Dawn

                I’ve been dumped, for the first time.  It doesn’t feel good.  You have to reconcile yourself with the fact that you won’t get to hold that beautiful being anymore.  If you can’t keep your personal relationship with them on good terms, you may not even be able to talk to them.  It’s an awful feeling.

                She told me I wasn’t doing anything wrong.  I didn’t particularly think I was-at least I hoped so.  The problem was that a relationship can be a stressful thing.  And she just couldn’t deal with that stress anymore.  I’ll get back to that later.  But another important factor she shared with me was the exact one I had on my mind. 

                To tell the story, one night I was hanging out at her house-feeling slightly ignored, to say the least.  I could tell that I wasn’t the number one thing on her mind that night, and that hurt me a bit.  There didn’t seem to be anything in particular to distract her, but I didn’t ask to find out.  So I sought to make myself more important.  I hid behind the couch, hoping she’d coming looking for me.  She didn’t.  She apparently knew I was back there the whole time, and didn’t bother to tell me so.  That hurt too.  But I sought to repair the mood.  So I stretched out on the couch with a blanket, hoping she’d sit down and at least cuddle a little.  But she stood there, sipping her Pepsi.  That hurt a little more.  Then her mom arrived-not that I hate the woman, she’s always been nice to me, but she was kind of in the way of my goals.  And she informed Dawn that they were going to head over to her (Dawn) dad’s house for a movie.  But I volunteered that I had to be home by 11-so I couldn’t come.  And while I was incredibly disappointed at being deprived of two hours with this girl, she didn’t flinch.  It made me feel like I didn’t matter.  So I walked out.  Straight to the car, not looking back.  Got in the car and put in one of my CDs-a customized mix, essentially for when I’m angry or determined or, you know, something intense like that.  She came up to say goodbye.  I figured her mom had sent her to do so, so I shrugged her off, and then just about crashed the car twice on the way home. 

                When I arrived at home, I whipped out my phone and began to text her, my emotions exaggerated by the music and by the fact that she was not present-none of her beauty or the emotion hidden in her eyes to mellow my anger.  And I committed the ultimate sin-exaggerating my belief that she wasn’t showing her full feelings in favor of accusing her of having no emotions.  As I was told the day we broke up two weeks later, she cried-for three hours.

                I woke up in the morning, apologizing over myself, trying to get her to forgive me.  I’d just let anger get the best of me, and I didn’t really mean it.  I really didn’t, too. 

                After what seemed like making up, I got comfortable again.  And I even moved towards things that could ensure the continuation of our relationship.  But sometimes it just seemed like something was off, and then she dropped the bomb.

                When she did, she compared herself waiting for a text to a dog waiting for its next beating.  I had promised her it wouldn’t come; I promised that I’d never do that again.  I didn’t understand how she held on to that, and not to the many times I told her how much I loved her and how amazing she was.

                But I was at wrestling practice last night, and kicking Markus’ ass.  It got to the point where he was so frustrated that every time I started on bottom, he’d do something painful; stick his knee in my back, land particularly hard (he weights thirty pounds more than me), etc.  I braced myself for that, even after he had stopped doing it.  And there came my epiphany.  I understood how Dawn felt, finally, and it would have to be worse than I was.  Physical pain I could deal with-I could even get my revenge by kicking his ass again.  But emotional pain messes with your head, and your heart.  And from your own boyfriend-that must be absolutely awful.  And I became so sorry that I ever made her feel that way.  For her to deal with me another two weeks after that became unbelievable-it required some real heart.

 I understood Dawn better than I ever had at that point, and although we’ve broken up, I still want to be there for her.  As much as she doesn’t want to believe it, she needs people to be there for her.  While she thinks they should all just give up on her, I refuse.  Giving up would be the opposite of what would help.  She needs someone who believes in her-someone to assure her that she’ll be okay, in the end.  She’ll find another guy, one who won’t hurt her, and she’ll live life.  Life sucks sometimes, yes.  It can really kick your ass.  But it doesn’t matter whether we like it or not, we still have to deal with it.  We have to understand that this is how life is, and we still have to live.  I may not like that we’ve broken up-I’d still probably take her back any day-but I have to deal with it.  That’s the way the world is now, and I have to live with it, whether I like it or not.  I think I’m doing pretty well with that.

