The Calm Before the Storm: A Dispatch from Texas

Have you ever been driving on the highway and, in the distance, you see ominous dark clouds ahead? You're not sure if the storm will hit you, but it's getting closer with each mile.   

This is the best I could do from my photo collection. This was near the Grand Canyon. 

For years, politics was politics, and the ivory tower was unmoved. 

We discussed ideas, challenged the status quo, and maybe changed a few minds here and there. Even if some didn't like higher ed or the values of critical thinking, diversity, and embracing an open and free society.....it seemed we were removed from political consequences. Of course, it was red meat to the base to take potshots at academics, but to a large degree, a truce was formed. It was obvious enough that society needed an educated workforce, but higher education also provided publicly funded research in science and medicine to benefit the country's corporations. Quality colleges and universities brought not just global prestige but an influx of wealthy foreigners, ready to stay and benefit the US economy.. Sure, the faculty and leadership would always skew to the left, but this seemed to be the accepted price tag. 

To be honest, it's a dirty little secret that universities and colleges have little to no influence in the political realm. Despite all the screaming about "indoctrination", if colleges really did indoctrinate, why aren't there more leftists in power?  The brainwashing hasn't been very effective.  Public universities have largely embraced and supported American capitalism and foreign policy. After all, who was educating the Wall Street and political leaders? 

The power of the ivory tower was largely symbolic. If you want proof of just how limited that power of higher education was, just look at our society today. It didn't stop the storm. At best, the power was limited to the broader culture, reinforced by the entertainment culture.  Many educated leaders could be shamed into appearing non-racist, non-homophobic, etc., and sometimes these beliefs were even acted upon in small but meaningful actions.  

After decades of ingesting misinformation, conspiracies, and lies, the time was ripe for change. MAGA extremists didn't want to bring in foreign students, they didn't want the government spending money on research, and they definitely didn't appreciate that educated people tend to vote against MAGA. So, the truce that had held since World War II was over. War was declared.  

For rightwing billionaires and a political class groomed by Rush Limbaugh, Fox News, and Alex Jones, it wasn't just about taking away even the small amount of power and influence colleges and universities had, but it was also about control. 

Make no mistake, the many culture wars were created to foster division between the classes to keep the elites in power. But those in power have been listening to the right-wing media conspiracies, and an ideology fueled by resentment, hate, and scorched-earth partisanship.  It is now a self-propelled beast; the media is fueled by the billionaires who are fueled by social media conspiracies and misinformation, which in turn feeds back into mainstream media. 

I have been directly impacted on my campus. There's a chill in the air, and some people can't be trusted anymore. 

Some words and concepts can't be discussed, but the administration won't say anything in writing, because they are scared. Of course, nothing is illegal to teach, but the governor can just ask for anyone to be fired, and it will be done. In the past month, university systems have banned words and concepts from the classroom. 

Some might think this is an obvious over-reach. The checks on power in our old system came from the checks and balances of the three branches of government, a sense of shame AND from an engaged citizenry at the ballot box. If the other side ever takes power, the roles could be reversed, etc., etc. 

However, these "checks" are all gone because all the branches are controlled by one party; they have no shame, and they don't plan on giving up power again. 

Even before the blog post was finished, the storm came for me. Something I have worked on for over a decade is gone. It was my professional life's work, and I was going to do it until I retired.  They took it from us, even without complaint, without a single controversy; they simply didn't want to worry about it or carry the risk. 

There was no compromise, just capitulation. 

It doesn't just end there. There are rumors of the core curriculum being cut, changing accreditation agencies (that will enforce some kind of political "diversity" or censorship).  Of course, it's not just higher ed; we are all under the storm clouds.  

Seek cover and batten down the hatches, the storm is here and there's no break in sight. Hang on as best you can. 

Ghost of Ghost

It's been twenty years since one of my best friends died in car accident. I wrote about the night I found out here (holy cow - eight years ago).

Twenty freaking years.

It was a lifetime ago and now she's been gone longer than she was alive.


A few months ago I wrote a poem about a very specific memory I have. I would explain it, but I would rather it speak for itself. I don't think it's a very good poem, but it means something to me all the same. Give someone you love a hug today.

Ghost of a Ghost

No one else will know how close we came.

It was so long ago, like some half-forgotten dream, a ghost of a ghost.

I awoke to this memory and felt ashamed, for I hadn't thought of that night in so many years -

when I held you a little and you held me.

We were children then, brother/sister/lovers.

Reaching for something beyond and figuring out how to be.  

Suddenly, the barrier came between us.

Between two worlds  

Forever intertwined

Forever apart

And the only thing left is this lonely memory

That will one day fade away like a ghost of a ghost.  

Confucius Didn't Say That: Funny Edition

There's a common trope in Western culture about "the sad clown".  Of course like many cliches, there's some truth behind it. Who can forget the tragedy of the suicide of Robin Williams?

Well, I might have just brought you down, but good news, my fair reader, it's time to bring you back up with another exciting blog post about another FAKE CONFUCIUS QUOTE. This one comes courtesy of a website called "Goalcast" and it's on their "23 Confucius Quotes to Convert Your Knowledge Into Wisdom" page. 


 "The funniest people are the saddest ones" - Confucius


It's pretty easy to dismiss that Confucius didn't say this as Confucius wasn't the Seinfeld of ancient China. 
  

Hey, Confucian scholar, you probably noticed this is based on 7:37 in the Analects.

This surprisingly strikes at the core of the whole project, as Confucius didn't come up cliched aphorisms, but taught people how to live. In other words, the goal wasn't to describe truth but to live it. Confucius was a teacher first, so when Confucius does describe something, it serves a purpose of making a larger point about our ethics or character.

For example, this is from 8:11:

"The Master said: “Perhaps you could be as handsome and as talented as the Duke of Zhou. But if you are arrogant or stingy, those good qualities will not be noticed.”

