I got another one of those wretched chain e-mails today. This one professed to tell me ten reasons I might (or by implication might not) be a “True American.” I don’t frequently respond to such things. I guess it’s my own way of having one fewer battle to fight and maintaining the status quo, as shameful as that may be. However, one of many in this litany of “properties” that supposedly define Americanism alleged that people should freely speak out, in order to be “Truly American.” In this spirit of sharing our philosophical beliefs, I will respond to each of these behaviorisms, however pithy, unimportant or irrelevant they may be. And I will say what I believe with conviction, “no matter who is listening.” And in the end, as contrary as I am to so many of the things here, I believe I will have made the case that I am, truly, an American. I don’t know if I’ll ever pass this response back to the person who sent the email, but I had to say something at least to myself. Here is the email:
It is time to change from REDNECK humor to TRUE AMERICAN Humor! Only I don't see it as Humor, but the correct way to LIVE YOUR LIFE ! If you feel the same, pass this on to your True American friends. Ya'll know who ya' are...
You might be a TRUE AMERICAN if: It never occurred to you to be offended by the phrase, "One nation, under God."
You might be a TRUE AMERICAN if: You've never protested about seeing the 10 Commandments posted in public places.
You might be a TRUE AMERICAN if: You still say "Christmas" instead of "Winter Festival."
You might be a TRUE AMERICAN if: You bow your head when someone prays.
You might be a TRUE AMERICAN if: You stand and place your hand over your heart when they play the National Anthem.
You might be a TRUE AMERICAN if: You treat Viet Nam! vets with great respect, and always have.
You might be a TRUE AMERICAN if: You've never burned an American flag.
You might be a TRUE AMERICAN if: You know what you believe and you aren't afraid to say so, no matter who is listening.
You might be a TRUE AMERICAN if: You respect your elders and expect your kids to do the same.
You might be a TRUE AMERICAN if: You'd give your last dollar to a friend.
If you got this e-mail from me, it is because I believe that you, like me, have just enough TRUE AMERICAN in you to have the same beliefs as those talked about in this e-mail.
God Bless the USA!
Git 'er done!!
So let’s break this down shall we
“You might be a True American if: It never occurred to you to be offended by the phrase, “One nation, under God.”
Am I offended by this phrase? I suppose not. After all I would have to believe, as a Christian, that it is true. It is true because we are “one nation under God” just the same way a square is a rectangle and a shape at the same time. A square is a shape, but other things are too. I am not offended by the implication that we are a nation under God. I am offended by the narrow-mindedness of its use. I doubt God ever decided that the USA will be a nation under God. Yet we are. Why? We are a nation under God because we are a world under God. God could care less about political borders and social boundaries. We are God’s people, and it doesn’t matter where we live. God has a pretty big job. Any good businessman would tell you it’s a bad idea to micromanage when you don’t have to. Why should God be any different?
Let’s assume for a moment this statement was referring to the Pledge of Allegiance (formerly known as the Pledge to the Flag). It is safe to assume we are referring specifically to the most recent version of the Pledge (circa 1954, yes only 52 years old!) since it is the only one that actually includes the phrase “under God.” Whether or not I am offended by this phrase is a tricky distinction even for me to make. For one, nobody is forced to say it, not even school children. That’s right the Supreme Court ruled that children could not be required to recite the Pledge in public schools. Don’t worry; this wasn’t judicial activism against religion. This ruling came down in 1943, long before religion had anything to do with the Pledge of Allegiance.
As I pointed out above, I don’t dispute the premise of the phrase “under God,” but I’d be a fool (one of many apparently) if I thought nobody disagreed with my religious views. While I am not offended by the phrase, I must object to its use in official government business, because I know it can’t possibly apply to everybody equally. The right to practice religion cuts both ways. You have, practice, share, love and live your religion, and the Government has no power to stop you. Must we force the Government to do our religion for us? Aren’t we faithful enough Christians to believe what we do simply because we choose to? Doesn’t that make our faith stronger? I know it would make me feel better. Just ask any toddler how it feels to do something “all by myself!”
“You might be a True American if: You’ve never protested about seeing the [Ten] Commandments posted in public places.”
First of all, I must make a confession: I have never protested about seeing the Ten Commandments posted anywhere. Second, WOW! There’s taking patriotism to a seriously cynical level in six seconds flat. I might be a True American because of something I didn’t do? According to this rule, there are an awful lot of German, Italian, South African, Chinese, Korean, Russian, Indian, Pakistani, and even Iraqi (gasp!) people who “might be a True American.”
Okay, I’ll stop playing dumb. I actually do know what the author of this list really meant. Now whether or not I agree with the statement depends on what is meant by “public places.” If public simply means places that are open to the public (frequently meaning privately owned property that the general public uses like restaurants and malls) then I have no problem with anything (and I really do mean anything) being posted wherever people would like. But why don’t we get specific? Since the political battle this statement is obviously referring to is still ongoing and fresh in our minds, shouldn’t it say “You might be a True American if: You’ve never protested about seeing the Ten Commandments posted in government buildings”? There is a whole other ball of wax.
I believe the Ten Commandments have no place in government facilities partially for reasons I have stated above regarding the Pledge of Allegiance. I can’t ignore what is probably the most central conflict over this issue, and that is the posting of the Ten Commandments in courtrooms. Courtrooms are about law, not about rhetoric. The laws of our country are frequently in lock step with several of the Commandments, but this is entirely coincidental. Any degree of common sense will force an organized society to eventually outlaw murder, even without the help of the Ten Commandments. No offense to God or Moses but, I must say that “Thou shalt not kill,” is the biggest “no duh” in the Bible.
But maybe God knew that. Maybe God knew that society generally shuns murder. Wouldn’t it stand to reason then that God was getting at something else? God wasn’t talking about how we should govern justice here on Earth. God didn’t say, “If you kill your wife in her sleep you will go to prison for fifteen years to life.” God’s justice is not social justice—it is spiritual justice. God’s judgment will not depend upon whether or not you were caught or if you served your time and got early release for good behavior.
“Who are you to pass judgment on the servants of another? It is before their own lord that they stand or fall.” These words from the 4th verse of Romans 14, could spell damnation for any person who ever sits in a courtroom as a “judge.” They could, but they don’t. They don’t because God’s justice is not the same as society’s justice. It exists on another level entirely. This verse isn’t talking about sentencing someone to prison for committing a crime. This verse is talking about sentencing someone to eternal damnation for committing a crime. That is a job reserved specifically for God. Judges should be the first to stand up in opposition to the posting of the Ten Commandments in their courtrooms, because for a person to suggest that the Ten Commandments have jurisdiction over our social justice system, he would have to admit that anyone who sits in that judge’s chair will be subject to the judgment of God. You can’t have it both ways.
“You might be a True American if: You still say ‘Christmas’ instead of ‘Winter Festival.’”
