Hiroshima Revisited: Out of the Ashes

Atomic bomb test at Bikini Island

Atomic bomb test at Bikini Island

Eight years, three months, and six days before I was prematurely born, an atomic bomb was dropped on the city of Hiroshima, Japan. Three days later another was dropped on Nagasaki, and the Second World War was essentially over.

All my life I have heard stories, seen pictures, and watched movies about this catastrophic event, read and listened to explanations of why it was necessary, and felt like Americans were reasonably justified in using “the bomb” to defend freedom and rid the world of tyranny.

Although this bomb was specific to Japan’s fate, I classed Japan right along with Germany (we were taught the Japanese were even more vicious than the Germans), and viewed this as the good old U.S.A. finally giving them the varnishing they deserved.

When I turned 50 many years ago my family took me to Austria, and while there we visited a work camp where Jews were tortured and exterminated (Mauthausen); it was a sobering and unforgettable experience. I felt compelled to ask our 20-something Austrian tour guide how he felt about the atrocities and the part some of his ancestors played in the tragic deaths of so many Jews there. He said he saw his work as a “mission” of sorts.

That response fit my view of things, and I was most appreciative of his perspective.

But just a few weeks ago I got into a conversation with a Japanese man as he was visiting Stone Mountain Park. We discussed the American Civil War, and he commented to me that one of the informative films we show at the park (regarding the Civil War in Georgia, narrated by Hal Holbrook) ends with some poignant words. In fact, he had recorded the audio of the film and then typed out the final paragraph; the words were that meaningful to him.

Not because of his interest in our Civil War; rather, because he saw great use for the words “. . . but out of the ashes there arose a new Georgia . . .” as they might relate to his mother country, Japan. In truth, he uses these words even now as he teaches Japanese visitors to the U.S. about their own native country, to instill pride, and to give new perspective to a people who are tempted to see themselves as a beaten and guilty populace, a shameful nation.

Do you think he does this by explaining that the atrocities of World War II are behind them, but that they have “risen” from the proverbial “ashes” and become a nation of economic strength and political power?

If you think this, you would be . . . wrong.

On the contrary. He teaches them that the goal of colonization they had in that war was identical to the practice of colonization by Britain; there is no difference whatsoever. It wasn’t that Japan acted wrongly in the war; only that they were beaten.

And it is not shameful merely to be beaten. Unfortunate perhaps, but not an indicator of wrong. Their failure to succeed in no way reflects on the moral nature of their quest.

I have never had a conversation with someone from Japan who upheld that nation’s role in the war. I was intrigued.

Perspective is everything, I suppose. Vantage point is most telling.

You can never assume you are seeing things the same as another. What is crystal clear to you my escape them entirely. Or they might conclude something in diametric opposition to what you have concluded. What is crystal clear to them escapes you completely. Perhaps even after an open discussion about it.

In our modern day wisdom we often conclude that this is evidence of how truth is relative, and how each person must decide for himself/herself what is true for them as individuals. And then we just learn to live together peacefully, cohabiting in the midst of our varied points of view, all of which are RIGHT to us, but which may differ remarkably.

I think not.

What I DO think is that it is evidence once again that, as someone recently put it, “the winner gets to write the history.” We tend to think that the prevailing point of view must be the correct one, even though we know from the history of the world that isn’t so, and that new ideas find it hard to get footing, much less prevalence.

And it reminds me, too, that people tend to perceive things in way that is palatable with their emotional life experience; our reason usually takes a back seat to how safe we feel.

What is an honest thinker to do?

Keep thinking, I suppose. Keep looking. Keep considering. And keep on keeping on.

There is no Plan B.

Our perspectives will change as we grow in understanding. Things that were sacred to us at one point in life will find their way to the dumpster. And things we undervalued or disdained may, in the end, find a place of high priority in our lives.

There is no shame in timely change. Only in refusing to exercise it.

Each of us engaged in a pursuit of truth is regularly rising from the proverbial ashes; we are never finished. And we must never give up.