I want the best for her.  I still want to be there for her, I still want to talk and laugh and smile with her.  I just won’t get to see her nearly as often, or hold her close as I loved to do.  I want to be friends, and I hope she’ll accept that.  I hope that this breakup won’t make her get down on herself-there was nothing wrong with her, as much as she thinks so.  I hope she can find a reason to believe in herself as I did.  And I hope she can move on, not dwelling on failures, but focusing on what she can do moving forward.

                

Who Am I?

                Who am I?  It’s an important question I suppose, one that many people have tried to answer.  I give many different answers myself.  Sometimes I call myself a sarcastic asshole; others, number 4 (as in the fourth version of me, supposedly the best).  Crazy is one way to sum it up, or insane if the conversation is hyperbolic enough.  I could call myself a dreamer, but that may not necessarily be true.  I could call myself honest, but I live a lie itself.  I’ve lied to my own girlfriend thus far, and I feel guilty about it now.  That’s kind of heightened by the fact that she may be dumping me later today. 

                There are so many things they’ve told me I’d regret.  I suppose I should.  But then again, had I not done them, I never would have met Dawn.  I suppose it was a choice.  Dawn or my own sanity.  I wasn’t even sure she’d be at the other end of this road, but I’ve taken it, and managed to stumble upon her.

                Now that I’ve gotten off topic, let’s segway back using regret.  I don’t want to lose Dawn.  And so I think it’s time I stopped lying.  And although nobody reads this blog, I figured it would be easier to tell her if I put it down in words first.  I always thought I was a good man, and then came the day that I realized I was shutting the world out, and being ungrateful, prideful, judgmental.  I thought that because I was good, the rest of the world was bad.  It was a sort of melodramatic fantasy I created for myself.

                So who am I?  I’m a guy who watched too many movies.  I believed in the sheer emotional power of them, and the grand stories and the glory and the courage.  All those romantic dramas where the guy almost loses his girl but gets her back at the last second.  And the best part was, they only lasted a few hours.  That sure messes with my head sometimes.  I’ve gotta fuck around down here for 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, when they could live out years in 10 minutes or less.  I look forward to every minute with my girlfriend because that is part of the emotional release of my movie.  The days I see her are those times in the movie when you get hope that there will be a happy ending.  School, and homework, and wrestling, and all of that shit I have to deal with every other day of the week are just road blocks; the antagonists working against me, the hero.  It is me against the world, trying to get the girl.  Heaven knows it would be a great storyline for two kids, each with their own passion (mine running, and hers color guard), and no other real connection to the society around them, going to cross-town rival high schools (Romeo and Juliet much?) managed to fall in love and stay that way forever, through thick and thin. 

                I took a relationship quiz today.  It told me nothing I didn’t already know.  We’re really good together, but I’m a bit clingy.  What a surprise.

                I am a product of every movie I’ve ever watched.  Every war movie and the penultimate “Captain America” made me a patriot.  Good Will Hunting taught me that sometimes it’s better to let the emotions go instead of hiding them.  Shawshank Redemption showed me that if there’s a will, there’s a way.  Doctor Who (a TV show, I know) made me want to save the world a thousand times over with a beautiful girl at my side.  Dead Poets Society put the power of words in my heart, and Good Morning Vietnam showed me that even the worst moments need some comic relief.  Top Gun taught me that the world goes on, and Braveheart taught me to never give up, even if it means giving your life.  Forrest Gump showed me that even those of us who are dejected by society can still make our mark on history, and The King’s Speech showed me that you don’t have to be the best speaker to be a leader.  I learned my race relations from Remember the Titans, and Mrs. Doubtfire made damn sure that I will love my children.  Far and Away taught me to keep dreaming, you’ll get there, and A Few Good Men taught me to believe in myself.  Jerry Maguire showed me how to fall in love, and The Secret Life of Walter Mitty gave me the courage to dare.  This is who I am, really.  Imagine a patched up teddy bear, with so many layers of old stitching all over that you can’t tell who he was in the first place.  In fact, that bear isn’t even there anymore.  Just the stuffing.  The memories.  The intelligence.  The basics.  And the old heart is still beating, told to march in so many different ways that it’s decided to grab on to something and hold it (Dawn), probably a little too tight.  But at least now she’ll know why. 