I can’t recall a specific moment when my lips uttered the words “winter festival” but it is possible that it has happened. I can be confident that I do say “Christmas.” I don’t necessarily say “Christmas” instead of “Winter Festival” but I do indeed say “Christmas.” This ambiguity suggests it’s possible to say and believe both. Let’s try it: “Christmas is one of the most widely celebrated Winter Festival days in the world.” No lightning? I guess I’m okay.
This brings up another interesting point though. Christmas is a day—one, single day. It is a Festival Day in the Christian Church, which is also known as a Feast Day, being from the same root word. Speaking of root words, Christmas has a couple of them. Christ: no explanation needed. Mass: Hm, sounds a bit Catholic to me. Why isn’t that objectionable to the many protestants out there?
What seems most absurd about this controversy to me is what people choose to get all upset about. To be troubled by a store that chooses to leave off the word “Christmas” from their advertising and decorations in celebration of a Pagan “winter festival” that existed long before the word “Christmas” was ever uttered, is at best a tad naïve, and at worst downright selfish. To suggest that a celebration that has been going on for centuries should be hijacked for a single, relatively new, religious point of view is the worst kind of narcissism. But in a country that is free in so many ways, we also have a free market. So protest. (That’s the root word of protestant by the way.) Protest whomever you want. Boycott whichever retail chain you feel is most offensive (read: indifferent) to your religion. Buy your “you can’t come to my birthday” cake somewhere else. I don’t really care.
“You might be a True American if: You bow your head when someone prays.”
I haven’t read the constitution cover to cover, but if this law existed first of all it would be impossible to enforce, and second of all it would be so quickly ruled unconstitutional the ink would smear as this breaking story was rushed to the front desk of the nearest tabloid. Aside from the already evident fact that I don’t think being any kind of American has anything to do with a person’s Christianity, this is the most absurd assertion I’ve ever been flabbergasted to discover someone cared about. I don’t think even God cares about that. First of all, we have a serious case of circular logic going on here. How would you know people don’t bow their heads during prayer if your head is always bowed? I frequently bow my head during prayer. I frequently look up at the cross during prayer in church. I’m not the only one either, because I’ll admit, I look around during prayer from time to time. How you decide to hold your head during prayer is one of the most personal decisions a person can make and it doesn’t even define what kind of Christian you are, let alone what kind of American you are.
“You might be a True American if: You stand and place your hand over your heart when they play the National Anthem.”
I am occasionally inspired by pride. I feel it emerging from deep within my soul and it quickly envelops me like a blanket. A few of these moments have happened when someone played the National Anthem. I might have had my hand over my heart, and I might have been standing, but I don’t remember. I don’t remember because that’s not the thing that moved me. That’s not the feeling that sent tingles down my spine. It was the idea or thought that was going through my mind at the time. Maybe someone had just achieved a great victory in the Olympics, or maybe we were about to start an exciting game of football. Maybe I was listening to the words themselves and thinking of the history that inspired them. Respect and reverence are only important if it’s something you believe in. Don’t just stand there with your hand on your chest because it’s what everyone else is doing. What about the man who’s paralyzed, sitting in a wheel chair? Can he not feel that sense of pride too, sitting, with his hands at his sides?
“You might be a True American if: You treat [Vietnam] vets[.] with great respect, and always have.”
I’ve met only one Vietnam veteran that I know of and I respect him a great deal. I respected him before I knew he was a veteran because he is a good person. I respect him now for the same reasons.
I respect all veterans for what they have done and what they have been through. Had I been alive at the time, I expect I would have been strongly opposed to the war, but I know the soldiers had nothing to do with the choices that caused that war to be something I so strongly disagree with. I know from what little I have learned about the conflict from my uncle, and from the countless stories of soldiers returning from our current war in Iraq, that anyone who will actually be considered a war veteran had no control over how brutal, misguided, or downright stupid a war can become. I will never blame any veteran for that.
“You might be a True American if: You’ve never burned an American flag.”
Another confession: I’ve never burned a flag of any kind. Do you know what the proper method is for disposing of a worn out American flag? You burn it. Oh, that’s right, I’m playing dumb again. That’s not what you meant? Well then what did you mean? When someone burns it in protest, out of disrespect perhaps? This is why a law against Flag burning will never work. Any such law would have to have a clause leaving exception for the disposal of a flag. This would require the law to decide not only if the burn was for this purpose, but also if the flag was worn enough to warrant such disposal. There is enough grey area there to have the justice system held up for years in motions and appeals and reversals, and all for a piece of cloth.
Now that we know flag burning isn’t always objectionable, we must wonder, what is the “x” factor. Maybe it’s the actions surrounding a flag burning that bother people. Maybe it’s what people are thinking—what they have in their heads—when they burn the flag. Well then, why ban flag burning? Why not go straight to the source of frustration? Wouldn’t that be easier than working out the legal distinctions of proper flag burning? Why not just outlaw protests (except, of course, those against evil retail chains who figured out they can broaden their customer base by becoming secular [not to be confused with atheist])? It’s against the constitution, that’s why. It is for this reason that those who support a ban on flag burning really show their colors. These people don’t like protests and dissent, but they know they can never stop it, so they turn to the next thing they think they can control in order to silence these voices that exercise their first amendment rights. I have never burned an American Flag, and so long as I always can, I probably never will.
“You might be a True American if: You know what you believe and you aren’t afraid to say so, no matter who is listening.”
I think I’ve thoroughly demonstrated my thoughts on this position. This, by the way, is the only item on this list that I think has anything to do with being an American. I was almost shocked to even see it here, especially right under that statement about the American Flag.
“You might be a True American if: You respect your elders and expect your kids to do the same.”
First of all, I have no kids. Second, this one is hard to argue about. I have respect for just about everybody. There are certain people that have lost my respect. No matter who they are, and whether they are five minutes or fifty years older than I, they will not regain my respect until it is earned.
“You might be a True American if: You’d give your last dollar to a friend.”
There are a lot of non-Americans in this country then. I know plenty of people who wouldn’t give their first dollar to a friend. Why give your friend your money when you can give him someone else’s money? (I’m using a bit of free association here: people who are obsessed over flag burning, Christmas, and The Ten Commandments; makes me think: Conservatives; makes me think: Republicans; makes me think: Jack Abrammof.) This easily ties back to scripture and Christianity. A “True Christian” might give his last dollar to a friend. Think about this: he might even give his last dollar to a stranger.
“If you got this e-mail from me, it is because I believe that you, like me, have just enough True American in you to have the same beliefs as those talked about in this e-mail.”
Narcissism again? Let’s think about the beliefs in this list. How many of these have any potential of improving what America stands for, making it a better place, or improving the life of anyone who can be called an American.
Speaking of that, I want to add one to this list of things that might actually define a “True American,” bringing the list up to two: “You might be a True American if: You were born here.” Simplistic and overly scientific I know, but doggone it Webster has to get it right sometimes doesn’t he?
“God Bless the USA!”
God Bless the World! There, we’re all covered.
“Git ‘er done!!”
These three words tell me more about the person who wrote this email than the entire list of useless and irrelevant beliefs contained within.