You can imagine Confucius breaking into a conversation his students were having about the Duke of Zhou with this ditty. This is classic Confucius, its might sting a little if you were rebuked but his logic and reasoning is spot-on. 

I could not find any instance of Confucius speaking about funny or humorous people. There's no mention of the term "funny" in the Analects, The Great Learning or The Doctrine of the the Mean. There's a few references to Confucius laughing but there are definitely not any sections on laughter, humor or funny people in general. 


I also couldn't find any example of Confucius speaking about sad people either.  There is no mention of the term "sad" or "sadness" and little about crying. There are a few mentions of "mourning" but they relate to how best to mourn or how best we should treat those in mourning like in 7:9: 

"If the Master sat beside a person in mourning, he would not eat to the full. If he had wept on a certain day, he would not sing."


At this point, I can't find the original person who said this quote. I got nothing for ya on this. Most attribute this quote to Confucius or it is left anonymous. 

As for judging if this is a good quote, I am not personally particularly fond of it. Although it can be true in the generic sense, it's too broad and general for my taste. While it's true that many funny people are sad we should also recognize there are lots of other people who aren't funny that are also sad.

I suppose my next question is did someone who was unfunny come up with this quote to feel better about not being funny? Like, "Hey you may be funny, but you're secretly sad and depressed on the inside, so you try to act funny on the outside in hopes of feeling better!"

Art Post: Existential Snowman

I was sipping my coffee yesterday morning and became inspired by my coffee cup of a snowman helping a bird in a nest get (back?) into a tree.

How many nests just fall from their tree? Maybe the snowman is helping straighten it out? Or maybe, just maybe this is an evil snowman who is about to destroy the nest...

Well anyhoo, I started thinking about how snowmen (snow people?) and how they are always shown as happy, joyful and completely oblivious that they will be melting in short order. Look, it's not too much of a stretch to understand the snowman's plight.

With that in mind, I painted this in a few hours, it's titled Existential Snowman. 

Warning: This is DEEP stuff. Enjoy and then contemplate your own melting.

Existential Snowman, acrilic paint and ink, 2018. 

The Lost Forest at 40

I used to have a lot of friends. In fact from my senior year of high school until my mid-30's, I probably had too many friends to keep proper track of.  If you will indulge me, think of my friends as a large forest.

There were a good share of small brush (casual friends), trees (good friends) and some older, tall friends (friends I had for years, some since I was a child).

But now that I'm pushing 40; things have changed. It's true that people move and people change. Also, there's our familial duties and responsibilities.  It's hard to be good friends with anyone, when everyone is so busy with work and their families. I have made all the excuses in the world about this phase of my life being "natural" or "normal" but I've noticed what used to be a robust forest is now barren with only few decaying trees around me.  


One by one, year by year, I lost trees. At least one was a tree lost in a lightening strike, but most died due to a drought or neglect. Most of my "new" friends are shrubs and are pretty much destined to be just that. I have a hard time connecting to anyone really.

Here's the run down:

One friend I used to hang out with in graduate school days but he moved away soon after he was married and we had nothing much in common anyway. He moved back a few years ago but as I said we never really had much in common to begin with except beer. But the beer was good, man.

One friend got mad at me because of a political argument in 2006 and he has refused to forgive me even though I never made a personal remark during in the argument. I have repeatably asked to be forgiven for any insult implied and explicitly stated over the years to apologize....all to no avail. However, I am done asking as he obviously isn't worth the effort or time.

In 2010, I told one friend we were adopting from Ethiopia and he was like, "Oh". Then we proceeded to talk about Obamacare and got into a fight. We have spoken since then but he lives in another city and it's never been the same since then. I don't think it's personal, but then again, I don't really know. I lost his phone number years ago and he never calls or texts.  I don't think I've seen him in at least 6 years. He occasionally likes photos I post of my kids on FB. 

One friend cannot be bothered to leave his family or ESPN. Even to maintain friendships. I saw him at his father's funeral 3 years ago and that was the only time I had seen him in the six years. I did exchange congrats for his Cubs win in the World Series. I also deleted one of his comments on one of my FB posts about race and police brutality back in the fall. That's pretty much our relationship....nothing.

I lost contact with another friend (he was never a big talker anyway). He moved away, I lost his number and he never contacted me on FB or my phone and I never contacted him. Now it would just feel awkward and I have no idea what we would talk about.

One couple that both my wife and I liked at church moved to another state two years ago. We really liked them. We visited them last spring break (and again in the summer on the way back home from a trip) but again, we won't be seeing them much in our day-to-day lives. 

Another couple that we love at church is moving to Brazil in the winter. The husband is one of two men I have actually connected with at church (the other one is described above and already moved).

My best friend at work is moving to the west coast this summer to be near his partner. I am really bummed about that. I have other friends at work, but he's the one I joke around with the most and we both share a love of free food. It just won't be the same.


Another is still a friend but we haven't been in contact at all since the summer (they were invited to the Xmas party but his kids were sick). The last time I saw him in person was a lunch last spring. He is the one friend that even read this blog at one time but again, he's busy with church family and family family and I suppose there just ain't much time left over. There's really no hard feelings on many of these friendships, but it's hard to say they are friendships when I never talk to most of them.

I do have one friend, my former best man at my wedding. We do actually talk and even occasionally hang out, but it's not often. He's really my only "active" friend.

Another friend lives in NYC and he visits when he is in town, but that's only a few times a year.

I do have a good friend at work but she is female and I can't be having drinks with her late at night or watch a Spurs game with (she's not much of a sports fan). I can never really get too close with a female anyway as I know I don't want a "best" female friend, as I am married. Hey, I ain't no Mike Pence here - we have gone to lunch, but there has to be boundaries and I respect them.  
 

I have a bunch of friends at work and church who I am friendly with, but I am not really, "real" friends with. I like many of these people but there's always something there to separate them from becoming a good friend. I am a weird guy, so I can't really blame them.

So my big forest is gone and some of the new trees that had been planted are being ripped up and moving out of my forest.

