Unwritten Verses

I once knew the world in which I lived. I also tried not to allow myself to be complacent. But I must have fallen asleep. Complacency is like a sneaky narcotic. You can’t even remember when you first tasted it even after you are deeply addicted to it.

Complacency and conformity enjoy the company of one another. The numbing effect of complacency allows your soul to tolerate conformity. And conformity is like a whirlpool trying to suck us downward. When things get busy and tough, it is near impossible to not just give up. It begins to feel that the easiest thing to do is the best thing to do. Conformity disguises itself as safety. But it will eventually reveal its true nature and leave you shaken to your core that you allowed it to happen.

The universe will always sound out a giant wake up call that either destroys you or shakes you and wakes you into action. For too long, I have been stuck between the temptation to just fall back into complacency or finding the will rip down all of its illusions of safety.

Then, every day brings news that reminds me that I need to just break free and live life to its fullest for myself and my family. Nothing is more important than that.

These events keep coming at me trying to shake me from my slumber. They are taunting me. They are screaming at me to get my shit together and make the most of this life. They shout at me to quit playing it safe. Take a chance, dance in the sunlight, sing as loud as you can, get bruised and banged up, but just make sure you are really alive!

I feel like I have been living in the first verse of “Sunday, Bloody, Sunday” by U2 for years.

“I can't believe the news today
 Oh, I can't close my eyes
 And make it go away
 How long?
 How long must we sing this song?”

But I know the news will just keep coming. It’s been sounding like an alarm in my ears for weeks now.

And this morning the phone rang earlier than usual. And the news came even harder and more disturbingly than ever before.

I can’t believe it.

I can’t make it go away.

But I refuse to keep singing the same song.

I’m not sure where that will lead me. I don’t know what words will be in the unwritten verses. From now on, I’m making up my own melody and lyrics.

And I will find the rhythm that works for me and the people I love.

Peace and Happiness in this Old World

This will be the most difficult Thanksgiving of all. This November 22^nd, 2018 will be the first celebrating without either of my parents. We lost Mom almost three years ago, and Dad left this earth seven months ago. We were fortunate to have both of our parents well into our own adulthoods. Even so, I must confess that I am struggling daily to fully immerse myself into my own life. I want to be as fully alive as both of my parents always seemed to be. But my struggle to reconnect to joy and enthusiasm in my daily life, let alone Holidays, is under assault. The country that I love seems to be collapsing into chaos and hell-bent on self-destruction. The torrent of bad news leaves me wondering just what should we be thankful for.

As fires rage across California and Hurricanes become more frequent and fierce every year, we close our eyes and ears and pretend that our own greed is not contributing to the global climate change that spurs these events.  Our children are massacred at music festivals, in dance clubs, and in their schools. Our neighbors are murdered in the streets or even in their place of worship. The death toll is rising and yet we cling to archaic beliefs about our sacred right to own weapons of mass destruction. We sacrifice the security of our children and our neighbors by failing over and over to put away our childish obsession with guns capable of killing dozens of human beings in a just a few minutes. We elected leaders who campaigned with a message of hate and fear-mongering. Yet, we act surprised when those leaders heartlessly rip children from their mothers’ arms and cruelly separate them from each other. In some ways, I am glad that my parents are not here to witness how harsh and cruel our own society has become.

Yet, I know in my heart, that Mom and Dad also lived through dark times. World War II raged throughout their formative years. They witnessed the bigotry and hatred that brutalized peaceful marchers for civil rights. They worried that their sons may have to someday go to Vietnam and never return as had happened to so many other peoples’ sons. They watched television news that broadcast the new normal of assassination as a way of defeating those who lead progressive movements. And they too lost their own parents along the way. Despite all the horror that went on in the world, they somehow managed to find joy in life every day. They were fully present in their own lives and always mindful of how blessed that they were to have each other, a family, and a roof over our heads.

The day after Dad died, I gathered with my three siblings at his apartment at Plantation Estates. My brother, Randy, opened Dad’s computer, as we looked for important documents. But as we all stood together, Randy found a gift left for us just a few months before. Dad had left a message for us in his Word documents. We were blown away. In just a few sentences, he told us exactly what we needed to hear. And as I head into this Thanksgiving, I am going to do my best to heed his words. I am going to do my best to be fully engaged in my life. I’m going to remember how blessed we are to have had the best parents, to have each other, to have my own wife and children, and a roof over our heads.

Here are the words that my father left for his children:

To my children – this is jan 11^th 2018. I am going through a lot of procedures  to see about putting a new aorta valve in my heart. I hope it will be successful – but if not and in case I dont make it – dont worry about  me. I think your Mother may be able to sneak me into heaven with  her and I will be happy. I have had wonderful life with your Mother and all of you children – and now all the grandkids and great grandkids.- I have no regrets but just happy moments. Proud of all of you and wish you much peace and happiness in this old world. Love you all - Dad  

May you all have no regrets, but only happy moments this Thanksgiving season. May you find peace and happiness in this old world.

Change the Future

There is a race war happening on social media. The strange thing about it is that the virtual soldiers on this electronic battlefield are all white. It is not a war between races. It’s a thread war of words between white people who are offended by racist ideology and symbolism, and white people who are offended that other white people are offended by the symbols and ideals that they see as history, heritage, and tradition. It is surprising to me that in 2018 that there is not agreement on what is racist and what is not. It is shocking to me that there are many white people who still believe in the “lost cause” theory regarding the civil war. It is unfathomable to me that there are still people who can say “the war of northern aggression” with a straight face.

I read the comments again and again. Lots of white people want us to stop talking about racism. They think that if we pretend it never existed, then it will cease to exist. A true existstential dilemma. I understand though. It is painful to admit to our racist past. It is even more painful to acknowledge that racism persists. It is uncomfortable to recognize our own prejudices that make us complicit in the perpetuation of institutional racism. No white person feels privileged, so how can they embrace the idea of white privilege? And unless someone is a Klan member or a Nazi, most white people do not consider themselves racist. Most of us can somewhat relate to Donald Trump’s insistence that he is the least racist person he knows. We all sort of feel that way about ourselves.

If we really want to move past racism in this country, then we must acknowledge our racist past. The past in which our forefathers could boldly claim that all are created equal, but uphold the legality and morality of slavery. The past in which our ancestors terrorized black people across the south with the spectacle of public lynching. The past that codified the second-class status of citizens of color. The past that denied people of color the right to fully participate economically in our society. The past in which the maids of our grandparents had to use a toilet in the basement rather than the facilities that the white people used. The past in which our own families would raise objections to interracial dating or marriage. It was not long ago when some schools still banned black girls and boys from dancing with their white peers. Recent enough that Natalie Merchant wrote a song about it.

We can never change the past, so we must accept it and acknowledge it. We must face the pain and discomfort we feel so that we can acknowledge that our pain and discomfort is nothing compared to the pain, discomfort, and damage that our white way of life has inflicted on non-white people.

We cannot change the fact that the father of our country chewed his food with the teeth of his slaves. Let that thought sink in.

But not being able to change the past does not mean that we cannot change the future. But if we cling to phony symbols of our glorious white past, we cannot even begin to do the hard work of binding up and healing the wounds that still lay open across this country.