Saturday, April 15, 2006
Sunday, January 22, 2006
Poor Sportsmanship in Music
In looking for writing ideas, I came across a site that offered this question as an inspiration for high school writing students: “What if school sports were dropped?” For most teenage students, this question might elicit long diatribes on the victimization of athletes whose interests are constantly overlooked or ignored in lieu of things they don’t care about. Certainly a fair number of examples would offer some reference to being misunderstood. I expect, if I had been presented with this writing topic in high school I would have chosen any other subject I found tolerable simply to avoid letting my classmates know how I really felt.
I have few issues with sports in general. Physical activity is good for us, and I know so because smart people have told me – regardless of whether or not I follow the advice. I frequently (though irregularly) enjoy watching sports and following my favorite teams. Indeed, I attended many games in my high school days (although most were required for me as a member of the pep-band). And with that mitigating circumstance, we come to one of the many complicating elements of my childhood disdain for many things athletic.
Frequently, if not even most of the time, I find that a dislike or hatred of something is bred as a negative reaction to some related event or idea, rather than an objective and thoughtful consideration of the pros and cons of it. As many people can probably guess, and may even relate, I realize my general dislike for many things sport came as a reaction to negative feelings I associated with them. I would guess that almost exclusively, the off-putting experiences I had with my peers during my secondary school years could be somehow attributed to the “jocks” of my class.
I remember one particular event from my sixth grade year. It is surprising to me that it actually offends me more now than it did then. (Youthful ignorance is an extra-special brand of bliss.) As a means of moving up from childish games to more “mature” activities (and quite possibly as a simple attempt at acceptance, back when I still cared deeply about such things) I took up the practice of recess-time soccer. My experience was limited to whatever I had learned in P.E. over the previous five years and I was by no means better than average. I attempted to make up for my mediocrity by putting as much effort as possible into each game. I was most certainly not alone in this endeavor.
One chilly afternoon, a small core group of five or six boys, who had been playing for years after school in organized leagues and who possessed far superior skills to the rest of us, decided they didn’t want the hassle of fighting over who would team up with the lesser players (either in skill or in popularity, which I would soon find was the only thing that would matter in middle school). In a somewhat tactful way of avoiding the need to tell certain people they weren’t welcome, these boys proposed that they alone would take on the rest of us. How could we say no to that? We outnumbered them at least 3 to 1.
Naturally we crushed them. In a way, I admire their decision. It showed a certain maturity that they cared about more than simply winning. The extra challenge was certainly a chance for them to stretch their skills and improve. But now I see another side that troubles me much more now than it had back then. With all of the motives for simplicity and the nobility of being willing to lose, there stood one final truth: these boys would rather loose than play on the same team as some of the geeky, overweight, pimply, stunted, late-blooming rejects of the barely existent “perfectly-normal-in-every-way” crowd… or should that be clique?
Sixth grade was only the beginning of what would eventually become my own personal social schism from the general likes and interests of my peers. Over the next several years I would grow to reject their music, their heroes, their automatic contempt for authority, and any other distinguishing factor they would use to demonstrate how I was different. My reaction was to create my own set of interests and hobbies, most of which I tried simply because they seemed to be the opposite of what my classmates cared about, and frequently what they hated the most. Some never held, but those that did have survived with me to this day and I hold on to them with pride because I know I chose them for myself.
Earlier this year, the teachers of the Oregon Trail School District in Sandy, Oregon went on strike for sixteen days. The issues of the labor dispute are not relevant to my point, but some of the media coverage is. In between stories about each side’s position on this and that were the inevitable voices of the students. Nearly all of the interviews given by students were riddled with gripes about some sacrifice that a sports team had to make because of the walkout. I do not wish to make light of the fact that the Homecoming football game was eventually cancelled (the opposing team forfeited rather than playing a game behind a union picket line). It was a significant loss of an event, but it was not the only one. My concern was the narrow-mindedness of the students, none of which I knew, but who each reminded me of so many of the students I attended classes with inside those same walls. Rescheduling of many events was necessary. The drama department will likely be one show short of its usual three yearly productions. The winter band and choir concerts were necessarily shortened and combined. I am certain that any number of other clubs and organizations were forced to take similar actions to adjust. We heard about none of them within the mainstream coverage of the strike.
A game is much more difficult to reschedule, I realize, but that is only the beginning of my own personal list of concerns related to school sports. Sports are inherently competitive. Competition is something I tend to avoid whenever possible. Most of what I do in life falls, in my opinion, outside of the realm of competition. Nevertheless, some people seem determined to find a way of proving they are the best. But whenever there is recognition of something that is declared the best (through no small amount of subjectivity and opinion) there is the illusion of something being the worst. For sports this works well enough, but that pathology of competition and ranking has a way of bleeding into other activities, in which it does not belong.
I will use music as my primary example, as that is where I have the most experience. I grew up in Oregon public schools, which I have heard have some of the most competitive performing arts programs in the country. Attending the state choir and band contests left me with a strange feeling of disdain for other competitors. In such an environment of rankings and status, we all knew that someone else’s success could come as the result of our failure. Listening to other ensembles in a nearly empty auditorium, I was unable to appreciate what other people were doing, because acknowledging their talent and musicianship would suggest pessimism for my own ensemble’s prospects. I could do nothing but look for every fault, mistake, tuning problem, missed entrance, or “wrong” interpretation in each performance. Worst of all, I learned practically nothing.
When I moved to Washington to attend Pacific Lutheran University, I entered an entirely different musical atmosphere. There, everyone was supportive of everyone else. The large musical events I participated in, or observed, were not “competitions.” They were called “festivals.” The judges were not gone, but their roles were entirely different. Scores were given to each choir, and were not announced to the other groups; they didn’t care. More valuable and important was the verbal feedback and, frequently, one-on-one clinics with the “judges.” Most striking was the atmosphere of interaction. The auditorium was packed for the entire event, each ensemble in its own assigned space to take in and enjoy as many of the other performances as possible.
On its second year, the High School Choral Festival hosted at PLU had to be expanded to two days to accommodate the extra volume of singers that simply wouldn’t fit in the room. Family members who came to listen were turned away due to lack of seating. And when a choir gave a particularly stunning performance, the room did not exchange looks of despair, but ones of appropriate joy and appreciation. People didn’t notice when the tenor in the back row wore the wrong color pants. Soloists weren’t shaking with fear that a sour note would doom the entire ensemble. Directors never cut the music off before the end so the choir could leave the stage before their allotted time ran out, for fear of losing points (Believe me, this actually happens!)
Recently I heard talk that certain influential music directors in Oregon have made attempts to move toward a more “festival” like interaction between school bands and choirs. They want to do away with the cutthroat scoring systems and coveted rankings at the end of the day. They want their students to be able to enjoy the work of their colleagues and peers, and to succeed of their own accord. But many obstacles stand in the way of this process. If it is to succeed, it will likely do so only with the hard effort of those who wish the change to occur. The OSAA, or Oregon School Activities Association (which I now realize has a slightly ambiguous and overly general name), has said they will no longer sponsor, support, or manage musical events that do not have “competition” as one element of the proceedings. If there aren’t going to be any scores to report, they aren’t interested. It seems that those who desire this change will have to achieve it entirely on their own.