Posted in Stories, Uncategorized, World War II | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 8 Comments

Full Range of Motion

Man Lifting Weights

Photo by Spirit-Fire

I love working out at the gym! Well . . . let me qualify that statement: sometimes I love working out at the gym. Other times I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck and just want to lay on the couch and sink into the cushions. What I truly love is the result of working out at the gym, so I heartily recommend exercise: it not only contributes to longevity of life – it improves the quality of that longevity.

There are a variety of exercise options out there, of course, so choose what works best for you, i.e. what fits your particular schedule, and personal tastes.

But whatever you do . . . do it right! Yes, I know that sounds a bit legalistic, but the truth is there are lots of folks who try to exercise without learning the most beneficial (proper) ways to do so. And . . . it does make a difference in your results.

Of course, your objectives will determine what exercises you do, and how you do them. But often I see gym-folk (“gym-folk” definition: much like Tolkien’s hobbits, only not so hairy) breaking one of the old cardinal rules of exercise, i.e. failing to use full range of motion. One example from the world of weightlifting will suffice: failing to use full range of motion while doing forward curls (not allowing the muscle to lengthen to full extension).

Once again, let me clarify: if your objective is merely to exhaust a muscle group, or make it pop so that it looks sculpted, then pardon me. But if you are trying to gain strength, flexiblity, and utility you should always attempt to exercise with full range of motion. [Now I realize I may have awakened and inflamed the gods and goddesses of exercise with that assertion. If so, please correct me at will.]

Of course, my point in this blog is not really to discuss exercise. You aren’t surprised, are you? This morning, while sitting in a Chick-Fil-A, I was reminded that life itself endorses the principle of full range of motion. Or one might say full range of e-motion.

We were discussing the loss of a close friend (Brenda) almost two weeks ago, and that led to a conversation about the sides of life from which we tend to shy away: death, terminal illness, devastating loss, grieving, depression, etc. (the list goes on). It’s interesting (and quite telling) to me that even though these and other difficult experiences are just as much a part of life as the “good” times we experience, these are not the topics you see on billboards; these are like the underbelly of life, and we would hide them if we could.

It occurs to me that the major corporations (including the fast food chain I was enjoying) all focus on the aspects of life devoid of this underbelly. In other words, we live and function as if we will live forever, i.e. we exercise the muscles of life without embracing their full range of motion. We accentuate the popping biceps of life; we ignore (until forced to do otherwise) the underbelly that remains soft and mushy, underdeveloped.

And we’re all about results, right? Indeed!

Yet when it comes to walking through these less-than-preferable times of life, experiencing the full range of e-motion in life, we are reduced to beginners, novices. And we fight the full range of motion as if it’s our enemy; we want to show off our sculpted muscles, but that means we can’t show the entirety of our physique.

The movie, Inside Out (2015), is a wonderful story that describes a young girl (Riley) whose full range of emotions (Joy, Fear, Anger, Disgust, and Sadness) are all utilized to help her cope with her family’s relocation halfway across the country. The original story by Pete Docter and Ronnie Del Carmen, validates the necessity for the entire orchestra of our emotions, the “full range” if you will.

The bench press of life can be somewhat unforgiving if one does not exercise with the full range of motion required for a proper lift. Underdeveloped areas create a hotbed for muscles strains and tears. And if we’re not careful, we may discover all-too-late, that the areas of life we tried to ignore were, in fact, the parts that would have given us the physique for which we long.

Posted in Stories, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Kicking the Pricks

I lost a friend last night; she died peacefully, surrounded by her family. And all of us, family and friends alike, are asking the question: “Why did she have to go like this?”

This life presents interesting challenges, to say the least. It is full of joys and hopes, tragedies and pain; many questions remain unanswered even when we reach old age. We try our best to make sense of it all, looking for reason, logic, purpose. Sometimes we think we can see it, but other times our faces are blank with confusion.

There are at least two ways we can deal with the events of our lives: we can accept them, or we can fight against them. I think we all likely dabble a bit in both. But more often than not, for me at least, I begin my reaction to negative events with rebellion, fighting against them as if I somehow can amass enough power to change things.

Rising blood pressure is common as we age, especially if our diet is the typical American diet. Efforts to control that pressure without medication can sometimes be helpful, but eventually most of us succumb to taking a pill. The same is true of cholesterol; in only a small percentage of cases can it be significantly brought under control by diet.