                

Rocket Man

                I am, admittedly, a storyteller.  Of all the things I have in this world, stories are the ones I talk about.  Stories can be about anything-from a harrowing near-death experience to a laughing-my-ass-off moment.  Every story is valuable to me.  They are what I show to other people.  When I’m trying to get closer to someone I tell them stories for a long time before we really start talking.  I suppose it’s how I handle being nervous.  If I tell a story that will make someone laugh, it’ll boost my confidence a bit.  I’ll be more comfortable talking.

                I want to live stories.  In all of my attempts at writing, I try to incorporate a story that is very close to me.  In fact, sometimes, I really am living a story.

                I had a crush on a girl for 18 months-yes, you read that right, 18 months.  I finally started to make a move to get closer, and, well, it didn’t end the way I had hoped.  At all.  Not even remotely.  I mourned for over a month, and it really got me down.  But I was at work one day, pushing around carts, and a girl, who it felt like I recognized but didn’t really know, walked up wearing a Kroger uniform.  Her first words to me? “You’re free.” Now that is symbolic.  But I wouldn’t have been working there had my mother not known somebody who knew somebody.  And I wouldn’t have had the courage to walk up to this girl later that day and start a conversation had my sister never introduced me to my new favorite show, Doctor Who (this girl had a TARDIS bumper sticker).  That is my favorite story, and I hope it gets better from here.  

Demons

                The Doctor once said, “When you think about it, we are all different people, all through our lives.  And that’s okay, that’s good, you’ve got to keep moving, so long as you remember all the people that you used to be.”

                And that inspired me to remember all the people that I used to be.  When I think about it, truly, it seems I’ve regenerated three times.  Now, these sorts of regenerations take a lot longer-a year or more as a transition.  But they are changes nonetheless.

                As I looked back, I found my demons.  I recognized them as they were, and understood why I was who I am today.  I, number four, am a product of all the things I found wrong with myself.  I come from all of those things I’ve decided to change.

                The first me was still innocent.  That was me as a small kid, just learning how to be in the world.  He was a bit of an attention hog, and a ball hog.  I suppose the fact that he was a bit jealous that his new sister took away from the attention he received through him into a sour mood sometimes, which led to number two.

                Number two developed in number one’s year of preschool.  The development of an awful temper came about, along with a tendency to over-dramatize things.  Number two pushed his sister down the stairs, and through plenty of tantrums.  He was not the kind of little kid you wanted to be around when he got angry.  Sometimes he’d drive himself to tears.  But on the good side, he was generally respectful to adults and well-behaved, something every version of me has carried on.

                Number three came about in fifth grade.  He was like an upgraded version of number two, and not in a good way.  The temper was worse, and he became very secluded.  He’d listen to depressing songs in the evening, and hated to socialize.  He pretty much stopped doing things with friends and kept to his own, sometimes radical thoughts.  Number three threatened his sister with a golf club because she laughed when he lost his favorite golf ball, and had an argument with a girl that drove her to tears.  Now that is something he’s not proud of.  Three never, for even a second, believed he had it wrong.  He stood up for what he believed was right, even when it wasn’t.  Although he finally stopped tucking his shirt in, he had to be pushed by his mother to join a sports team besides wrestling.  That was cross country.

                Number three held a reign of terror until he developed a crush on a girl from his church.  That crush lasted 18 months, and that was the longest transition period in any “regeneration.” He slowly became more kind, more open.  He developed new ideas, his own, instead of relying on the Republican Party’s platform.  He could tolerate modern music more than he used to, and was more open to doing things with friends.  Most of all he gained dreams, real dreams, things he knew he’d love to do.