I have no finer example of the detrimental influence competitive sports has over other school activities than a memory from my days in high school choir. This particular year had been a good one for the Sandy Football team. They had their first home playoff game in many years and won it (all without the pep band, most of which was defiantly playing for the opening performance of Guys and Dolls the same night, infuriating any number of people who had never before acknowledged the significance of the band at all). The school was very excited to have a football team that was moving on to round two against Bend High School.
Sometime during the lead up to the second game, my choir happened to be attending a musical exchange that was much more of the “festival” variety. It was an independent festival run by Western Oregon University. The choirs all assembled in the auditorium (much as I would later witness at PLU) and listened to each performance, one by one. At the end, WOU’s choir treated us all to its own performance. Partway through their program, each member of the ensemble took a moment to tell us who they were and which High School they had attended. Cheers floated from various corners of the room as some of the represented schools acknowledged their alumni. It had been a blissful day of music for me and I have rarely been happier. It was partly because of that good mood that made the shock of what happened next all the more egregious to me. A member of the choir introduced herself and said she was from Bend High School. It was fortunate that people were applauding so loudly, for most people didn’t hear the wide receiver next to me call out a casual “boo.” I’m not sure what I said, or if I even said anything at all. Certainly my expression would have been enough to convey my contempt for what he had just done. If not for the embarrassment it would have brought on our choir and our school, I almost wish the room had been quiet, for all to hear his misplaced contempt for a distant representative of his future foe. This was one of the times that convinced me of how sports and athletes can take the competition far, far, far outside of its proper forum.
I don’t know what caused this misguided boy to progress beyond the desire to win, to a point where he had learned to instinctually hate “the enemy.” It is not a healthy line of thinking, and it is most certainly not advantageous for an athlete. The strong desire and determination he had been striving for would be much more effective if it resulted in more respect for the opposing team, not less. Certainly better teams than Sandy High School’s football squad have been beaten by a team they disliked so much they underestimated them. The following Monday, this boy and I shared a look that spoke volumes. I don’t know if he could tell, but I certainly hoped he knew that, for the first time, I was glad my school’s team had lost.
I have few issues with sports in general. Physical activity is good for us, and I know so because smart people have told me – regardless of whether or not I follow the advice. I frequently (though irregularly) enjoy watching sports and following my favorite teams. Indeed, I attended many games in my high school days (although most were required for me as a member of the pep-band). And with that mitigating circumstance, we come to one of the many complicating elements of my childhood disdain for many things athletic.
Frequently, if not even most of the time, I find that a dislike or hatred of something is bred as a negative reaction to some related event or idea, rather than an objective and thoughtful consideration of the pros and cons of it. As many people can probably guess, and may even relate, I realize my general dislike for many things sport came as a reaction to negative feelings I associated with them. I would guess that almost exclusively, the off-putting experiences I had with my peers during my secondary school years could be somehow attributed to the “jocks” of my class.
I remember one particular event from my sixth grade year. It is surprising to me that it actually offends me more now than it did then. (Youthful ignorance is an extra-special brand of bliss.) As a means of moving up from childish games to more “mature” activities (and quite possibly as a simple attempt at acceptance, back when I still cared deeply about such things) I took up the practice of recess-time soccer. My experience was limited to whatever I had learned in P.E. over the previous five years and I was by no means better than average. I attempted to make up for my mediocrity by putting as much effort as possible into each game. I was most certainly not alone in this endeavor.
One chilly afternoon, a small core group of five or six boys, who had been playing for years after school in organized leagues and who possessed far superior skills to the rest of us, decided they didn’t want the hassle of fighting over who would team up with the lesser players (either in skill or in popularity, which I would soon find was the only thing that would matter in middle school). In a somewhat tactful way of avoiding the need to tell certain people they weren’t welcome, these boys proposed that they alone would take on the rest of us. How could we say no to that? We outnumbered them at least 3 to 1.
Naturally we crushed them. In a way, I admire their decision. It showed a certain maturity that they cared about more than simply winning. The extra challenge was certainly a chance for them to stretch their skills and improve. But now I see another side that troubles me much more now than it had back then. With all of the motives for simplicity and the nobility of being willing to lose, there stood one final truth: these boys would rather loose than play on the same team as some of the geeky, overweight, pimply, stunted, late-blooming rejects of the barely existent “perfectly-normal-in-every-way” crowd… or should that be clique?
Sixth grade was only the beginning of what would eventually become my own personal social schism from the general likes and interests of my peers. Over the next several years I would grow to reject their music, their heroes, their automatic contempt for authority, and any other distinguishing factor they would use to demonstrate how I was different. My reaction was to create my own set of interests and hobbies, most of which I tried simply because they seemed to be the opposite of what my classmates cared about, and frequently what they hated the most. Some never held, but those that did have survived with me to this day and I hold on to them with pride because I know I chose them for myself.
Earlier this year, the teachers of the Oregon Trail School District in Sandy, Oregon went on strike for sixteen days. The issues of the labor dispute are not relevant to my point, but some of the media coverage is. In between stories about each side’s position on this and that were the inevitable voices of the students. Nearly all of the interviews given by students were riddled with gripes about some sacrifice that a sports team had to make because of the walkout. I do not wish to make light of the fact that the Homecoming football game was eventually cancelled (the opposing team forfeited rather than playing a game behind a union picket line). It was a significant loss of an event, but it was not the only one. My concern was the narrow-mindedness of the students, none of which I knew, but who each reminded me of so many of the students I attended classes with inside those same walls. Rescheduling of many events was necessary. The drama department will likely be one show short of its usual three yearly productions. The winter band and choir concerts were necessarily shortened and combined. I am certain that any number of other clubs and organizations were forced to take similar actions to adjust. We heard about none of them within the mainstream coverage of the strike.
A game is much more difficult to reschedule, I realize, but that is only the beginning of my own personal list of concerns related to school sports. Sports are inherently competitive. Competition is something I tend to avoid whenever possible. Most of what I do in life falls, in my opinion, outside of the realm of competition. Nevertheless, some people seem determined to find a way of proving they are the best. But whenever there is recognition of something that is declared the best (through no small amount of subjectivity and opinion) there is the illusion of something being the worst. For sports this works well enough, but that pathology of competition and ranking has a way of bleeding into other activities, in which it does not belong.
I will use music as my primary example, as that is where I have the most experience. I grew up in Oregon public schools, which I have heard have some of the most competitive performing arts programs in the country. Attending the state choir and band contests left me with a strange feeling of disdain for other competitors. In such an environment of rankings and status, we all knew that someone else’s success could come as the result of our failure. Listening to other ensembles in a nearly empty auditorium, I was unable to appreciate what other people were doing, because acknowledging their talent and musicianship would suggest pessimism for my own ensemble’s prospects. I could do nothing but look for every fault, mistake, tuning problem, missed entrance, or “wrong” interpretation in each performance. Worst of all, I learned practically nothing.