I fight these notions tooth and nail, and I set out to conquer my demons through any means available to me. But eventually I give up, weary and worn, and no closer to control than I was before.

By the way, I’m not suggesting that effort is futile in all areas of life (even areas related to health), or that our behaviors are not responsible for a large number of negative life issues. Indeed they are. I am all about exercise, and taking the proper precautions.

What I am saying is this: there are numberless situations and events in life in which the outcome is unacceptable to us. Not just disappointing. Not just annoying. But purely unacceptable. Some would add unjust, abjectly wrong.

We come out fighting, we vow not to be defeated, we intend to set things straight. But with time . . . we faint; weariness overtakes us, and we succumb to the harsh reality of WHAT IS. Eventually, there is acceptance.

But before acceptance we “kick against the pricks” (to use the Old Greek proverbial expression that described the farmer’s oxen attempting to go off the path, then being goaded by the sharp iron spikes intended to return them to the proper route). Our dukes are up, and we enter the ring with something resembling rage.

Life is not turning out the way we planned. Or (if you are religious) God does not seem to be acting justly and fairly in this situation. We approach the death, the suicide, the job loss, the chronic illness, the thwarted plans, etc. with our heels dug in. As if our objection might change something. As if our deliberate denial and nonacceptance of the event has the power to alter it in our favor.

We kick against the pricks, the sharp iron goads of the life-harness we wear, and it smarts. It smarts something awful at times. And the more we kick, the deeper the hurt.

Many persons of religious faith lose their convictions in these moments. Because whether we like it or not each of us has a “God of our understanding” (to use the 12 Step phrase); that understanding is the worldview you hold. Sometimes it may FIT the events of your life, and sometimes it may not. And when it does not – the conundrums abound.

“God is good,” religious folks say quite glibly sometimes. When often what they mean is that everything in life is making pretty good sense to them at the moment. But let disaster strike, then watch the antics they go through to explain the actions they attribute to God.

Could it be . . . could it be  . . . just maybe, that we religious folks have created for ourselves a God of our understanding that is primarily palatable, plausible, and perceivable?

But not real?

I must ask myself how much I truly understand about the way the world works. I must consider that my notions of fairness and justice and love, although lofty and helpful indeed, may not be the benchmarks of the universe.

I confess that the issues of good and evil, right and wrong, are debatable topics. Granted! And I will not attempt to delve into my worldview in that regard in this blog (even though it would be extremely important and appropriate to do so). What I am wanting to suggest is that our serenity in life is in direct proportion to the amount of acceptance we can muster.

In many ways, life is a matter of learning when to fight, and when to acquiesce into acceptance, when to raise your fists in the air, and when to drop your dukes in surrender.

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Orange is the New . . . WHAT, exactly?

Eventually we are going to have to deal with this, you know!

I’m not talking about global warming, or the earth’s diminishing supply of fossil fuels. And I am not referring to overpopulation, the reemerging fear of potential nuclear conflict, or a myriad of other topics over which we obsess nowadays.

But I am talking about erosion. Or at least a type of erosion.

Folks were reeling weeks ago over Brock Turner’s rape of a young woman, his conviction, and subsequent “soft” sentence (six months in prison). The young woman’s intimate multi-page description of the assault has engendered a public outcry on her behalf and fueled an angry response directed at the criminal justice system.

But wait just a minute . . . .

What are we so upset about?

The young man SAID he made a mistake under the influence of alcohol, and that his victim did the same. What more can we want from him?

Increasingly, our social duplicity is starting to show.

A couple of years ago I wrote an unpublished page in response to the news of Apple‘s CEO, Tim Cook, and his “coming out.” In it I opted for adding a new letter to the LGBT community acronym; this was long before Q came into common use, of course. I was opting for adding the letter A to the acronym, resulting in LGBTA.

The A was supposed to stand for adulterer. And I think I can make a pretty fair case that one is “wired” for that sexual tendency, and finds it “natural” to them. [BTW, no, I don’t think this is going to catch on, so don’t be looking for it in printed materials, or in newscasts any time in the next millennium or so].

I mention that only because the laws in the countries of this globe on which we reside reflect the moral fiber and basic understanding of what is acceptable and unacceptable in our world. That almost goes without saying.


