a kid ‘turn it around’. Somehow, someway, change from bad to
good. Perhaps the kid was always good,
but we, nor he/she, didn’t recognize it for all the bad we did see. But he/she changed. Turned it around.
Lots of
kids. Lots of stories.
It makes me
realize that there is a very thin line between a Sinner And Saint.
In some ways, a
Sinner And Saint are the sides of a coin, separated by a very thin edge. One side Sinner. Other side Saint. All it takes is to flip the coin over and you
have one or the other.
A change in
thought. A change in action. A change in a life.
It can
happen. It does happen. To you.
To me. To those who drive us
crazy. To those who in one moment we can’t
stand, but in the next, we sit back and think, ‘. . . not so bad after all’. Happens all the time. He/She turns it around. Changes.
Decides on a different course. A
different life.
Sinner And
Saint. Different sides of the same
coin. But the same coin. Just flip it over. Something to think about . . .
Live Your Life,
and Make A Difference!
Tuesday, July 23, 2013
Footprints (republished)
I was thinking about footprints.
Various shapes, sizes. Easy to find on a beach as you walk along the shore. Perhaps not so welcome when you find footprints on your newly cleaned floor. As a kid, my family would drive to the dunes at a state park along Lake Michigan and we'd see signs requesting visitors to watch where they walk, to stay on the path and not disturb the ecosystem.
I wonder about the footprints I've left behind and what became of them. Were my footprints welcomed like the ones at the beach? Were they seen as an intrusion like the messy ones on a clean linoleum floor? Did I care enough to not damage the "ecosystem" of the people I walked with?
Teddy Roosevelt had a famous line: "Walk softly, but carry a big stick." While I admire TR greatly, I'd like to amend his statement to: "Walk softly, and carry a big heart."
We never really know what happens to our footprints, but if we carry a big heart, they can be lasting, and loving, impressions for people to follow. Sort of like a trail for the ones who come after us.
Live your life and make a difference.
Various shapes, sizes. Easy to find on a beach as you walk along the shore. Perhaps not so welcome when you find footprints on your newly cleaned floor. As a kid, my family would drive to the dunes at a state park along Lake Michigan and we'd see signs requesting visitors to watch where they walk, to stay on the path and not disturb the ecosystem.
I wonder about the footprints I've left behind and what became of them. Were my footprints welcomed like the ones at the beach? Were they seen as an intrusion like the messy ones on a clean linoleum floor? Did I care enough to not damage the "ecosystem" of the people I walked with?
Teddy Roosevelt had a famous line: "Walk softly, but carry a big stick." While I admire TR greatly, I'd like to amend his statement to: "Walk softly, and carry a big heart."
We never really know what happens to our footprints, but if we carry a big heart, they can be lasting, and loving, impressions for people to follow. Sort of like a trail for the ones who come after us.
Live your life and make a difference.
Friday, July 19, 2013
The Gift Of Hope
Five years ago,
we bought a house and moved in. The
girls lobbied most of the summer for a dog.
Hannah and Emily would search the Internet and each morning, Kim and I
would find a new picture of a dog. On
the refrigerator. In our bathroom. Taped to the TV. Somewhere.
Everywhere. Each morning. Every morning. Some evenings, too.
I was won over
pretty quickly, but being the dutiful (and scared that I might end up sleeping on the couch or in the garage) husband, I kept to the party
line. “We don’t need a dog.” Eventually, Kim wore down too.
And Bailey came
into our life. A beautiful Golden
Retriever. Two years old. Housebroken.
And near death.
When we picked
Bailey up, we could easily count her ribs.
She was more than shy, more than timid.
She was afraid. Noises. Quick movements. If I took off my belt, she’d run. It was weeks before we realized she could
bark. She was silent. Quiet.
Almost sullen. And like I said,
afraid. Neither Kim nor I said it out loud, but we didn’t think Bailey would
last more than one or two weeks. If
that.
The Vet said she’d
be fine, though she was malnourished. Started
her on a regimen of pills. Vaccinations.
Food. Water. Mostly love.
Now?
Still timid,
mostly with men and boys. Playful. Protective. Sleeps in Emily’s room, though Kim is her
favorite. Funny how that happens!
As a counselor
and teacher, I saw many kids like Bailey.
Afraid. Malnourished- not only from a lack of food and
clothes, but from a lack of care, of compassion, of love. One as sad as the next.
Without Hope.
When we would
have visitors in California, I enjoyed being tour guide. One of the places they wanted to see was
Hollywood Boulevard. There was a major discrepancy
in what they imagined it looked like and what it actually looked like. Gone was
the glamour, the elegance, the money.
Instead, dark, dirty, grungy. Run
down.
I remember
following one street kid. Probably late
teens, early twenties. Walked
quickly. Some popcorn had spilled on the
sidewalk and without breaking stride, he reached down and scooped up some with
his right hand and shoved it into his mouth.
A few steps later, there was a half-eaten Twinkie. Again without breaking stride, he scooped it
up and ate it. How hungry he must have
been.
It’s been years
since I watched that young man. As I
write this, I can still see it happen. I
see him. I picture other kids like him.
I’ve always
wondered what his life . . . their life . . . was like that would chase them
out of their homes and onto the street.
How bad it must have been.
Certainly no
love. No Care. No Compassion. No . . . Hope?
A rather
one-sided view, I’m sure. Don’t know the
reasons these kids landed on the street.
Just that they are there.
Existing, not living. Functioning
day to day, night to night. Surviving.
You know, I
believe in kids. Always have. Their resilience. Their toughness. Their ‘smarts’.
I think as
adults, beyond food and shelter, beyond clothes and a place to sleep, we need
to give our kids a future. We need to
give our kids lessons of love, of compassion.