When I moved to Washington to attend Pacific Lutheran University, I entered an entirely different musical atmosphere. There, everyone was supportive of everyone else. The large musical events I participated in, or observed, were not “competitions.” They were called “festivals.” The judges were not gone, but their roles were entirely different. Scores were given to each choir, and were not announced to the other groups; they didn’t care. More valuable and important was the verbal feedback and, frequently, one-on-one clinics with the “judges.” Most striking was the atmosphere of interaction. The auditorium was packed for the entire event, each ensemble in its own assigned space to take in and enjoy as many of the other performances as possible.
On its second year, the High School Choral Festival hosted at PLU had to be expanded to two days to accommodate the extra volume of singers that simply wouldn’t fit in the room. Family members who came to listen were turned away due to lack of seating. And when a choir gave a particularly stunning performance, the room did not exchange looks of despair, but ones of appropriate joy and appreciation. People didn’t notice when the tenor in the back row wore the wrong color pants. Soloists weren’t shaking with fear that a sour note would doom the entire ensemble. Directors never cut the music off before the end so the choir could leave the stage before their allotted time ran out, for fear of losing points (Believe me, this actually happens!)
Recently I heard talk that certain influential music directors in Oregon have made attempts to move toward a more “festival” like interaction between school bands and choirs. They want to do away with the cutthroat scoring systems and coveted rankings at the end of the day. They want their students to be able to enjoy the work of their colleagues and peers, and to succeed of their own accord. But many obstacles stand in the way of this process. If it is to succeed, it will likely do so only with the hard effort of those who wish the change to occur. The OSAA, or Oregon School Activities Association (which I now realize has a slightly ambiguous and overly general name), has said they will no longer sponsor, support, or manage musical events that do not have “competition” as one element of the proceedings. If there aren’t going to be any scores to report, they aren’t interested. It seems that those who desire this change will have to achieve it entirely on their own.
I have no finer example of the detrimental influence competitive sports has over other school activities than a memory from my days in high school choir. This particular year had been a good one for the Sandy Football team. They had their first home playoff game in many years and won it (all without the pep band, most of which was defiantly playing for the opening performance of Guys and Dolls the same night, infuriating any number of people who had never before acknowledged the significance of the band at all). The school was very excited to have a football team that was moving on to round two against Bend High School.
Sometime during the lead up to the second game, my choir happened to be attending a musical exchange that was much more of the “festival” variety. It was an independent festival run by Western Oregon University. The choirs all assembled in the auditorium (much as I would later witness at PLU) and listened to each performance, one by one. At the end, WOU’s choir treated us all to its own performance. Partway through their program, each member of the ensemble took a moment to tell us who they were and which High School they had attended. Cheers floated from various corners of the room as some of the represented schools acknowledged their alumni. It had been a blissful day of music for me and I have rarely been happier. It was partly because of that good mood that made the shock of what happened next all the more egregious to me. A member of the choir introduced herself and said she was from Bend High School. It was fortunate that people were applauding so loudly, for most people didn’t hear the wide receiver next to me call out a casual “boo.” I’m not sure what I said, or if I even said anything at all. Certainly my expression would have been enough to convey my contempt for what he had just done. If not for the embarrassment it would have brought on our choir and our school, I almost wish the room had been quiet, for all to hear his misplaced contempt for a distant representative of his future foe. This was one of the times that convinced me of how sports and athletes can take the competition far, far, far outside of its proper forum.
I don’t know what caused this misguided boy to progress beyond the desire to win, to a point where he had learned to instinctually hate “the enemy.” It is not a healthy line of thinking, and it is most certainly not advantageous for an athlete. The strong desire and determination he had been striving for would be much more effective if it resulted in more respect for the opposing team, not less. Certainly better teams than Sandy High School’s football squad have been beaten by a team they disliked so much they underestimated them. The following Monday, this boy and I shared a look that spoke volumes. I don’t know if he could tell, but I certainly hoped he knew that, for the first time, I was glad my school’s team had lost.
Friday, January 06, 2006
Which Pledge of Allegiance?
I received an email today. (Actually I have received no fewer than 10 so far.) This one was one of those cursed chain mail letters I thought went away when I stopped visiting chat rooms at the age of 16. The increased anonymity I have gained through my more hermit-like Internet behavior does not, unfortunately, protect me from people who know me. This chain mail was one of those absurd petitions people begin by signing with number 1 and passing it on to a dozen or so friends with instructions to sign under the next number and pass it on. Further instructions requested that the 2000th signer would pass the letter on to the appropriate recipient, (in this case, the President) in addition to his unsuspecting friends.
This concept of petition signing through chain letters defies logic to no end. Eventually there will be hundreds, thousands, even tens-of-thousands of permutations floating around out there, each with fewer than 2000 names, but collectively with many more than that. Once they begin to reach that 2000 mark, the common destination email box will begin to be flooded by thousands of different versions of the email with any combination of duplicated signatures. If someone were actually planning to take the letter seriously, he would have to go through the painstaking process of compiling each name and cross referencing each duplicate, to determine if there really are seventy-three George Smiths living in Jackson Hole, Wyoming, or if it was the same one each time.
This letter went a step further by being ridiculously vague. I quote:
"*_PETITION TO REINSTATE PLEDGE TO THE FLAG IN PUBLIC SCHOOLS_**Agree or Delete: Instructions to sign are at the bottom. **PETITION FOR PRES. BUSH* *PETITION TO REINSTATE PLEDGE TO THE FLAG IN PUBLIC SCHOOLS: *"
On the surface, it seems quite obvious what point the signers want to make. Simplicity can be nice, but complexity is often ignored in situations when it must be at least examined.
Assuming for a second that I was in charge of this decision, I would have several responses if people came to me asking me to “reinstate [the] Pledge to the Flag in public schools[.]” (Note: I capitalized “Pledge” and “Flag” because I assume they would be referring to a specific pledge and a specific flag. One of the many consequences of writing in all caps is that such distinctions are lost. People do it to emphasize their point, and end up losing clarity, which is far more important.) My first response would be: “Which one?”
As my fifth-grade teacher would frequently say, as we finished the morning recitation of a Pledge of Allegiance: “Get out your history books.” In 1892, the U.S. was preparing for the quadricentennial of Columbus’ landing. In preparation for the celebration, a Boston based magazine called The Youth’s Companion published a pledge that was to be recited by the nation’s youth on Columbus Day. The pledge, written by a former Baptist minister by the name of Francis Bellamy, reads as follows:
I pledge allegiance to my Flag and the Republic for which it stands, one nation indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.
Francis Bellamy had begun working for The Youth’s Companion the previous year, after being pressured to leave his church post because of his socialist sermons. He was also the chairman of a committee of state superintendents for the National Education Association. It was through this position that he prepared the children for his pledge. The pledge was based on ideas from his cousin’s socialist utopian novels Looking Backward (1888) and Equality (1897), not exactly the breeding ground of good “old fashioned” American capitalism and “values.” It is also notable that the above pledge was written, not only by a Christian, but a Christian minister, who somehow did not get the memo from above to include “under God.”