I know all of this sounds pathetic, and it is....but sometimes a guy has to vent into the void (ya know, the internet). A void that will go on for nearly forever, but still a void. And the good thing about a void is that it just takes it.


It's a strange place to be but I can't complain all that much.

I am in love with the love of my life and I have three amazing kids. I love my job and I like most of my co-workers. My parents and in-laws are alive and healthy and my family is in decent financial shape. Oh yeah, we belong to a church that loves us.

I do have a few friends left....and some of those decaying trees could get healthy again. My forest is not in good shape, but I have hope spring will come some day. 

Peru Fragments: Part VII: The End of the Road

In the summer of 2014, I taught a short-term study abroad in Peru. Here are the fragments. Part VII can be found here.

What would be my last meaningful leg of the journey was going to take us to Puno and Lake Titicaca. We loaded up at the bus station in Cuzco early in the morning and settled in for an all-day bus trip.

The bus was nice enough and they had an "active" itinerary for us. With 3-4 stops along the way to give us a chance to stretch our feet. I appreciated the intent, it gave us something to see, something to do, etc. but on the last stop at a tiny museum,  I was just ready to get to our destination.  Nonetheless here are few photos from some of the sites:

I dunno, a window of an ancient structure.  If you've followed the Peru series by now, you know I am pretty much obsessed with shots like this. 

I liked this green example of pareidolia, especially the eyes.

Some old church in some small town, somewhere in Peru.

We finally arrived in Puno after a 9 hours of traveling. Puno itself isn't much to look at. The main attraction is of course, the highest elevated navigable lake in the world (and one of the best named lakes in the world) Lake Titicaca. We drove straight to the hotel (Eco Inn) and had dinner at the hotel (pretty decent). After a decent breakfast, we were off to the dock to explore the lake.

The water of Lake Titicaca was the bluest blue I have ever seen.

The water was so calm, our slow motorboat trip was so peaceful, you could forget you were even on the water.

Our guide for the next few days was pretty tripin'. Up until this point our guides had been friendly but pretty standard fare. Our guide for Lake Titicaca was much more open than our other guides and was more personal with us. We found out how she occasionally washed her hair in her own urine. Later on she told us about how she found out her future from someone who read coca leaves for her. She also told us that to find out what was wrong with a health problem, she had a guinea pig lay on her while she slept (I guess it was in a container of some kind), and then in the morning, they killed it to "read" its guts and tell her what was wrong with her. She was the real deal.

Our first stop was to the Uros islands. These are man-made islands that people actually live on! They've lived there so long they have their own unique culture (one that now is dependent on tourists coming to take photos of their unique living circumstances). It was cool to be there but it felt a little too "touristy" for me. The actual island is made up from reeds that grow in the lake "tortas" and it felt a little mushy, but strong. Apparently, they have to slowly but constantly rebuild it as the reeds rot underwater. Cool, but in retrospect, it was cooler in my imagination.

Then we headed over to the Llachón peninsula. I thought our plan was to stay at a local family's home but it was more of a B-n-B that was locally owned.  There were 3-4 unheated rooms with 2 beds each and an outhouse-like bathroom. There was no shower or bath for visitors. It was close to the lake and very quiet. 

We had a home cooked fish lunch that hit the spot and then we were ready to party. 

Yes, party. 

Our guide let us know there was party going on in town celebrating one of the saint's days. We had been to a few events that were set-up just for tourist but this time, the celebration was authentic and that was nice for a change. We were the only tourists there and we made for quite a sight.  Before we had left our "hotel", our host and guide and encouraged us to dress in the traditional grab before we went to the fiesta. I found this a little silly like if you should wear a cowboy hat because you're visiting in Texas. 

I felt a little ridiculous, but whatever, when in Rome...I also felt so cheap and trendy with the record amounts of selfies I was taking at this point. My quarters were behind me to the left, right after the archway. 

 We watched a local dancing celebration for about an hour. Some of the show was quite humorous, while we found other aspects baffling but it was a good time. The locals pretty much stayed clear of us, I didn't know how exactly how to take that....

After the celebration, we took in sunset on the shores of Lake Titicaca. It was a pretty nice moment. It was a good to be alive. 

A female sheep herder brought her flock down to the shore for one last drink before the day was over. 

That night we had another solid home cooked dinner and our hosts (a mother and her son) sang some tunes with us. Then, came the main event. Because our students at inquired at the mention, our guide had found someone to "read" our fortunes or answer questions by reading coca leaves for us.  He was called (and forgive me but this is going to sound made up) a "ya titty". I tried googling this to no avail, but just saying "Ya Titty" got way too many chuckles and laughs from one of our students and I. 

Anyway, our "ya titty" was almost toothless and looked like he'd had a rough day. We sat around the dinner table and an actual hush came over the table. Even I felt like I needed to speak in hushed tones suddenly but remember our questions were going to be answered by an old man dropping and swirling coca leaves on a table. Two of our female students asked about their romantic relationships or partners (they actually asked for us to leave the room as privacy was offered and taken). Our new age hippie student, asked about what college he should be transferring to. When it came to my colleague, he asked if he should go to law school or more graduate school in philosophy. Surprisingly he didn't really answer the question but the ya titty did tell him he would have a daughter in the next year. This made both C and I laugh as our guide, some of students and definitely the ya titty didn't know that this was a very unlikely event to occur. My colleague, C is gay male and while he is in a long-term relationship, they are not looking to adopt any time soon.

I didn't want to partake at all. First of all, at least 4 of the 5 students, some what college-educated students (two of them actual "Adults")  were taking this "ceremony" way too seriously. They sat around really watching the leaves as if this was a real reading of their future. I had a hard time keeping my mouth shut as it was all so dreadfully stupid.  My colleague ended up talking me into asking a silly question about work (long story) but I didn't get the answer I was looking for either!

Later, we came to find out our female student's questions had gotten very negative answers. They actually seemed annoyed and bothered by it, but I told it them it was crazy b.s. and that they were in control of their own futures (as much as humanly possible) not some coca leaves.