We need to care. We need to help
them understand that they have a place in life, in our homes, in our hearts.
We need to give
them The Gift Of Hope. For it is with
The Gift Of Hope where our children see their future, our belief in them. Without The Gift Of Hope, there are no
dreams. There are no wishes. There is no future. Hope gives our children a chance, an opportunity. We need to do this for our children, for
ourselves. We need to do this. Something to think about . . .
Live Your Life,
and Make A Difference!
Wednesday, July 17, 2013
What's In Your Suitcase?
Go on any trip
lately? We’re in the middle of summer,
so vacations abound, I’m sure. People
coming. People going. Long trips.
Short trips.
Ever go on a
trip and forget to pack something?
Something as simple as a toothbrush or deodorant? Easily remedied at any convenience or grocery
store. Forget a pair of shoes? A sweatshirt that you meant to take “just in
case”? A little more costly, but again,
easily remedied with a stop to a department or shoe store.
When I was
growing up, we traveled around in a beat up green Plymouth station wagon. The radio didn’t work very well, so we
sang. Each of us. Didn’t matter how old or how young. It was expected.
Well anyway . .
.
On a trip
somewhere, we stopped for gas and to use the facilities. We took our turns, dad last because he worked
the gas pump and paid the clerk. We climbed
in, took off and began singing. The sound was off. Didn’t sound right. A voice was missing. Mom turned around and counted heads.
Yup . . .
My brother, Jim
was missing. We turned the car around,
went back to the gas station and there he was.
Sitting in the dirt near the front of the store. Crying.
Angry. Scared. All of us scared. Being a father of three, I can’t imagine the
worry, the fear my parents must have felt.
Having worked with missing and exploited kids, well, I don’t even want
to go there.
But Jim was
forgotten. Something not easily remedied
by a trip to a convenient store or a grocery store or a shoe store or a
department store. Pretty serious. Don’t really know how it happened.
I don’t remember
just how far we had gotten because I’m four years younger than Jim and he was
pretty young at the time. But, really
scary.
Back to the
suitcase . . .
I think each of
us have suitcases. Some large. Some small.
Some fancy. Some plain. And in it are all the things we might need to
bring along on a trip called, “Life”. To
a lesser or greater extent, each of us has tools and skills. Some born that way. Some have to learn it. And for others, they might not have the means
or skill to acquire what is needed on that trip called, “Life”.
And at times,
what we have in our suitcase just might fail us. We forget what’s in that suitcase.
We lose our
patience. We lose our temper. The listening skill we’ve learned along the
way is abandoned. The ability to reason
and see all the options is left at the gas station just like my brother Jim
was.
We end up
hurting feelings. We end up causing
anger. Might even cost us a job. Sometimes not easily remedied. Sometimes more than just a turnaround and
head on back. Sometimes much more
difficult than that.
Might be the
time to see What’s In Your Suitcase.
Might want to check out just what is . . . or isn’t in it. Might want to take the time to take stock and
determine what exactly is needed before we proceed on that trip called,
“Life”. Something to think about . . .
Live Your Life,
and Make A Difference!
Friday, July 12, 2013
Endings
Those of you
around my age, remember watching the last episode of “M.A.S.H.”?
Hawkeye tried to
get B.J. to say goodbye, and he wouldn’t . . . at least until the very end, the
last scene. The episode was titled, “Goodbye,
Farewell and Amen”. Fitting, I
guess. There was an attempt at a spinoff
or two, but not very successful. I think
it was because of the original characters.
Their affection for one another.
Their interdependence on one another.
Their annoyances with one another.
Their togetherness.
Hawkeye, B.J.,
Hot Lips, Frank, Charles, Klinger, Radar, Father Mulcahy and of course, Colonel
Potter. They were real to us . . . to me
. . . as much as our next door neighbor is real, perhaps more so.
Hated to see it
end.
Not so much the
show, but the characters.
To me, movies
and television shows are all about the characters. Same with books. I have to love or hate the characters. Nothing in terms of indifference will
do. As a viewer or reader, I have to
care. And care deeply. I do that, I hope, in my own writing.
Yesterday, Emily
and I watched the replaying of the last episode of “iCarly”. It was so sad. So very sad.
I got choked up and had to fight tears.
I’m not sure why it hit me as it did, but it did.
I mean, these
were kids! Having to say goodbye to one
another. Having to leave one
another. Carly left for Italy to be with
her dad. Her older brother, Spencer, stayed
behind and would be by himself. Freddy
and Sam somehow separate because Carly was their glue.
I know it
happens. Lord knows I’ve had many
Endings in my life.
My dad passing
away along with two of my sisters.
Leaving Wisconsin and my family three separate times. My son moving away from home. Hannah heading off to college. Friends and their friendship, who I thought
would last forever, somehow left my life . . . perhaps, I left theirs. Not sure.
An Ending though to be sure. All
Endings. And sad. All sad.
I don’t do
Endings very well. Not well at all.
Yes, I know that
each Ending is an opportunity for a new Beginning. I get that.
But Endings hurt
too much. There is so much pain
involved. To me, more pain than the fear
of beginning again. I don’t like Endings.
My youngest,
Emily, has told me many, many times that, “Everyone deserves a happy ending.”
It’s a rule with
her. For each of us, too, perhaps.
I try to explain
to her that life doesn’t necessarily have happy Endings. Her reply is simple: “Well, it should!”
Perhaps if we
focus on new beginnings instead of the Endings, maybe it would be less
painful. Perhaps if we focus on the
excitement of change, of the opportunity to begin again, to begin anew, it
might hurt less. Not sure, really. Honestly not too sure. But, it’s something to think about . . .
Live Your Life,
and Make A Difference!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)