That addition was not the next one to be made either. A “to” was added before “the Republic” in October of 1892. Bellamy had considered including the word “equality” as well, but worried about his colleagues on the superintendents' board, who were opposed to equality for women and African-Americans.
Against Bellamy’s objections, the National Flag Conference changed the words “my flag” to “the flag of the United States of America” in 1923 and 1924.
In 1942 Congress officially recognized the pledge. Those not alive to witness it, might be surprised to learn that, in 1943, the Supreme Court ruled that children could not be required to recite the pledge. This, to me, is one of the best examples that our freedom exists and that it is strong. For over sixty years, the Pledge of Allegiance has been legally optional, and that hasn’t stopped anybody from saying it. Clearly a constitutional requirement is not necessary at all.
It was in 1954 that congress added the words, “under God,” creating the version we are most familiar with today. Bellamy's daughter believed that her father would have objected to this addition as well. This was not because he was no longer believed in God, but he was decidedly at odds with many of his fellow Christians; enough to bring him to stop attending church because of his church’s racial bigotry.
I am assuming the petition I received was one whose supporters were hoping to have the “under God” version be the one reinstated. The fact that I had to assume anything is not a good sign. Petitions are only effective if they are clear about their intentions. This email falls well short of that goal. It might be more appropriately called a letter, though it is a somewhat pithy one even for that. If these people want to be taken seriously, I think they should take their goals seriously and put forth the proper effort to do it right. Even if I were in agreement with the other signers, I would likely not care to add my name to such a mediocre attempt at action.
Still assuming we are talking about the “under God” pledge, I find it curious that people would be working to reinstate such a pledge by attempting to overturn a ruling made eleven years before that version even existed. Those who complain that the pledge is not being required in schools because of issues with prayer in the classroom clearly need to return to that classroom for a history and math review. Many seem to desire this change in the interests of recognizing a national tradition. It is strange that people would be so adamant to preserve a “tradition” that, in a nation even as young as the United States, still has existed for less than a quarter of our existence. In the scope of world history, I find this issue to be more of a habit than a tradition.
I am a Christian. Many people in this country are. Many people in the country are not. Many liberals might be initially shocked to hear that I do not believe the sentence: “America is a Christian nation,” is inaccurate. It is not inaccurate; it is incomplete. In a country where we supposedly value “the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth” we should be more keen to finish that sentence. America is a Christian nation, and a Jewish nation, and a Muslim nation, and an Agnostic nation… The list goes on and on, and we are nowhere close to being able to put a period at the end of it. I cannot, as an American, bring myself to believe that a nationally recognized pledge should be exclusive to anyone who is a rightful citizen for any reason. I cannot, therefore, in good conscience agree that the words “under God” should be a required part of the Pledge of Allegiance. I, for one, do believe that we are not only a nation under God, but also a world under God. But I don’t find that to be any less true just because the guy down the street doesn’t believe me. I also would see no problem in people adding those words on their own.
To determine a “correct” version of the Pledge of Allegiance, I believe we need to reexamine the history of the pledge in the context of national events throughout the same history. I am, usually, a purist. When somebody creates something I believe their authority is paramount above all others. Francis Bellamy disliked the change to “the Flag of the United States of America.” Further to my point that the pledge should be a personal choice, I find the words “my Flag” much more appropriate. Remember also that Bellamy considered including the word “equality.” He did not because of the state of human equality and opinion in 1892. Since then, we have fought our battles over civil rights. Positions have changed. I have no doubt that, if Bellamy were alive today, he would not hesitate for a second to include "equality". This would most likely result in this version:
I pledge allegiance to my Flag and the Republic for which it stands, one nation indivisible, with equality, liberty and justice for all.
“The flag is important, but if there weren't any, I wouldn't feel any less pride in America.” These were the words of my brother when we discussed this subject. I couldn’t really put it any better. Why pledge to a flag? It certainly has no actual power; it is merely symbolic. Should we not pledge to the country itself, with or without the flag? Would the pledge mean less without the flag? Does one need to be in a church to pray? Does a Christian, Catholic or otherwise, need to have a minister or priest present to confess his sins to God? Even if you believe it is necessary to confess to a priest, it does not mean you cannot confess at home as well. The most important words in the Pledge of Allegiance are: “allegiance,” “indivisible,” “equality,” “liberty” and “justice;” not “flag.” Some people, it seems, would knock down the White House with a wrecking ball trying to stop someone from painting it black. I don’t think the color was the important part.
With or without “under God.” I believe the Supreme Court ruling in 1943 should stand. The Pledge of Allegiance can be a profound declaration of patriotism, purpose, goals, and ideals. But it means nothing coming from someone who does not say it willingly. In fact requiring someone to say it would be to contradict the pledge itself. Anyone who is being forced to say a pledge for “liberty and justice” is pledging to rights he does not, at that moment, enjoy.
Bibliography: Baer, John. 1992, “The Pledge of Allegiance A Short History” http://history.vineyard.net/pledge.htm “The original Pledge of Allegiance” http://www.usflag.org/history/pledgeofallegiance.html
This concept of petition signing through chain letters defies logic to no end. Eventually there will be hundreds, thousands, even tens-of-thousands of permutations floating around out there, each with fewer than 2000 names, but collectively with many more than that. Once they begin to reach that 2000 mark, the common destination email box will begin to be flooded by thousands of different versions of the email with any combination of duplicated signatures. If someone were actually planning to take the letter seriously, he would have to go through the painstaking process of compiling each name and cross referencing each duplicate, to determine if there really are seventy-three George Smiths living in Jackson Hole, Wyoming, or if it was the same one each time.
This letter went a step further by being ridiculously vague. I quote:
"*_PETITION TO REINSTATE PLEDGE TO THE FLAG IN PUBLIC SCHOOLS_**Agree or Delete: Instructions to sign are at the bottom. **PETITION FOR PRES. BUSH* *PETITION TO REINSTATE PLEDGE TO THE FLAG IN PUBLIC SCHOOLS: *"
On the surface, it seems quite obvious what point the signers want to make. Simplicity can be nice, but complexity is often ignored in situations when it must be at least examined.
Assuming for a second that I was in charge of this decision, I would have several responses if people came to me asking me to “reinstate [the] Pledge to the Flag in public schools[.]” (Note: I capitalized “Pledge” and “Flag” because I assume they would be referring to a specific pledge and a specific flag. One of the many consequences of writing in all caps is that such distinctions are lost. People do it to emphasize their point, and end up losing clarity, which is far more important.) My first response would be: “Which one?”
As my fifth-grade teacher would frequently say, as we finished the morning recitation of a Pledge of Allegiance: “Get out your history books.” In 1892, the U.S. was preparing for the quadricentennial of Columbus’ landing. In preparation for the celebration, a Boston based magazine called The Youth’s Companion published a pledge that was to be recited by the nation’s youth on Columbus Day. The pledge, written by a former Baptist minister by the name of Francis Bellamy, reads as follows:
I pledge allegiance to my Flag and the Republic for which it stands, one nation indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.