It was time for bed and as we paired off to our rooms, our host gave us a heated water bottle. I was a little perplexed but our guide told us, this was to heat up our beds.  Our rooms were unheated and it was cold night on the shore of the lake. The water bottle was a life-saver and it kept the bed warm well into the night. I remember that night I felt like I had a deep sleep. Restful and ready for what I felt like anything. It was last restful night I had for a long time.

The next morning we got up and left for Taquile Island, which was about an hour away. First we had one last hike in Peru. This time it was about a 30 minute hike at a fast pace up a very steep hill face. I tried to keep up with our male student F (pictures below) but couldn't do it. One more challenge but the sight of the lake below and Bolivia made it worth it.

 

I had been told Taquile island wasn't authentic but on further review, I thought it kinda was. First thing you notice is the archway to the path and the archway right before town. It was built by the community, not contractors. Second, the agency takes you to the pre-determined location for lunch. It's determined by the island government, so that everyone partakes in the money from the tourists equally. It's not about competition and letting the free market reign but balance and fairness. That's as foreign as you get compared to America's values.

The restaurants have pretty much the same food. Notice the rococo peppers on the fish. This was a nice lunch. Later a kitty came by and some of my students fed it some of their fish. 

We did some minimal shopping but the prices were very high and I think all of us were tired of shopping at this point in the trip. We hiked back down the other side of the island. It was downhill but still a good work out.

If you've read any of this Peru series you know I love windows, doors and archways. The archways on Taquile were really cool because they had those heads on the ends. It reminded me of Gothic churches in Europe but a toned down, simple, Peruvian style. 

When I hiked I usually went at my own pace. It was great to sneak in alone time and have space for my own thoughts.  On the way down I discovered this little lost lamb bleating out for his mother. I tried to console him to no avail but he still followed me. Eventually, I saw his reunification with this mother. It was a nice moment.

Finally, we made the long trip back to Puno. It was a peaceful trip and at least half our crew slept in the warm boat but I couldn't sleep a wink. We got back to our hotel and cleaned up for dinner. We planned on going out to a nice place where they had dancers and finally get to eating some cuy again. The time before I had been feeling ill and only had one bite. I was looking forward to a nice night out. But that wasn't going to happen.

I was sharing a room with my colleague C and our student F. F was on his phone texting and while I was sending photos of our trip out from the lake to my wife. We had been offline for a few days and I was eager to check in on the fam.  C was in the shower getting ready for dinner. Then I received a series of texts from my wife that changed our lives forever.

My wife was on her way to visit her brother and his family in Austin. It was supposed to be an informal "pop in" visit for a few hours and then she was supposed to head home after a long trip with her family and the kids from Wisconsin.

When she texted me, she was outside of his house. Police cars were there and her dad who had been riding with her went in to see what was going on. They had found out on the way that her brother had stormed out of the house with a gun after a fight with his wife. He had been struggling with alcoholism for the past several years and today he had been drunk when he came home. She was in the car with all three of our kids, just waiting on pins and needles to find out what was happening.

Then she texted me the news. He was gone. He had killed himself two hours or so earlier. The pain was primal, almost physical. I hurt for my wife, his wife and two young sons and my in-laws. My worst fear from traveling had come true - I was hopelessly far away and something tragic had occurred.

I instantly started bawling and my poor student didn't know what was happening. He was a sweet kid about it, said the right things and largely staying silent. I imagine it was a pretty big shock to see his professor crying like a baby. I swore like a sailor, especially cursing guns and the gun industry that sells fear and paranoia but the stats tell us hand guns are much more likely to be used for suicide than any other use. More than homicide and more than defending your house against someone breaking in.
My colleague C stepped out of the shower to hear me crying. Both C and F were so great they offered to stay with me in the room the rest of the night but I just wanted to be alone. I told them to go to dinner and that I actually wanted to be alone to think through this.  I had many details to learn,  phone calls to make and tears to cry.  It was a nightmare and I felt guilty for being so far away from the love of my life in her darkest hour. I failed to be there for her and there was nothing I could do.

Our plane was leaving Puno at 6:00 the next morning to Lima.  The Puno airport was being renovated and somehow, they couldn't heat the airport. It was freezing cold inside the airport. It was an all-around horrible experience. Cold and sad. The original plan was for us to spend two days in Lima but I wanted to get home ASAP. After our arrival to Lima and a torturous phone call with United Airlines the best I could do was fly out at near midnight that evening. I would be arriving home a day early, so it was better than nothing.

That meant I still had to be in Lima the whole day just waiting to get home. It was a horrible day. We didn't do much, lunch at as sub par restaurant, went to a museum and went walking around town. It was a cloudy day and fit with my mood. I just wanted to go home. I said a hasty set of good byes to the students and my colleague got me a taxi to take me to the airport. He insisted on riding with us, just to ensure everything went well. He really didn't need to do that but he's a great guy and close friend. He insisted on paying for the taxi as well (it wasn't cheap).

It was odd coming home alone. It equally strange to come down from such an amazing high to the lowest of lows. A dream had come true and a nightmare had started. I suppose it's life in a nutshell. The healing process is still going on for our family but at least we have each other. That's all you can ask for.

So, those our my fragments from my study abroad to Peru. It will always linked to this tragedy and yet, I can't forget it was an amazing trip.

The Wonder Years: Sophomore Year 1992-1993

This is the second of four posts on my high school year. I have dubbed it "The Wonder Years" series. Here is the first post.

Most people get a chance to grow up and get into high school, for some it's a great time for others it's horrible. Personally, my sophomore year was my high school year of purgatory.  Here are the fragments to prove it.

The Nightmare of Lunch 

If I could sum up my sophomore year of high school in one word it would be: lunch. Yeah, lunch. As I detailed in the first "Wonder Years" post, I had ONE friend to eat lunch with my freshman year. Of course, going into my sophomore year, I was hoping and praying my sophomore year would be different.