                But it was rough going.  When the 18 month crush came to a close, he needed a spark to officially light #4’s fire.  He could sense a good man coming, but he couldn’t let himself fall backwards.  A month later, he got his spark.  He was at work, thinking of all the bad things that had happened to him and singing sad songs under his breath.  He pushed in cart after cart, not caring why.

                And then, finally, a girl walked up to him.  He had never seen her before.  She was wearing a Kroger uniform and he knew, at that moment, that she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen.  That was the first face this face saw.  That’s me, number four.  I am the counter to number three.  I am the best version of me that there has ever been.  I don’t really want to change again, because I’m afraid some of number three may leak through.  But I am young, and I know I should still have plenty of time with this version of me.

The Most Inspiring Thing You Will Ever Read

                Life isn't about the things that we do not do.  Those do not affect us nearly as much as the things we do.  By doing things we create meaning for ourselves.  We shape who we are by the actions we take.  And whether we fail or succeed it is still something we have attempted and that in itself shapes our creed.  When we fail it is a lesson, and every time we fall we must seize the opportunity to redeem ourselves with more fervor than before. 

                And let this be my creed:

I will not go quietly into the night.  

I will rage against the dying of the light.  

I will never give up without a fight.

                Fiat lux.

"not go quietly into the night" and "rage against the dying of the light" are from a poem by Dylan Thomas

Kilroy on Regret

                At my age, we’re not supposed to have it.  Adults tell us not to have any regrets.  Well I’m 16 and I have a long list.  A lot of people regret things they did, but the worst regrets are the things we didn’t do. 

                I regret not striking up a conversation with that girl today at church. 

                I waited a year and a half to talk to her and all I could muster was “hello.”

                I regret not talking to the girl across the table at lunch last year.

                She took her own life that winter.

                Those little mishaps can drive us under when we dwell on them.  There are lessons to be learned from each of these, but that is all.  When we dwell on things they consume us.  They begin to define who we are, how we act, and how we treat others.  They can determine our actions in the future.  But that is our mistake.  We kick ourselves over and over for what we’ve done wrong and spend so much time looking down that we fail to look up.  There will come opportunities down the road to redeem yourself if you only dare to look.

                I sent the girl a message the moment I got home from church because I knew it was time to act.

                I’m doing my best to help a friend out of depression because I don’t want to see her go.

                So when we feel the worst about the things we’ve done and the things we’ve failed to do, that’s when it’s time to look up and realize that redemption is sweeter than revenge.  It may not erase our actions of the past, but it will benefit us for the future.  So while regret is unavoidable, it is not infallible. 

Far and Away

                I had a post typed out.  Sadie had even commented on it.  Sorry Sadie.  But I’ve decided to change it.  Significantly.

                Now I suppose that you could say I’ve been looking up for my entire life.  Always looking to my dreams, only focusing on how to get there and how wonderful it would be.

                But when that goal is taken from you (not by money, by something else more cursing than that), it gives you a chance to look down.  You see where your feet are and you figure out what you really want.  Now that I’ve spent my life looking up it’ll be difficult adjusting.  There will be a piece of me shouting to pick up the pace, but…the truth is it’s time to slow down. 

                Money is nice, in its best form.  Its best form is as something to provide for the family.  And then, when you’ve got enough of it, you can buy a new car, or a pool, or something to enjoy.  And when you get a lot of it…well shoot you can pretty much buy happiness, as long as you haven’t let that money corrupt you.  I’ve got nothing against money.  In the line of work I was shooting for I could’ve had quite a bit of it someday (or I could have died, but I wasn’t planning on that). 

                The trick to money is, honestly, being honest about it.  It can corrupt you, if you let it.  I suppose that’s where all the hate comes from.  But, in truth, it’s time for all of us to stop for a moment, look down and find our feet, and decide what we really want.  Then we can pursue it, regardless of the money it requires.