Francis Bellamy had begun working for The Youth’s Companion the previous year, after being pressured to leave his church post because of his socialist sermons. He was also the chairman of a committee of state superintendents for the National Education Association. It was through this position that he prepared the children for his pledge. The pledge was based on ideas from his cousin’s socialist utopian novels Looking Backward (1888) and Equality (1897), not exactly the breeding ground of good “old fashioned” American capitalism and “values.” It is also notable that the above pledge was written, not only by a Christian, but a Christian minister, who somehow did not get the memo from above to include “under God.”
That addition was not the next one to be made either. A “to” was added before “the Republic” in October of 1892. Bellamy had considered including the word “equality” as well, but worried about his colleagues on the superintendents' board, who were opposed to equality for women and African-Americans.
Against Bellamy’s objections, the National Flag Conference changed the words “my flag” to “the flag of the United States of America” in 1923 and 1924.
In 1942 Congress officially recognized the pledge. Those not alive to witness it, might be surprised to learn that, in 1943, the Supreme Court ruled that children could not be required to recite the pledge. This, to me, is one of the best examples that our freedom exists and that it is strong. For over sixty years, the Pledge of Allegiance has been legally optional, and that hasn’t stopped anybody from saying it. Clearly a constitutional requirement is not necessary at all.
It was in 1954 that congress added the words, “under God,” creating the version we are most familiar with today. Bellamy's daughter believed that her father would have objected to this addition as well. This was not because he was no longer believed in God, but he was decidedly at odds with many of his fellow Christians; enough to bring him to stop attending church because of his church’s racial bigotry.
I am assuming the petition I received was one whose supporters were hoping to have the “under God” version be the one reinstated. The fact that I had to assume anything is not a good sign. Petitions are only effective if they are clear about their intentions. This email falls well short of that goal. It might be more appropriately called a letter, though it is a somewhat pithy one even for that. If these people want to be taken seriously, I think they should take their goals seriously and put forth the proper effort to do it right. Even if I were in agreement with the other signers, I would likely not care to add my name to such a mediocre attempt at action.
Still assuming we are talking about the “under God” pledge, I find it curious that people would be working to reinstate such a pledge by attempting to overturn a ruling made eleven years before that version even existed. Those who complain that the pledge is not being required in schools because of issues with prayer in the classroom clearly need to return to that classroom for a history and math review. Many seem to desire this change in the interests of recognizing a national tradition. It is strange that people would be so adamant to preserve a “tradition” that, in a nation even as young as the United States, still has existed for less than a quarter of our existence. In the scope of world history, I find this issue to be more of a habit than a tradition.
I am a Christian. Many people in this country are. Many people in the country are not. Many liberals might be initially shocked to hear that I do not believe the sentence: “America is a Christian nation,” is inaccurate. It is not inaccurate; it is incomplete. In a country where we supposedly value “the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth” we should be more keen to finish that sentence. America is a Christian nation, and a Jewish nation, and a Muslim nation, and an Agnostic nation… The list goes on and on, and we are nowhere close to being able to put a period at the end of it. I cannot, as an American, bring myself to believe that a nationally recognized pledge should be exclusive to anyone who is a rightful citizen for any reason. I cannot, therefore, in good conscience agree that the words “under God” should be a required part of the Pledge of Allegiance. I, for one, do believe that we are not only a nation under God, but also a world under God. But I don’t find that to be any less true just because the guy down the street doesn’t believe me. I also would see no problem in people adding those words on their own.
To determine a “correct” version of the Pledge of Allegiance, I believe we need to reexamine the history of the pledge in the context of national events throughout the same history. I am, usually, a purist. When somebody creates something I believe their authority is paramount above all others. Francis Bellamy disliked the change to “the Flag of the United States of America.” Further to my point that the pledge should be a personal choice, I find the words “my Flag” much more appropriate. Remember also that Bellamy considered including the word “equality.” He did not because of the state of human equality and opinion in 1892. Since then, we have fought our battles over civil rights. Positions have changed. I have no doubt that, if Bellamy were alive today, he would not hesitate for a second to include "equality". This would most likely result in this version:
I pledge allegiance to my Flag and the Republic for which it stands, one nation indivisible, with equality, liberty and justice for all.
“The flag is important, but if there weren't any, I wouldn't feel any less pride in America.” These were the words of my brother when we discussed this subject. I couldn’t really put it any better. Why pledge to a flag? It certainly has no actual power; it is merely symbolic. Should we not pledge to the country itself, with or without the flag? Would the pledge mean less without the flag? Does one need to be in a church to pray? Does a Christian, Catholic or otherwise, need to have a minister or priest present to confess his sins to God? Even if you believe it is necessary to confess to a priest, it does not mean you cannot confess at home as well. The most important words in the Pledge of Allegiance are: “allegiance,” “indivisible,” “equality,” “liberty” and “justice;” not “flag.” Some people, it seems, would knock down the White House with a wrecking ball trying to stop someone from painting it black. I don’t think the color was the important part.
With or without “under God.” I believe the Supreme Court ruling in 1943 should stand. The Pledge of Allegiance can be a profound declaration of patriotism, purpose, goals, and ideals. But it means nothing coming from someone who does not say it willingly. In fact requiring someone to say it would be to contradict the pledge itself. Anyone who is being forced to say a pledge for “liberty and justice” is pledging to rights he does not, at that moment, enjoy.
Bibliography: Baer, John. 1992, “The Pledge of Allegiance A Short History” http://history.vineyard.net/pledge.htm “The original Pledge of Allegiance” http://www.usflag.org/history/pledgeofallegiance.html
Thursday, January 05, 2006
Connections
Written on December 8th, 2004. See Author's follow-up in comments.
Connections: Among many various things, connections are a literary device; an art form that helps a story, or a moment, emerge absolute and complete. Great writers will delay our minds, divert our attention and distract us. And when our questions become simply unbearable, they slake us with wondrous discoveries that simultaneously close gaps and open doors to the rest of the story, past and present and future.
It is a wonderful dichotomy of human emotions. We long for knowledge of the unknown: to read the last page first. We also yearn for ignorance of the familiar: to read the last page last, for the first time again. It is the wonder of discovery and a driving force in our culture, our minds, and our spirits. Reading for the first time is enthralling. Reading for the second time is enlightening.
Two images stood out in my mind tonight as I considered a great question. I pondered the half finished puzzle on the rickety old card table: the view of an image slowly revealing itself. I simultaneously contemplated the $90 wooden frame around the $100,000 piece of paper, hanging on my wall: shining proudly and proclaiming achievement in an old but continually growing tradition. The question looms in the background of the latter, translating itself into generic terms: What is next for me? Where will I go? What will I do? What is it all for?