But erosion changes things, doesn’t it?

Sometimes the changes are good, we think. Sometimes we release unfair and unjust rules in order to replace them with a new found idea of what is good and right and just. Is it possible, however, that sometimes we release the wrong things, and replace them with rules and concepts that undermine the very soil upon which we stand?

Weeks ago, a small hole in my yard caught my attention as I mowed. I assumed it was a hole made by a ground squirrel or something like that, but as I poked at it the ground surrounding it began to cave in. Finally I had a hole in the dirt that could easily turn or break an ankle. I filled it in and covered it to indicate the danger.

I know there are various points of view and strong passionate opinions about the subject matter in question. And my intent in this blog entry is not to bog down in that mire. Rather, my intent is simply to ask you to consider how things have changed with regard to one social rule: adultery.

Once punishable by death in certain countries it is now not even against the law in Europe, or most of Latin America. And where it is still on the books in the United States the execution of a penalty for it is almost nonexistent. Why is that?

Truthfully, our society no longer tends to see adultery as a very wrong thing. In fact, we are so accustomed to it that we often celebrate it in our entertainment, and we fumigate any residual negatives about it by adding the unquestioned component of “love” into the mix.

My point is this: we can react passionately to the injustice of the rape of a young woman and at the same time accept the sometimes cavalier attitude of the adulterer, defending his/her actions as understandable. [Some would even go far as to say the rape was understandable, too, in light of the alcohol abuse].

Our sexual moorings are in transition, aren’t they? And who is to say how much slack can be allowed in our moral rope before we hang ourselves; before the proverbial ground we are standing on caves in under us and we collapse much to our chagrin?

We are the “frog in the kettle,” (thank you, George Barna) slowly being warmed to a murderous boil, unaware of our coming demise, basking in the freedom of love, acceptance of new ideas and moral codes, and the pride and assurance that comes from being so well informed.

We have been delivered from the burdensome chains of antiquated morality, and have now evolved into a society that is progressive, up-to-date, and not held down by the defunct mores of the misty past. Aren’t you glad?

Orange may indeed be the new black. And it takes no rocket scientist to see that the colors of the jumpsuits are not all that is “new.”

Do you like the change?

Well, buckle up!

It is time to pay the piper.

Posted in Stories, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 8 Comments

“May I Please Use the Rest Room?”

“May I please use the rest room?” Oh, the countless times I heard this request as a school teacher in decades gone by. I’m certain I uttered it myself as a student on many occasions, too, my bladder yearning for relief from the building pressure.

One ashen-faced high school student voiced the same request to me one afternoon just before the bell, then proceeded to regurgitate his lunch all over the classroom floor. Unforgettable moments.

We are a delicate society in many respects, I suppose. Most kids my age did not grow up on a farm, so we were unaware of many of nature’s surprises until a late age, e.g. how babies are made, etc. We were taught to keep “private parts” private, and to “do our business” without an audience. Those who did not do so were considered crude and inappropriate, and were often punished for it by parents and school officials.

I’m not sure we are always better off as a society with our niceties; in fact, I could easily make the case (I think) that our ignorance of natural things has often intensified and abetted an unnatural interest in things natural. But . . . that is a separate discussion.

Growing up in my generation the boys were always intrigued and fascinated by the difference between them and the girls. We all wondered what it was like in the girl’s restroom, and in what way it might be different. The mysteries that surrounded sexuality fueled the quest and fanned the flame. On occasion, some boy willing to risk behaving inappropriately would venture into a girl’s bathroom in an attempt to rend the curtain of privacy and mystery. But that was rare.

Kids in school today live in a very different world than the one I just described. One has only to go to the internet to see in HD quality what it looks like for a man and a woman to engage in sexual intercourse. Or to watch two gay men having anal sex. Or to watch two lesbians imitating vaginal intercourse. One can see shemales on the internet. One can watch what used to be called “bestiality,” too.

In fact, on the internet ABSOLUTELY NOTHING is taboo. You can watch people as their throats are cut, and see them as they expire; watch people blown up in explosions and see the aftermath.

The problem now is not the sheltering of children as they mature; rather, the absence of any shelter at all. Presidential candidates insulting one another, insinuating that the size of the others’ penis is small. We certainly aren’t called “the land of the free” for nothing, are we? We have become so free we almost no longer have any constraints at all.