                “Far and Away” (starring Tom Cruise) is about an Irish immigrant, poor as dirt, trying to find his way to Oklahoma.  And you know what?  After trying to suffer through life boxing to buy his way to Oklahoma, he takes a moment.  Then he runs, and, sure enough, will eventually make it to Oklahoma in time to claim himself a spot of free-yes free, as in no money required-land.  And a little piece of land, with green pastures that roll just a little, and a stream running through the fields, is all he ever wanted.  Congratulations, Joseph.

Dreamweaver

                Salutations!

                I think that’s the first time I’ve ever used that word.

                This week we’re going to talk about dreams.  

                Most of us have a dream.  Most of us want to see that dream fulfilled.

                Some of us have a little trouble with that.

                Plenty of people reach their dream.  Some get a piece of it, perhaps a bit more humble than the full dream.  Some people realize their dream isn’t all it was cracked up to be and they decided to live simpler.  Then there are the people who simply don’t have the time, they can’t put together the materials, they miss their one opportunity, etc.

                And then there are the people who have a dream their whole life…

                And then they’re told they can’t.

                And those of us who simply won’t reach our dreams often look for ways to remember what has never been.  We may turn to writing, like Sedaris.  We try to recall memories that we have never lived.  It can sober even the most avid dreamer to know that sometimes there simply isn’t a miracle waiting for you.  You look up and see a smile and think, “Gosh, I wish I had a reason to smile like that.”

                I have a little saying of my own.  If you have a Plan B, then you’re admitting that Plan A won’t work.  Last time I had a Plan B was at the hospital 5 weeks ago.  They decided to numb to veins just in case the first try didn’t work for sticking in the IV.  They stuck the needle straight through my vein, causing some beautiful swelling and bruising that lasted for days.  And it’ll be a couple months before I can use that vein for IVs again.

                In my experience, Plan B sucks.  I can’t remember a time where Plan A worked when I had Plan B to fall back on.  Then as soon as my parents asked me to have a Plan B in life, it began to look like Plan A-my dream-would be shot down.

                And so I write-or, at least, I try to.  I’ve never actually finished a book.  The most I got was 40 pages on Microsoft Word, and then I backspaced it all because it sucked.  I try to feel what I’ve never felt, see what I’ve never seen, know what I’ve never known.  I read nonfiction so that I can write better fiction.  I watch movies to see the emotion.

                I’m sure David Sedaris wanted to feel those excitingly dangerous experiences in Africa as Hugh had.  I’m sure he had a dream of excitement, but the stars simply never aligned.

Major Tom

                The environment is a tough subject.  I feel like a lot of people take it way too far.

                And I mean over the river and through the woods to infinity and beyond too far.

                For example, there’s the group of radical environmentalists who signed a petition to lower the temperature of the sun.

                That kind of leaves your head tilted with a funny look on your face making a “wuhhhhh?” kind of sound emanating from your mouth.

                Me?  I recycle, but not because I especially worry about the environment.  I’d just rather not run out of resources.  I’m a massive fan of alternative energy (if you didn’t get the pun there I’m ashamed of you) because it will leave the unrenewable stuff for when we need it.

                Call me crazy, but I’m one of those guys who supports entering the age of Star Trek.  I think it’s about time we started mining resources on nearby planets and exploring the worlds around us.  Some scientists are saying we could be mining the moon in under 20 years.  In case you haven’t noticed, I’m extremely pro-America, but I’m also pro-human race.  I hope to someday see us figure out how to warp across the galaxy.  In my time that’s far-fetched and I find that disappointing, but I don’t plan on dying anyways. 

                As long as we humans aren’t replacing ourselves with robots or ending up like the people in WALL-E (along with a few other aspects), I don’t think that the human race can push too far.  As long as we don’t forget who we are, where we’ve come from, and all that hard work it has taken us to get there, I think humans can go a long way.