I am considering the chance to fulfill one of my greatest dreams in a trip to Cambridge, England (the most prominent among several destinations I would be able to cross off on my “list”) as a member of a choir I hold in high esteem both musically and personally, and whose members are more than just colleagues and mentors. This possibility presents itself as one of those opportunities that might be “too perfect.” It is a near lifelong desire that has accosted me at a time when I am not ready to pursue my greatest ambitions. In a time of my life that is as unpredictable as any will ever be; I know that little is certain. My perpetual insistence that “everything will turn out fine in the end” is being tested to its extreme limits. My insecurity eats at my insides like a gnawing guilt, or a painful loss. Yet the converse question must be asked: What if this turns out to be my last chance to fulfill that dream, or perhaps, even more?
More than one person has confronted me with the proposition that my life needs a leap of faith. What if this is that leap? What if this is my chance to break open the next door, and to help me define who I really want to be? What if diving from this precipice leads me finally, to more answers than questions? What if this, is one of those moments that gives me my own discoveries and opens my own doors, to the past, and the present, and the future?
It seems cliché that a person with so many questions at this moment in life would look for answers in a trip to Europe. It may be even more desperate considering I returned from a trip to Germany and The Netherlands not even a year ago. It was a glorious fortnight’s voyage at breakneck speed through frigid cathedrals. The tour, while thoroughly enjoyable, did not seem to answer any questions. I submit that this next trip could be quite different. If it is, I believe it would force me to offer one question’s answer I have feared I knew over a year ago.
Staring at my degree, it glaring back at me, I turned and peered at the unfinished puzzle. The cheesy comparison brought a grin to my face: “the next piece.” I remembered I was the one who identified the location pictured on the puzzle. It was one of the many canals in Amsterdam. I do not know if I believe in “signs” but if I do, this was one of them. Pondering so many questions, questioning so many dreams, a connection, perhaps to show me that this is the next step.
I do not think that my heart is really in these places nor are they where it belongs or yearns to be; home is still my best home. They are simply experiences that my life craves, to create a more complete and diverse picture of myself. As this next chapter of my life begins, my own author ponders new ideas introduced in the closing sentences of the previous one.
Life would barely be worthwhile if the second read were not more revealing than the first. Perhaps that commonly accepted final moment of life flashing before our eyes is a final gift of our earth-bound journey: the chance to read our own story again.
Connections: Among many various things, connections are a literary device; an art form that helps a story, or a moment, emerge absolute and complete. Great writers will delay our minds, divert our attention and distract us. And when our questions become simply unbearable, they slake us with wondrous discoveries that simultaneously close gaps and open doors to the rest of the story, past and present and future.
It is a wonderful dichotomy of human emotions. We long for knowledge of the unknown: to read the last page first. We also yearn for ignorance of the familiar: to read the last page last, for the first time again. It is the wonder of discovery and a driving force in our culture, our minds, and our spirits. Reading for the first time is enthralling. Reading for the second time is enlightening.
Two images stood out in my mind tonight as I considered a great question. I pondered the half finished puzzle on the rickety old card table: the view of an image slowly revealing itself. I simultaneously contemplated the $90 wooden frame around the $100,000 piece of paper, hanging on my wall: shining proudly and proclaiming achievement in an old but continually growing tradition. The question looms in the background of the latter, translating itself into generic terms: What is next for me? Where will I go? What will I do? What is it all for?
I am considering the chance to fulfill one of my greatest dreams in a trip to Cambridge, England (the most prominent among several destinations I would be able to cross off on my “list”) as a member of a choir I hold in high esteem both musically and personally, and whose members are more than just colleagues and mentors. This possibility presents itself as one of those opportunities that might be “too perfect.” It is a near lifelong desire that has accosted me at a time when I am not ready to pursue my greatest ambitions. In a time of my life that is as unpredictable as any will ever be; I know that little is certain. My perpetual insistence that “everything will turn out fine in the end” is being tested to its extreme limits. My insecurity eats at my insides like a gnawing guilt, or a painful loss. Yet the converse question must be asked: What if this turns out to be my last chance to fulfill that dream, or perhaps, even more?
More than one person has confronted me with the proposition that my life needs a leap of faith. What if this is that leap? What if this is my chance to break open the next door, and to help me define who I really want to be? What if diving from this precipice leads me finally, to more answers than questions? What if this, is one of those moments that gives me my own discoveries and opens my own doors, to the past, and the present, and the future?
It seems cliché that a person with so many questions at this moment in life would look for answers in a trip to Europe. It may be even more desperate considering I returned from a trip to Germany and The Netherlands not even a year ago. It was a glorious fortnight’s voyage at breakneck speed through frigid cathedrals. The tour, while thoroughly enjoyable, did not seem to answer any questions. I submit that this next trip could be quite different. If it is, I believe it would force me to offer one question’s answer I have feared I knew over a year ago.
Staring at my degree, it glaring back at me, I turned and peered at the unfinished puzzle. The cheesy comparison brought a grin to my face: “the next piece.” I remembered I was the one who identified the location pictured on the puzzle. It was one of the many canals in Amsterdam. I do not know if I believe in “signs” but if I do, this was one of them. Pondering so many questions, questioning so many dreams, a connection, perhaps to show me that this is the next step.
I do not think that my heart is really in these places nor are they where it belongs or yearns to be; home is still my best home. They are simply experiences that my life craves, to create a more complete and diverse picture of myself. As this next chapter of my life begins, my own author ponders new ideas introduced in the closing sentences of the previous one.
Life would barely be worthwhile if the second read were not more revealing than the first. Perhaps that commonly accepted final moment of life flashing before our eyes is a final gift of our earth-bound journey: the chance to read our own story again.
Author's Forward: Crazy and Astounding Things Happen at 5 o' clock in the Morning.
There is no doubt that most, if not all, of my best writing--verbal or otherwise--comes in the wee hours of the morning. It seems only fitting that my first post on my first blog enters cyberspace just minutes after 5 a.m. (or at least it was when I started).
Sometimes I write because I feel like writing. Sometimes I write because I can't do anything else. Sometimes I write because I can't sleep. And, thankfully, sometimes I sleep when I can no longer write: one reason that, all by itself, makes the writing worth the effort.
Those who experience this collection of writings are bound to be varied and, in the end, confused. (It's happening already, isn't it?) I hope, however, that you are in some way inspired, informed, indoctrinated, incensed, or even perhaps in awe (one can always hope). Whatever it is you take from here, I hope you enjoy reading these words as much as I enjoy rereading them. (I say "rereading" because I believe it is impossible to enjoy reading something nearly as much as writing it.)
Sometimes I write because I feel like writing. Sometimes I write because I can't do anything else. Sometimes I write because I can't sleep. And, thankfully, sometimes I sleep when I can no longer write: one reason that, all by itself, makes the writing worth the effort.
Those who experience this collection of writings are bound to be varied and, in the end, confused. (It's happening already, isn't it?) I hope, however, that you are in some way inspired, informed, indoctrinated, incensed, or even perhaps in awe (one can always hope). Whatever it is you take from here, I hope you enjoy reading these words as much as I enjoy rereading them. (I say "rereading" because I believe it is impossible to enjoy reading something nearly as much as writing it.)
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