There is no mystery any longer.

There is no surprise.

But instead of experiencing relief due to this knowledge of all things natural, instead of awareness defusing unstable and explosive intrigue, we have exacerbated the problems of maturing, and have created expectations as unlikely as a siting of Sasquatch.

We have learned to prefer the counterfeit to the real; the imaginary to the factual. That is “how we roll,” as we now say. We are taught how life is to be lived by watching any one of a number of countless TV channels, or by streaming video on the internet, not by the wisdom of those in our family who have lived it before us. [I say that, but realize that now we are fast approaching a time when many of those who have gone before us have indeed tried to live life by what they saw on their electronic devices].

But now our issues are more complex than just male and female, boy and girl. Our sexual identities, we are told, can be different from our physically determined genders. So, we might be male physically, but female in our sexual identity. Or we might be female physically, but male in our sexual identity. Or we might be male physically, and male in our sexual identity, but we prefer male sexual relationships. Or we might be female physically, and female in our sexual identity, but we prefer female sexual partners. Or we might be either male or female physically, and male or female in our sexual identity, and prefer both male and female sexual relationships. Or . . . .

Can the list go on, perhaps? I think it can.

You see, things have gotten very complex.

Now, when a student says, “May I please use the rest room?” the teacher can’t really be sure which rest room the student wishes to use. Why does it matter? When I was teaching I was encouraged to be careful not to allow two students in the same bathroom at the same time (to help make sure the bathroom request was legitimate, and not just an effort for two students to skip class together).

Granted, the more crafty boys and girls could ask to use the bathroom around the same time, and thereby create a time to rendezvous as a couple. But now the situation is much more complex. Because the teacher doesn’t know if it’s a boy wanting to go into the same restroom as a girl . . . or a boy wanting to go into the same restroom as another boy . . . or a transgender person wanting . . . .

Does anyone just go to the bathroom anymore? Or does it ALL have a sexual undertone?

I had a psychology teacher in high school who used to begin class by individually asking students, “Who are you?” Once a response was given, he would rapidly ask the same student again, “Who are you?” He would do this several times, undoubtedly in an effort to peal back layers of identity, for no one gave the same answer twice.

Identity is an odd, yet many-splendored thing.

But it must surely be determined before one chooses which bathroom to use.

Or maybe . . . that can be just as changeable as the weather. And why not? Who’s to say it can’t be, or shouldn’t be? Who, indeed?

The United States government is suing the State of North Carolina because it has allegedly violated the U.S. Constitution by discriminating against transgender persons, and North Carolina is suing the U.S. government over the effect of its new and unique interpretation of discrimination with regard to “sex” (i.e. to include chosen sexual identity) and the resulting legal action. This conundrum is a proverbial Gordian Knot.

Corporate business in a number of sectors is taking sides, and the public at large is doing so as well. Our country is splintering.

So, let’s just take the name MEN and WOMEN, or BOYS and GIRLS off the doors of our restrooms. It just doesn’t matter anymore. I came out of a MEN’S bathroom at a coffee shop a couple of weeks ago, only to trade places with a WOMAN. And I have seen MEN coming out of WOMEN’S restrooms at my place of work, too. Maybe we should just make all public restrooms with a single toilet and a lock on the door. Would that take care of the issue?

And, more importantly, all the while we are wrestling over the sociopolitical issues and implications of this dilemma there is a more serious issue facing us, much like the oft mentioned nine-tenths of an iceberg that sits below the surface of the frigid water.

Not only are our CORE VALUES changing as a society (being brought more up-to-date, in the opinion of many), but there is no longer any agreement as to the SOURCE of our core values. It’s as if we’re flying by the seat of our pants . . . and the pant material is getting dangerously thin.

We are flying the massive 747 Airplane of LIFE with a Cessna engine. And friends, I don’t care how plush it is in the passenger area right now – THIS PLANE IS GONNA CRASH!