It turned it it was different. My sophomore year I had ZERO friends in my lunch.  Now, it wasn't like my social life was teeming with friends, but this was a bad case of bad luck. All possible 7-8 people I could have had lunch with had the other three lunch periods.

My first day, I scanned around the cafeteria, my head on a swivel. I didn't see anyone I knew. Not even a pal. Not even a good acquaintance. I spun around and headed back outside (our campus was open and the buildings connected by covered walkways). I milled around, trying to look busy. God forbid that it looked like I DIDN'T HAVE ANY FRIENDS.

Not really but my sophomore year really could be summed yup pretty well with Awkward Penguin.  

That was my whole school year, lunch by myself. I was ashamed to even tell my friends or family about it. Eventually, I had a whole routine for the Loser Lunch Half Hour.

When the bell rung, I would walk as fast as I could to the cafeteria without looking crazy.  Once in cafeteria, if the line wasn't too long, I would head for the "fast food/snack line". I would usually grab a chicken sandwich or hamburger (sandwiches were conveniently wrapped).  If the traffic on the way to the cafeteria had been crazy and the line was too long, I would go the the snack machines and buy a pack of Lance Cracker Sandwiches (which I am still a fan of).  I would then walk straight outside and covertly hide my food in my backpack. Then I would head into one of the academic buildings.

At this point, I would walk around in circles in the biggest academic building. I walked in a random pattern because, duh, I didn't want anyone to know I was a loser.  I would stop in the men's room just to waste time and stop circling. If someone came in, I would have to pretend I was washing my hands and head out to my next stop. At some point, the most humiliating part would come because I was so hungry. I would find an empty and somewhat clean bathroom (usually near the science wing) and eat my food in a stall. If it stunk like poo, I couldn't do it.

This isn't my high school but it captures the feeling.  Just picture it more dingy, dark and depressing - as my high school was older and less well-lit. Just seeing this takes me back, to those icky, awkward days.  

Sometimes, out of sheer boredom, I would walk around in our other buildings. Occasionally a teacher would ask for a pass and I would have to confess I didn't have one and head back outside. Most of the time, they didn't even ask because I was a nerdy looking white kid, OF COURSE HE HAS A PASS. This did teach me an important life lesson though: if you look like you belong or know what you're doing, people will let you get away with a lot. White privilege plays a big role in that as well.

When I got home, I would eat way too much snack food to make up for the fact that I wasn't eating much at school. Sometimes, I would pack something from the house and eat it before lunch or in my class after lunch, as that class was out of control and the teacher didn't care.

It was basically terrible, but after awhile, I got used to it. Every so often we would have testing or something else would mess with the typical schedule and I would have lunch with my friends. What a heavenly joy that was!

Academically, my sophomore year mirrored my freshman year.  I was beyond underwhelming and it was likely my low point in my sub standard academic life. I would make a mix of B's, C's and D's with an occasional A or F from time to time per grading period.

Back Row Blues 

My first period English class was the most eventful and memorable of classes. Our teacher was a first or second year teacher and she was hot. She was a blonde beauty that had been a UT cheerleader. It didn't get any better than that (still didn't make up for lunch though).  She was a pretty okay teacher and while I loved reading, I just couldn't get into most of the class.

I sat on the back row with a old buddy from middle school band, Marcus (saxophone), a stoner named Mike (I think that was his name), and a gang member, Fernando. We were a motley crew but we shared a love of slacking off, joking around, otherwise, being stupid. I am sure if I had sat elsewhere in the classroom, I would have done much better. I have no idea why she never moved us. I remember really hating poetry and Haiku in particular.  I think I wrote a really stupid Haiku just to make a point.

At the end of one grading period, our teacher was calling us up to her desk to show us our grade for the term. I was excited because I might get to look down her blouse (and I did). I figured I had a D. This was no big deal to me - it was still passing! However, I was more shocked to find I had a 58. "There's gotta be a mistake!" I said. "You honestly should have been even lower than this - you have six zeros!" the teacher said softly so that the class couldn't hear.   "Oh...." I said and stumbled back to my desk. My parents were furious about the 58, I had failed before, but never this bad. The last grading term, however, I would have a turnaround and have one of my few high school victories (more on this later).

The Hopeless Romantic, Hopeless 

My love life pretty much mirrored everything you've seen above. It was non-existent. I had crushes on 10 different girls but didn't talk to many of them and most of them probably didn't know who I was or if I liked them.  There were no leads in my classes, just losers and students who didn't much care.

My biggest crush of the year was ironically, Stacey's friend, Marissa. This is ironic because all of my freshman romantic interest had been centered on Stacey. However, she was taken and I became quite taken with her friend (clever, eh?). She was very cute but the most I did was make awkward small talk with her.  I'm pretty sure she didn't have a clue I was interested in her. What made the crush less likely to go anywhere is that she went to a different school, so if I was going to see her, it had to be at a youth event for church. It didn't stop me from putting her on a pedestal and dreaming about her constantly.

Although our church probably had over 500 members, the youth group was pretty small. There were four older girls that I wasn't much interested in and a few more our age that were also not interesting or exceptionally pretty. Then there was Stacey, who, again, was off the market at this point.  My friend Doug and I were so bummed. We dreamed about a new girl showing up some random Sunday. When we would go to city wide events, we would stare at the pretty girls but were much too shy to actually talk with any of these girls.

The Fight

Meanwhile, back at school in PE, we played basketball almost every day. Six different hoops surrounded the court and we would divide into 12 teams of 3 on 3 or 4 on 4. There was no instruction in class and no supervision. The coaches would just call roll, open up the bins with the balls and the coaches would head back to their office. Needless to say, the coaches were stereotypical douche bags. However, I loved basketball so this set up was fine with me.

We settled into some familiar teams. Of course this would lead to serious, epic basketball games. One guy in particular I remember banging with in the post nearly every day. He was bigger than me and a little taller, but I somehow I was one of the taller guys that could play in the post. Holy cow, those were some battles. Think Celtics-Pistons 86-90 or Bulls-Pistons of 87-91.