Go Your Own Way

                While others might say the fates are against them, I disagree; I think they provide a challenge.  There is a special challenge behind each disadvantage, each obstacle, each deterrent, each racial slur, each stereotype, each little thing that can frustrate us.  Racial profiling has been a difficult thing to overcome.  Not only is it perpetuated by those who believe the stereotypes, but by those who live up to them.  And those who live up to stereotypes make the lives for those who don’t more difficult.  Those people who choose to live differently have to face the challenge of being profiled for how they look.  Jeannette Walls was dirt poor, white, and scarred by fire.  Somehow, though, she took on that challenge and overcame the expectations.  Her family was jealous.  Jimi Hendrix spoke to the masses, spreading his rock and roll message across the United States and even beyond.  He was black.  In fact, most early rock and rollers were black, but they created a sound that even white people had to love.  Humans, as a race, accepted the world as a challenge.  From the earliest tools to our ever increasing endeavors into outer space, we’ve never let anything limit us.  The mentality of taking life as a challenge has led to success throughout the world, and it is that mentality that has the potential to break stereotypes.  It has been done by individuals before (including the all-powerful Morgan Freeman).  Brent Staples has been tested by profiling and will most likely be tested again, but he has stepped outside his race’s stereotypical lifestyle and chosen his own.  However impossible the odds, records, limits, stereotypes, and more can be broken.

                 “The brick walls are there for a reason. The brick walls are not there to keep us out. The brick walls are there to give us a chance to show how badly we want something. Because the brick walls are there to stop the people who don’t want it badly enough. They’re there to stop the other people.” 

                -Randy Pausch, The Last Lecture

P.S. The song today is "Go Your Own Way" by Fleetwood Mac

Sunday Bloody Sunday

                What do I even talk about?

                I’m afraid this won’t be a very good post.  The only thing I can really connect this to is the George Zimmerman trial. 

                OH NO!  We’re bringing that back!

                One side of the coin argues that George Zimmerman shot Trayvon because he looked shady.

                The other side argues that Zimmerman fired in self-defense.

                I don’t know if anyone else knew this, but the picture they showed of Trayvon on TV was from when he was about ten years old.  Few people look shady when they’re ten.  The media and those who provided the picture wanted Trayvon to seem innocent, whether he was or not. 

                This is a problem in the world.  The media is afraid of extending stereotypes, and therefore the news isn’t really news anymore.  At the exact moment they’re trying to act unbiased, they’re really making it worse.  The news ought to tell it like it is.  Instead of making Trayvon look like a ten year old they should have made him look like the young black man he was.  People wanted Zimmerman dead because they felt so bad for the poor boy on the television.

                The story this week focused on a man who people were often afraid of in public because he was black.  The stereotype does exist, he proves that.  But at times stereotypes are well grounded.  They definitely don’t apply to everyone, but what if he really was dangerous?  What if he was dangerous and the woman had done nothing? 

                I’m not going to draw a conclusion or say who I agree with when it comes to the Zimmerman trial.  There would be people arguing against me either way for no reason.  What is done is done.  

Once in a Lifetime

                Grand Rapids.  It’s not a half bad city.  It’s nicer than Detroit and it actually looks cool from the freeway.  Even so, I’d rather not be dragged there for the weekend. 

                My mom was raised by Republican farm folks in Montana who belted you for talking back.  My dad was raised by a drunken, disillusioned Vietnam vet and a mom who had to deal with a boatload of children.  Needless to say, both of them turned out to be strict parents.  There was no Xbox, no PlayStation, no Wii, no technology of any kind really until one year they finally gave in and got my sister and I each a Nintendo DS.  It was better than nothing.  I didn’t have a phone until 8^th Grade, and even then it was an old-fashioned flip phone.  I couldn’t be home alone until high school.  I have to do a sport or get a job.  My mom threatened me by saying I had to get a full ride scholarship or else I’d be going to OCC.  Luckily my dad calmed her down.

                I’ve seen movies and read stories about kids growing up to basically become their parents.  I don’t think that’s true.  I think that we are shaped as people not simply by the people around us, the events that happen to us, and the challenges that face us, but by how we choose to react to those pressures.  My mother reacted to her parents by joining a shady group of friends-but when that turned out the wrong way, she went back to the ways of her parents.  My father reacted by swearing he’d never be like his father.  He’s still paying off student loans from college.  He’s done arguably the best of any of his many siblings. 

                When it comes to life, you can choose the path you want to take.  You can accept that the challenge is too difficult and watch your happiness fade, or you can accept that challenges can be overcome.  It is those who overcome challenges who succeed.

                My parents have been overcoming challenges their whole life.  I understand where they’re coming from.  I understand that they want me to overcome the challenges too.

                I’d just rather not be dragged to Grand Rapids.  To me that seems counterproductive.  I guess I just don’t fit with my parents’ image of spending every waking hour thinking of the future and preparing for it.  I’d like to enjoy myself a little first.

                

                (Today's title is from the song Once in a Lifetime by Talking Heads)

Wanderer Above a Sea of Fog

                “Wanderer Above the Sea of Fog” by Caspar David Friedrich

              

It had been a long walk;
Or, perhaps, it could be better described as a climb.

Now he is here.

The rocks below him are jagged.  What force of nature had driven them to be so?

Certainly nature has power but…what kind of creation is this?

Now as he stands above the abyss he can see the violent past of these rocks.

But nature attempts to hide this violence.  It covers the scars with a layer of fog,

So that the wanderer may not be disturbed by what he sees.

The wanderer however is not disturbed. 

The wanderer is awestruck by the beauty of nature’s creation.

Somehow from the violent past of these rocks has been born a truth.

The world is scarred.

And despite how the world tries to hide these scars every day,

It is exactly these scars that have made us who we are;

It is exactly these scars that make us, the human race, beautiful.

The wanderer could ask what’s underneath the fog,

But in truth he already knows. 

Underneath this fog is potential beauty.

It is beauty that we do not allow ourselves to see

Because we are afraid that we will poison it with our gaze.

There is no mystery here.  There is only beauty.

Angels Among Us

                The world needs heroes.

                And I believe they are out there.

                What is a hero?  Certainly there isn’t a Superman or a Captain America or a Batman out there.  But a hero doesn’t have to be super.  A hero doesn’t have to be the perfect definition of a human being.  For some the U.S. soldier is a hero.  I’m sure when a platoon in Afghanistan delivers Red Cross packages to children and then plays soccer with them for a while, those kids have a new hero.  For some people it’s their mom or their dad or their teacher or a kind neighbor or a brave firefighter.  It could be a friend or a stranger or God or a priest or anyone else who has touched their life.  Anyone could be a hero.  I doubt many heroes are perfect.  They each have their flaws, but that doesn’t make them any less a hero. 

                The title I chose today is the name of a song by the old country band Alabama.  It’s about how everyday people can be angels to others with something as simple as a kind word. 

                Although the people of this world doubt themselves and doubt each other, heroes exist.  We see what we want to see.  When we look for the faults, we can see only faults.  When we look for heroes…they aren’t hard to find at all.

Gone With the Wind

                Nancy Mairs might be a good person.  I haven’t seen any evidence against it, so I guess I have to assume she is.  But just because someone is a good person doesn’t mean I have to agree with them.

                Nancy Mairs wanted disabilities to be displayed in everyday life like commercials and TV shows in a way that makes them seem normal to the rest of society.

                There’s one problem with that.  Advertisers don’t care.  Television shows don’t care.  Pop culture in general DOESN’T CARE.

                This is one of those problems like atheists complaining about a Christmas tree in the White House.  They look for something “offensive” to complain about, formulate an argument, and try to gain followers for something as pointless as renaming a Christmas tree in the White House to the Holiday tree to “please” non-Christians.  In case you didn’t know, the Christmas tree is for Christmas-not Kwanzaa, Hanukah, or any other celebration of any religion.  If you wanted to honor another religion then put up a menorah or something in the White House.  That’s like social issues and television-they don’t mix.  TV shows do not have a responsibility to reflect modern society; they have a responsibility to entertain the masses. 

                I know how it feels to be told there’s something wrong with you.  I really do.  But just because something is wrong with you doesn’t mean that you’re suddenly entitled to change the world to suit your wishes.  Just like how there will always be racist people, there will always be people who see disability as irregular.  Trust me, we all know it exists, we already see plenty of it from day to day.  When it comes down to it though, “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.”

(In case you didn’t know that last line is from Gone With the Wind)