I was listening to NPR the other day and was struck by a couple of topics that were paramount that day; one will suffice for this blog entry. The discussion was over the rising problem of female sexual assault on college campuses, and the expert being interviewed was harping on the injustice that would be exacted on any perpetrator whose record of college sexual assault was made public. The expert explained that type of “branding” would potentially stick with a student for the rest of his life. And that would be –  unacceptable, of course. No case was made for the victim’s branding, or the injustice done to her.

Has our social focus changed so radically that we are passionately motivated to protect the reputation of those who violate others?

Yes. Such is the measure of our moral resolve these days.

Posted in Family History, Stories, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 5 Comments

Flounder, anyone?

As a young boy growing up in Chattanooga, I was not particularly fond of fish. My father seemed to be enthralled with eating trout, flounder, and other fish wherein navigating fish bones was an accepted part of the process.

I was not the least bit intrigued with fish bones.

Boneless fish fillets were not as common in the 1950s as they are today. I suppose grocers believed the hungry public to be more robust in those days. I say this tongue-in-cheek, of course (or it could merely be a cantankerous fish bone my tongue is wrestling).

As an adult I have learned to enjoy fish of many kinds: salmon, white perch, swordfish, tuna, sea bass, flounder, mahi mahi, etc., but . . . ALWAYS ones that have had the bones removed. Of course, on occasion you will find a nasty bone or two even in the best of fillets, but thankfully that is the exception.

Flounder is an interesting word, isn’t it?

Some think it is a variation of “founder,” and others find it to be a combination of terms. Of course, flounder is not just about a type of fish. More often than not it is used to refer to a clumsy struggle, a helpless stumbling; faltering, wavering, muddling.

Early roots of the word suggest the flopping about of a fish out-of-water. Truly, that is an apt description of what happens when someone flounders, don’t you think? Picture the scaly creature flailing about, desperately attempting to move in hopes that movement of some kind will bring relief.

I see a great deal of floundering these days. I see floundering in the economic community, floundering in the public governance community, floundering in the social service community, floundering in the academic community, floundering in the religious community, etc.

Political officials are making decisions and establishing laws that are polarizing members of the public. Lines are being drawn, but unlike previous eras when a majority of people seemed to agree on the parameters, there exists now a preponderance of varying points of view, often classified by race, gender, sex, or sexual orientation.

We are losing (or have lost) the cohesive nature of our society. We are coming unglued.

From the Panama Papers to the current candidates for President, from Wall Street to the $15 minimum wage, from the controversy over possible LGBTQ discrimination to the assertion that all citizens have a right to affordable health care . . . our melting pot society is approaching a melting point.

We cannot seem to make up our minds on who we are.

Our diversity (which we often applaud), and our open mindedness (which we laud) have made us something like the chameleon; our colors are changeable at will. We have been taught the mantra of tolerance, inclusion, acceptance and openness. And we have become so proud of our assumed “love” for all things human that we no longer have a way to define right and wrong, good and evil, moral and immoral.

We are like the children in the 1989 movie, “Honey, I Shrunk the Kids,”  hiking in the tall grass and weeds of our own backyard, running for our lives from the small insects that have now been elevated to a position of power heretofore unknown.

Our efforts to follow the new mantra, to embrace the new morality, have weakened the very foundations of our society. And . . . there will be a price. There will be a consequence.

Photo by Chris Drumm
Photo by Chris Drumm

Those who reject Divine Revelation and see all religion as antiquated at best (and downright devilish at worst) are convinced that Mankind itself is fully capable of governing itself, establishing a functional moral code of ethics, and exacting proper punishment on those who do not comply.

And yet . . . in the next breath those very same individuals will observe the governance of our country’s legislators and posit that we obviously don’t have the capability to govern our own selves with any sense of fairness or justice.

Recently the State of South Carolina has come under fire for passing laws that give businesses the right to deny services to persons on the basis of sexual orientation, etc. The uproar this has created in many tech companies across the country is formidable. In fact, some states who are opposed to this legislation have requested that persons intending to visit South Carolina not do so. And businesses (the film industry, and others) are plotting ways to withhold work from this state to punish it and apply economic pressure.

It may just be me, but – it sounds like opponents to South Carolina’s discriminatory decision are requesting that citizens use discrimination against South Carolina to coerce them to comply with them.

Odd, isn’t it?