In high school, I wanted to play like Charles Barkley. In reality, I was more like Bill Laimbeer without the height or shooting touch. Although when I got hot, my good buddy Eric
would call me "Larry Legend" (but that's just because I am really white). 

One day it got real heated and as everyone else was headed back to the showers. We squared off as we insulted each other. I didn't want to fight him as he was bigger than me. I knew would likely lose but what was I to do? He came towards me and I kicked him as hard as I could in the groin. It was a direct hit. I remember one of our teammates say something like, "Woah!". Most of the class and even the coaches hadn't seen anything.   I waited for him to respond but the guy was hunched over in serious pain. My battle was over. I jogged back into the locker room, got dressed quickly and within seconds the bell rang. While I am not an advocate for violence, he never challenged me again to an actual fight. We even teamed up a few times, and usually, when we played together, we would win.

The Trouble with Notebooks

Just like in English, I sat in the back row in history class (with another crappy teacher), I really hammed it up with this Puerto Rican kid. He was tough and kinda gangsta cool so, I kinda admired him. One day I found a way to impress him. Some poor sap had left his notebook in my desk from earlier in the day. He was in ROTC and I hated ROTC guys, because well, I was just wired that way. I took his notebook and wrote all sorts of obscene things on it. I mean, really, really bad, weird stuff. Things that didn't make any sense just to laugh it up with this cool kid that sat next to me. My plan was to leave this folder in another desk or somewhere else, but I was stupid and forgot all about it. I ended up leaving it right in my desk.

The next day, our teacher began class and she said, "N, does this look familiar?" "Huh?" "Did you do this?" My cool friend laughed out loud. I couldn't deny it and I was sent straight to the office. One of the VP's took me in and looked at the notebook. "Do you know him?" "No." "Why did you do it?" "I don't know." "Well, you're going to call your mother and tell her what you did right now. Then you are going to replace this notebook and bring me a new one tomorrow." I called my Mom at work to tell her and she was upset. Like the quiet shocked upset. The kind that makes you feel really bad because you let your mom down. Ouch.

I was pretty mad at myself. I thought about what my Mom and Dad would do when they would see this crazy, curse word-filled notebook.. I mean, the F word was scrawled all over it. THE F WORD. I don't think I had ever cursed in front of them at that point in my life. This was going to kill them. What's a boy to do?

Then, waiting for the bus after school, it struck me like lighting. I started drawing over the worst of it. I remember making weird ugly faces out of the words and drawing sharks and crazy monsters that covered over the curse words. Of course, I kept some of it, but I had saved myself serious trouble. No one ever found out about that one. Until NOW.  (Lost "Boom" sound effect).

The Try- Out

Another big event happened early in the fall when I tried out for the basketball team. My freshmen year, they only allowed the kids that signed up for the special Basketball class try out (my 8th grade coach was an asshole (I don't use that word lightly either) and refused to sign me into that class, because I wasn't in "athletics" period of 8th grade). Anyway, it was me and maybe 6-10 other guys.We were invited in to a JV practice one Saturday morning. I knew my chances were slim, even though there were clearly guys on the JV team that were only on the team because they played football or because they were big. There were even a few short players and I knew I could take some of them one on one. Even still, I knew my only shot was to play up a particular role.

So, I went balls to the wall playing the hustle/crazy-defense-white-guy-that-will-likely-never-play-in-the-games-unless-they-are-blowouts. I had to guard a very good player and I made his life a living hell, I was draped all over him and I am sure I probably fouled him quite a bit. I think I got the ball twice, and the one time I got it, of COURSE I shot it, and missed.  I got a few boards, played good D (my man scored once on a tough shot in 20 minutes) and you can guess what happened.

 (I didn't make it, in case you couldn't figure it out).

The Shame

Some time during the year, probably when I was in some dark place I started listening to country music. I still look back in shame. You have to understand that country music in San Antonio in 1992 was HUGE. To my credit, I did like some credible stuff like Dwight Yoakam.  Look, don't hold it against me, I was young and stupid. I grew out of it by the summer before my senior year.

 

Actually, this is a pretty solid song. I would listen to this one on my Walkman, over and over and over. 

Still with all my defeats, my life wasn't all bad. I was reasonably happy. I had friends. We had fun. I have a ton of memories of spending the night at friend's houses and renting a NES, Genesis or SNES game and staying up really late. We played a lot of street basketball after school and my YMCA  basketball season was fun. I was involved in our church youth group and we had a lot of good times. My family life was mainly good (except when my report card would come in).

The Victory of '93

Even though I didn't act like it, I really did like English class. I loved Animal Farm, An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge and Julius Caesar, but I just wasn't consistent in my efforts. I was stupid (Exhibit A: the fact I was a fan of country music). A few years ago, I spotted my sophomore report card at my parent's house. My grades for each term in English were something like this: 82, 73, 91, 71, 58, 84.  I am sure I was a perplexing student for my teacher.

Anyway, at the end of the year I finally found a project I could get into. The assignment was to present a novel to the class as one of it's characters. We would basically summarize the plot, characters, etc. and have the class ask questions about our story. I had just read Micheal Crichton's Eaters of the Dead (which, I recently re-read this past May and discovered that over 20 years later - it just isn't that good). So, I went with the lead of the book. I also borrowed a costume from my dad that he had made for a church VBS production (he was David in his prime). Because the main character is from the Middle East, I began practicing my Arabic accent, although looking back it probably sounded more Indian. I spent hours getting my facts down straight about the novel and practicing my accent.  I figured everyone was going to do that sort of thing.

Boy, was I wrong. Most everyone held their note cards in their hand and just read off their report in first-person. It was boring. I think one other student dressed up, but I was the only one to give it in an accent as an actual character.  Looking back I am proud I wasn't afraid to perform. I guess I knew I did a hell of a job and wanted to show off. The students in class looked shocked when I came into the room to present (I had stepped out to change in the restroom). They were even more shocked when I started talking. After all, I was pretty quiet in class and didn't answer too many questions. No doubt about it, I did great and it felt good.  I ended up getting 110 for dressing up and a nice note from my teacher on my score sheet. I kept that sheet for a long time. It was a small victory but small victories in purgatory sure do mean a lot.

Who Would Jesus De-friend? The Problem with American Christianity

One of my FB "friends" posted this the other day:

"If you in any way, shape, or form support Planned Parenthood, please unfriend me now. You are no friend of mine."

Of course, this was in response to the recent Planned Parenthood controversy. Of course, she is a conservative Christian.

My mind instantly contrasted her attitude with that of  Jesus'.  So, I thought of questions I could send her:

• Who would Jesus "unfriend"? 
• Wouldn't you be more likely to change a friend's mind on abortion if they remained your FB "friend"? 
• Might your attitude help reinforce stereotypes of the "Judgmental Christian"?
• Could your attitude help foster ill will towards your political allies and more importantly, Christianity? 

Of course I didn't send them.

I am sure she posted out of sheer anger and frustration. I am sure she felt compelled to preach the "truth" to others because she (and I) feel like we have little control over a crazy world around us. I suppose the real question to ask is:

When will Christians figure it out?

Love is the answer, not judging.

You will not change minds by being angry. You will not change minds by screaming at people in person or online on Facebook. You will most certainly not change minds by allying yourself with politicians. 20th century Christianity sold it's soul for 3 more decades of "cultural relevance" but its alignment with politics has left it bankrupt in the mind of the public.

Christians are seen as walking in lockstep with the GOP. Christians are often seen as mean, judgmental, anti-poor, even anti-tipping! Christians are generally seen to hate homosexuals and even science. The stereotype ain't that far off, either. They are defined by fear, repression and basically the word "no".

Judging others dismisses their perspective and makes the other person feel angry and not valued.

Love includes others in the conversation, listens and gains respect of the other person.

I don't blame my "friend" for the downfall of American Christianity, but she sure ain't helping either.

The Storyteller's Daughter

Tonight at story time, E told me she wanted to tell C and I a story as well. Of course, I obliged and I was actually delighted to hear what creative story she might come up with.

The following is a paraphrase of the story and it's missing some details, but I will give it my best.

I have entitled it: The Saddest Story Ever Told 

There was once a baby panda that "lost its mother to a tiger". The baby panda was very sad.

The baby panda climbed to the top of a hill that had one "lonely tree" at the top of the hill. "Actually, it was an ant hill" and a giant ant came out of the hill and killed the panda.

Yup, that's my little E!

The Monster and the Blessing

Life is intertwined with death.

When you are young, you can see death, but it's so far away you have to squint to see it properly. Like the boogie man, it's scary but it doesn't seem real - at least not for someone your age.

As you get older, you learn of it's devastating power. There is no denying that you will be a victim some day. Death becomes menacing and you can finally hear him and see him up close for the first time. Grandparents, neighbors, maybe even someone very close to you are lost to the Monster and you are terrified. Yet, you are so busy finding out who you are, you barely have time to turn around and notice. It's getting closer.

Then you reach middle age and you learn the Curse of old age....as you find yourself counting how many dead people you know. Just as you feel you've gotten comfortable in your own skin, the Monster has crept closer. You realize it's very likely you are now half-way finished with your life. Sometimes at night, you feel as though you can turn around and touch the Monster.

Almost by accident you find yourself in old age. Death will wander right behind you, slowly becoming your shadow. An ever faithful companion, he will guide your path. Only the lucky or the brave of heart find that Monster isn't all bad - he is your friend that will end the Curse and the inevitable pain that a long life brings.

All this is to say death has followed us this year closer than I would like. It hasn't touched me (at least that I am aware), he's just destroyed a few friends and a close family member.

This year has brought much reflection - on my own mortality (as if I needed more of an impetus). I thought of the practical side of death and getting our shit in order, my legacy and the afterlife. I reflected on my funeral or memorial service, I reflected on the fact that time is slipping through my hands every single day oh so quickly - and there's not a thing to be done about that.

I don't know about my legacy and I don't think I care about what most people think. I care about what my wife and kids think - that's really all that matters in terms of legacy.  I don't know about anything else if I'm really being honest. I have many questions, I have only a few answers.

What I do know is that if I die tomorrow, it will be as a blessed, even lucky man.

I could list all the cool stuff I have seen and done. The places I have visited, the people I have been fortunate enough to meet. The fun I have had and the "important things" I have accomplished. Most importantly, I could tell you about amazing people I have been blessed enough to love and to receive love back from.

But then, it would just be a big ego-trip.

When I think about alternate universes (and frankly between you and me, I don't think they exist) - I think this is probably the best one. Well, except for maybe the one where I get drafted by the Spurs and retain the same wife and kids.  If I die tomorrow, my only complaint  would be that I couldn't continue to be the husband and father for my wife and kids. My quality of life up until today could only be graded as an A+. I tumbled and stumbled my way into a sweet spot. I really can't take any credit either.

I'm so damned lucky and I didn't deserve a lick of it.

So a cheers tonight to the living and a toast to the recently departed. I can't control the good luck I have had but I'll do my best to remember you and keep being the best father and husband I can be. Oh, and I'll have a little fun too along the way, poking fun at that Monster and hoping to keep him at bay for at least 4 more decades.

Checking in Fragments of Sadness

Bean Dip is my weakness.

Also, the Spurs were truly amazing.

Additionally, our Peru Study Abroad was truly amazing.

Life hasn't all been roses for us, as we had a great tragedy in our family last week.

Much to think and write about.

I'll check in soon.

Poem Post: Visiting Grandpa

I feel like I am making up for lost time with the blog. Here's a poem I wrote in 03-04 around the time my mother's father passed. It's a sad little thing but it captured my thoughts at the time.

visiting grandpa


i found him trembling in room 504

i remember thinking he looked like a defeated Indian chief

his face looked sad, brown and weathered

i combed his hair

and spoon fed him lunch

his bruised hands held mine

i am sure he doesn't know who i am

vast sadness filled those halls

with or without,

we all die alone.

February 12th: Time, Loss and Memory

12 years ago on the February 12th I was watching the Spurs v. Sixers in a bar in College Station, TX. It was a Friday and I was out having fun. It had been a long, hard week (as much as a typical spoiled college student's life could be called "hard").

After my roommate and I had finished our weekly radio show, we grabbed some food, cleaned up at our apartment and joined some friends to bar-hop. I somehow managed (with a lot of help of my friends) to become plastered. It was the drunkest I have ever been, before or since.

I remember lots of beer, shots and laughing a lot. We went to regular bars, shot bars, and at least two different dance clubs. At the second dance club I began to find the whole scene really pathetic (this often happened around 2:00 AM for me). In my inebriated state I couldn't find my friends at the club so I decided to walk home.

This might have been a good idea if I wasn't all of the below:

A) Drunk, really, really drunk

B) In cold weather with no jacket

C) about 2-3 miles away from home

D) 2-3 miles from home and having to cross major thoroughfares

Nonetheless, I left. I wasn't mad, I just wanted to leave and I was ready to sleep. So I began my journey and I kept repeating to myself, "don't get hit by a car", "don't look drunk" -- over and over again. Finally, I arrived home.

I had a message on our answering machine. I pushed the button and there it was.

The worst message of my life.

I called my friend back as she didn't say exactly what had happened. I thought she was stuck somewhere drunk without a designated driver.  I soon found out that one of my close friends had died in a car wreck earlier that day....probably sometime during our radio show.

I told her she was wrong or that she didn't know for sure. It was a classic denial stage setting in. However, the initial shock and disbelief was quickly fomenting into anger. I was seething with life, everything, God -- I kicked and punched the walls. In my drunken stupor I squirmed on the floor like a child writhing in rage. How could God take my beautiful friend? How could he take my best friend’s little sister? I screamed and repeated obscenities over and over. I expected to somehow black out so it could all to go away. As I recall these flashbacks so vividly - it’s like a tiny glimpse of hell itself.

It was so hard to understand. It's still hard to remember but as I write I feel just a shadow, a ghost feeling that still lingers just a little while as I write about it.

Mikey was special. Not in the "great person" special - she was special because she was different. She was moody, funny, fun-loving, jig-saw puzzle and old movie loving, quick to anger but most of all, my friend. She had a way of making you do just about anything for her. Maybe she was manipulative but more than that I think she was magnetic. When we weren't fighting or annoyed with one another she could make me feel special. She did this to everyone, because at her memorial service, she had just about everyone convinced. Everyone thought they were Mikey's best friend because she made everyone feel part of her world.

So, why rehash all this?. Is it some kind of therapeutic thing? A need to story-tell as to feel better about it? No, I got over Mikey's passing a long time ago.

I'm writing because I feel guilty.

I feel guilty because every year, Mikey fades away a little more. I think about her a little less than the year before. I had a little photo of Mikey next to my bed for years that I finally put away about five years ago. Assuredly, I probably forget more every year; the way she would smile or how she would say a certain word. I feel guilty because I have moved on.

This isn't to say I have forgotten her or that I don't think about her. She still sneaks into my dreams every so often. The last time I was a time traveler trying to warn her not to get into the car. But, cruelly and inevitably, time keeps moving. Mikey's still 19 and now I'm 33. She's staying in college and now I'm a father of two (with another on the way). She's still young and vibrant and now I'm older, mature and settled.

God willing, I'll keep getting older. I'm sure some details will continue to fade and there's nothing I can do about that.

However, blurry memories, are still memories. And its true, I have moved on, but I won't ever truly forget. I'm sure Mikey would want it that way.

So I'm writing today because I want to feel sad again.

I want to remember that the world lost something 12 years ago this month. It lost a true individual who was loved by many. We still miss you, Mikey.

yeah, she was crazy, but ya know, a good crazy.

sad day

9 years ago on a Friday night I almost died.  I was driving north of Brady, Texas at dusk (otherwise known as the middle of nowhere).  I veered my truck in a lame attempt to dodge 2-3 deer who wanted to cross the road.  I not only managed to hit one of the deer but fliped my truck at least 4-5 times.

My left arm was bleeding pretty bad and I knew I was starting to experience shock.  As my vision faded in and out, the thing I remember most was just wanting to live.  There was no baragining with God or reflecting on how I had lived life - no pain, no fear - just a desire to live.

Eventually, I had to be cut out of the truck and had to be taken to the hospital.  I had a fractured wrist, 2nd-3rd degree "road rash" burns on my left arm and hand and had over 40 stitches.  I was blessed to make it out so nicely.  I was happy to be alive and trying to figure out what it all "meant".

I was a full-time graduate student and a part time substitute teacher so I didn't have to go to work and had no plans to work for at least a week. Having experienced my own existential crisis on Friday made Tuesday all the more real and emotional.

Tuesday morning, my mom woke me up (I was living with my parents) to tell me a plane had hit one of the World Trade Center towers. This was still very early so the media was still trying to figure out if it was an accident.  Like everyone else, the rest of the day had me glued to the television like no other time before or since.

I had a class that night and reluctantly left home. As I drove to school I realized that we would probably bomb someone for this. I had already realized that's just what the murderers probably wanted. It was a test they knew we would fail.

Tonight I think back with regret and sadness for that day. I think back with a heavy heart to the toll that 9/11 took on the world.  Not only in its impact that day but for the foreign policy nightmare that started the very next day.

9 years later and hundreds of thousands more dead, we've seen more blood, violence and tears than we could have imagined at the time. Now we're saddled with the never-ending political football called "The War on Terror".

It's enough to make you cry all over again.