Unless there is a respected standard of behavior to which citizens adhere there will be no end to the social floundering ahead for us. When each man does “what is right in his own eyes” disaster isn’t far away.

When the Magna Carta was issued in 1215 A.D. the intent was to limit King John’s powers and protect the church and the barons from tyrants. Its influence can be seen in the Constitution of the United States as well as the law codes of various nations. It was preceded, of course, by a number of even more ancient law codes; the concept of laws for the masses is as old as civilization.

But what appears to be happening now in our society is a gradual relaxation of certain laws, specifically laws and customs which govern acceptable social behavior, heretofore thought of as morals.

Morality is approaching a point now where the worst abuse of it is to define it.

We are quickly becoming afraid to pronounce a behavior as “right” or “wrong.” That’s because the only thing we are confident in condemning as WRONG is the audacious and narrow minded remark that something might be “right” or “wrong.”

We are lost in a forest of our own making, surrounded by oaks that tower over us and obfuscate the horizon that could serve to guide us in our journey, oaks that once were small plants, and then saplings.

Unaware of our plight we flail about, positing our political points of view, angered by the narrow mindedness around us, and puzzled that others do not share our point of view which clearly is not only sensible but correct, and humane.

We flounder now. But soon we will lie still. Bones all removed. We are a fillet waiting to be fried to a deep golden brown.

I think we need to refer to the cookbook. Because on our own we are bound for the very demise we so earnestly and passionately seek to avoid.

Some say, “there is no cookbook.” Well, if that is so . . . we must be our own rescuers.

Oh dear!

In that case . . . we are doomed!

Posted in Family History, Fathers, Stories, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 12 Comments

What’s Trump?

When I was a boy we played games in my family; it was one of our main sources of entertainment. My father was eager to teach my brother and I how to play chess, and we actually became pretty good, too. One game in which we included Mother, too, was Rook.

I didn’t know until many years later that we weren’t actually playing Rook, at least not in the strictest sense. My first clue was the fact that we never used the Rook Bird Card when hands were dealt. There are a number of games in the Parker Brothers rules wherein the Rook card is not used; we must have learned one of them, I suppose.

At any rate, bids are made after hands are dealt, and if there are four players you can play with two sets of partners. I actually have a sheet of paper where team mates are listed (my father and brother; mother and me) in pencil, bids are recorded, and final scores. [By the way, mother and I got beaten pretty badly in that particular game, and the scoring is left for all posterity to see].

Players bid based on how many points they think they can score with the hand they are dealt. Once bidding begins players must either exceed the bid of the previous player or “pass.” The highest bidder gets to choose the trump color. Of course, this gives you an advantage if you have lots of cards with that color; no face card is greater than the trump color.

If anyone besides my father won the bid, I remember he would immediately utter the question, “What’s trump?”

Lately, I have been reminded of our family games. If you listen to the news on the radio or watch it on TV or on the internet you have no doubt had the same word in mind that I have had: Trump.

Trump is an electric word, isn’t it? There is no neutrality for hearers of that word, today. Our Rook games at home elicited a similar response: when someone revealed the color of trump there was often a sigh of pain or anguish. Only the highest bidder who named trump rejoiced. And that person was left with the task of making sure they earned a minimum of the points they had bid, otherwise they would experience “setback.”

The question, “What’s trump?” could yield one of four responses: (1) red; (2) green; (3) yellow; (4) black. Responses to the way the word is used today are not so simple, although they are usually quite colorful.

I am not a terribly political person (although some would say I am a terrible political person, if you get my drift), but I find myself asking my Dad’s question these days, i.e. “What’s Trump?”

No one seems to know for certain. But he appears to be the most powerful color in the political deck of cards. Trump trumps every opponent he faces, if not with reason then certainly with bravado.

I do not know who I will vote for in November 2016, although I most certainly will vote. But I hope by that point in time I will have the answer to the question so many are asking, i.e. “What’s Trump?”

And I also hope when a player chooses trump he/she will pick a color I can live with.

Shakespeare said, “All the world’s a stage . . . and all the men and women are merely players.”

I would agree. However, life is a show from which you cannot retire and simply go to your home; it is not mere entertainment. The “players,” both men and women, play for keeps.

Posted in Family History, Fathers, Stories, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments