My Baby Brother turns Fifty

     My relationships with all my siblings have had their ups and downs. Many of those down times had to do with youth and distance. But as we have gotten older, we have seen the value each of us have as individuals, and how important we each are to our family as a whole.
     I have read articles and books that talk about family dynamics from a scientific perspective. There seems to be roles we all have in the family structure. And,to some degree, we portray the roles expected of us.  The youngest of us four 'children' is Glen Todd. He was a big bruiser as a young boy, and he still imposes a big bruiser image as an adult. It is now 50 years since Glen Todd  first graced the face of the earth. Time has marched forward whether any of us were ready for the march or not. Glen's assigned role, being the youngest in the family, has been , you guessed it, The Baby.
    To most adults, especially smart ones, being called 'a baby' or 'the baby' is seen negatively. It is being titled as " The Entitled". And nobody wants to be seen from that light. The baby needs. The baby gets. That is how the role is seen in a family setting from a scientific perspective. And although I enjoy trying to convince myself that I am a rational, sentient and totally capable of scientific thought, I just don't like the baby title for my big bruiser of a little brother. Remember now, my mantra is 'the same , but different', so you shouldn't be surprised that I am looking for the exception to this negative stereotype.

Glen at his home away from home.The cabin at French Creek.

     Glen was always the strongest and the largest of the brothers. Although he was never fast, he had great arm. He had a fastball and a wicked curve that would either make you tremble in fear or cheer with glee.

 ( Depending whose team you were on!) Not many batters were willing to dig into the batters box when Glen Todd was on the mound. If they did it once, they knew not to do it a second time. He had the appearance on the mound of an angry bull who was hungry. And you were between him and the next plate of food. He was going to get you out of the way, that was for sure. He could have continued his hi-jinks on the mound and possibly on the gridiron as well, but a terrible trampoline accident in school made that difficult, if not impossible. But try playing him now in a game of catch or horseshoes or bowling. The ball still flies in freakish ways from his big bruiser man hands.

9-11 Redux

                                                                               
I went to the Newseum with my girlfriend this past Saturday to see the museum itself, but especially the 9-11 exhibits. Everything was well done and edifying. I felt that it was something important for my own understanding of what happened that day, and how it affected my life.
   I found myself reliving some of the same emotions that I felt that day. And the weather this past Saturday was identical to weather on 9-11-2001. No wind or humidity. No clouds. A Chamber of Commerce picture perfect day.That in itself was quite surreal and prescient. I felt that I was at the right place at the right time. It was cathartic for me to relive the bad and the good. Yes, there was good that day as well.
 It is hard to grasp that someone's thinking could lead them to even think about murdering innocent people, let alone actually doing it. The evil that day was inescapable.  It was not just the deaths, but the manner in which so many died. The perpetrators are without excuse and we can all only hope that there will be true justice for them someday. But there evil deed was not the end of the story.

 

Your Facts are out of style

  I once worked for a marketing firm that did what all marketing firms do. They created and sold images and then claimed them to be real. And to our customers, these boogie men and superheroes of our imagination were real. It is easy to do if your customers want to believe what you are selling them. Many times it is their vision, not the marketing firms that drives the whole enterprise. And if marketing weren't so darn effective, it would be fun too. Setting up straw men from our own internal narrative is what every Sunday writer can sink their teeth into. It doesn't take great skill or a powerful imagination to invite someone to scratch their own psyche's internal itch. The skill comes in convincing the customer that this itch is not some character flaw or a bias, but a virtue. We can all be superheroes or patriots. A scar is now a beauty mark.
 All this type of writing really takes is the motivation to do so. Usually money is enough motivation in itself. But being the guy yanking the proverbial chain and divining the Wizard of Oz is a power play that many writers simply can't resist. And in today's mainstream thought process, it can be seen as a  necessity. Group think is in vogue, so why be thoughtful and ineffective? Instead tell people how itchy they feel and give them the 'medicine they need' and watch to the dollars roll in. As long as the money comes in, it shouldn't run out. So have fun while pontificating and imagineering your story, you 'Charlatans of Itch'. Because none of us will have much fun from the results begotten from a process whose premise is to deceive and entice while delivering nothing but more of the same. But it for our enjoyment, of course. Bring on the Lions and the Clowns. The Circus of Life is for your delight! Cheers.

All the Hubris we'll ever need

      It is easy to presume that we know what's up. No one wants to be seen as clueless. So we presuppose certain 'facts' about situations we face. St. Augustine talked in great detail about the nature of knowledge. He stated what seems to be obvious by saying,"We must believe something before we can know anything." And so it is.

                                                             
  That takes me back to the summer of 2000. I was working for an ad agency that had the Republican Presidential ticket as a client. George W. Bush, the Republican nominee, seemed like the type of guy who I would want to avoid if he were a schoolmate or a co-worker. I could see him talking me into doing some type of favor for him. In return, I would get to say, 'Thanks"? He didn't seem like he was a reasonable or responsible person.  If he became President , he would definitely need someone to hold his hand. He was scary in a weird kind of "let me drive, I'm not drunk" kind of way. And this is before I knew of his infamous drinking and driving exploits from the past.  I didn't want to give this guy the keys to anyone's car, let alone mine. So I decided to check out his opponent. I looked across the room and saw Al Gore. Hmmm... this is not looking any better to me. I could choose between two seemingly bored rich kids who felt an obligation to be important in some way. So, just like a spoiled rich kid, they both decided to be President. So I looked at 'Georgie' a second time. That is when I saw Dick Cheney. I started to feel better.
Here was an old guy who was a smooth operator. He had been there, and he had done that. He had nothing left to prove to himself or anyone else. He was successful and articulate. And he believed that government was not to be used except for the most simple and straightforward tasks. My nerves were calmed immediately. The old man won't give W. the keys. We are safe. Relax. Vote Republican.

                                                                       
    And then after 9-11, everything changed. It was if the earth's axis now spun with a little wobble in it's motion . Everyone was going to have to adjust. This wasn't simply a suggestion. It was our new reality. But as with anything new or unfamiliar, there were going to be a few people who needed help getting the hang of things. And, maybe not surprisingly, one of those people was my boy, Dick Cheney.
   I knew he's an old guy with a bad ticker who grew up during the cold war and lived through Watergate. This is who he was, and still is. He was a man who never wore the uniform, but who saw himself as a warrior regardless of that notion's absurdity. This was our gatekeeper. This was my man with the ultimate plan.
   I was with Dick, when in 2002 on 'Meet the Press' he talked about fighting in the shadows. That made sense.Our opponent was on the dark side. We would take the fight to him. Yes, I thought. Send the Sicilian mob or even Tony Soprano himself to wack a few bad guys while they ate linguine in their mother's kitchen. That is the way to go.
  But it was not to be.Instead we said 'they hate our freedom' and sent 150,000 troops to Mesopotamia to let them see what real freedom looks like. And from my perspective, freedom looked like giving the keys to the drunk guy if he promises to do as you say. What surprised me the most was that it appeared Dick Cheney was the one guy in the universe who had never heard of the law of unintended consequences. Bite off a little at a time, is what this law states. Or you may end up chewing off your own backside. I thought old guys with bad hearts knew this already. What I didn't know was that old Dick and his gang were going to save me whether I wanted to be saved or not. The Dark Side and Darth Vader himself was now running the show. Lucky us.

 

I'm not Saying,... I'm just Saying

                                         
 Modern life is incredibly fast. The technological underpinnings of today's media market go way beyond anything that could have been envisioned by most ordinary people a few years ago. All the new modes of wireless communication have created a powerful type of  group consciousness that defies easy explanation. These wireless mediums allow us to  exist within ourselves and each other in a way that is both exciting and sobering. As with nearly anything humans devise or employ, there is great hope combined with great fear as to how we will wield our new toy. Our striving forward is what makes this so. We do many things that we can, without ever thinking if we should. The frantic pace of information today doesn't make sober contemplation any more inviting. So the edit mode is now powerless.And how is this good ?

                                                                           

 Tempered and thoughtful dialog is already in short supply these days. Stream of conscious communication may be good for entertaining many social options, but it may not be a positive influence on our ability to make clear and thoughtful decisions. I believe that may simply be a pay grade too high for real time data needing a real time response.
  My brother says that all this stuff is just more noise when he is looking for less noise in his life. Amen? Well the future is right in front of us. Let's get ready. As Bart Scott so eloquently purred, " Can't Wait! "
       http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D7KSkZxt_zo   

But the idea that the news cycle is reality itself is quite scary. Let'see if we are up to the task of making good decisions as if  we were simply getting a cup of  instant coffee at the drive thru window. As someone who loves the written word and most any medium that would support it, I fear that in a world where to think is too big a burden for us, then to struggle with the almighty  pen or the indefatigable word processor will also fall prey to our lack of mental curiosity.  Is it presented to us with a bow on it ? Is it part of the latest news cycle? If not, then why bother with it, right?  It is easier to just have the truth marketed to us by General Electric and The Ford Foundation. And then we will take no time at all to accept it as our own. I'm not saying this will ever be so, I'm just saying that I pray it will never be so.
 

Brothers from Different Mothers

      Abraham Lincoln was, to my thinking, a great writer by any standard. His inspiration for the written and spoken word goes far beyond any of the wildest dreams I ever fancied for my own weary soul. I have thought, felt and done many beautiful things, but never with this man's grace, grit ,eloquence or vision. The better angels of our nature line is a classic, but read the entire quote from his first inaugural address to a deeply divided America."Though passion may have strained it must not break our bonds of affection. The mystic chords of memory, stretching from every battlefield and patriot grave to every living heart and hearthstone all over this broad land, will yet swell the chorus of the Union, when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature."
      Shakespeare would applaud. Whenever I write about or think of Lincoln's voice, I feel like the awkward kid at the school dance. It just feels wrong to somehow  think of he and I as sharing the same language or the same heritage as Americans.  The same as I do with Ben Franklin. The "brothers from different mothers" line always get a laugh, but it seems appropriate to make this type of comparison here. How are we like these guys?                                                                  

                                                                               

                                                                                                                                                   
    I can clearly see how we are different.  But I am unable to plum the depths of honor and sacrifice that allowed this fully free individual to sacrifice all he is or hopes to be for an idea. Even if that idea is as beautiful and sacred as the sacrifice itself.  And that is where I am humbled as I am cast in the shadow of this great man. The entire " same, but different' credo that I hold so near and dear falls short in explaining this chasm. Can it be explained as simply the great compared to the mediocre? Or is there more to the story?
    I wrote last week that it isn't healthy for humans to see themselves as consumers or as commodities. That the soul and the marketplace can make for bad business partners. There needs to be a lifeline from this folly of, in my mind, great consequence. And that Benjamin Franklin and his middle class work ethic could be the tonic, or example we could all use when placing ourselves in any marketplace. I still see this as good and true for me and the culture where I live and breathe as an American of whatever consequence.
   But Lincoln, although not as gifted as Franklin in the "Renaissance Man" sense of thinking,  may have even a greater impact on our lives than Franklin ever could if we so chose to feel this truth.
   Lincoln was more of the 'Greek Tragedy' archetype. Our Best Angel rose within reach of Heaven, then cruelly tore asunder by the Hubris and Arrogance of his Fellow Man. This dynamic tears viscerally at our hearts. We know it's truth within others as well as ourselves. Truly,we are no longer in our Father's Garden. The power of humility in whatever dose would be welcome for us all. But the power of  altruism on such a scale is beyond our comfort zone. It is in our face. And that is good.
       Whereas Franklin and his many personas is merely instructive. Lincoln's life was the shadow of the greatest sacrifice ever known. His Christlike shadow looms large among us. As would be the empty chair of our best friend who has departed without saying goodbye.We need both of these examples in this Republic, but without the kinetic energy created within the tragedy of Lincoln's life and death, we may never be able to implement that which Franklin exemplified. God and everyone in the neighborhood knows we are again at each others throats over who is the better American. What a rotten and terrible thing to say about anyone. Talk about hubris and arrogance?  So let's start an new argument.

It's all about 'The Benjamin'

      There's a line from a song by Sean Combs that said,"It's all about the Benjamins."  And P.Diddy knows much of what he speaks. He has lived his life true to this theme. It is all about the cash.
      Look at just about anything in modern life. Whether it is professional sports, politics, business, or much of social networking. Follow the cash and you will find there what most of us call 'success.' We all love a winner, and the money trail sways like a conga line going daily to whatever champion has designated this or that as 'today's pot of gold.' We market what may be, and send our money to what we hope is. Can it be any other way in modern life and 'succeed?' Probably not. But the market is not a god, and shouldn't be deified as such. It's an idea. And it is an idea that morphs like any other idea .It is no constant that allows us to calibrate our path to true north. The market can only bear what there is, not what we hope there is. And that is just the way it is. It is not so much about hope itself. It is more about what we see as being hope-worthy. Our dreams are not to discarded or set under a bushel basket. The children's Sunday school song that shouts joyfully," this little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine," is good for our collective souls.
    But many times our dreams don't want the burden of truth. As Daniel Patrick Moynihan once said, " You are entitled to have your own opinion, but you are not entitled to your own facts." But here we are. Up against a mighty wall of denial that we have built ourselves, wondering how we can get around it.
    If our success in life is predicated on our humanity itself as being an efficient marketing device, then I propose that we are in big trouble.The idea of marketing everything, from church attendance rates to the perception of how likely a terrorist attack will occur, to the fear that some Emir in the middle east will have a bad hair is no way to solve our big problems when they arise. They seem to be more about pretending that these issues don't even exist. We now live in very big world . Maybe it will takes more than a Burkeian shift to fundamentally alter our approach to our problem as a people to make a difference.Is there a bomb thrower in the house? Is Oliver Cromwell available to heal our nation as the Tea Party desires? Let's hold that bomb for a moment, please.

   Benjamin Franklin was the probably the  coolest of all the founding fathers. Maybe he and his 'Poor Richard' have something to say about our dilemma.. Franklin was America's original Renaissance Man. He was many things, including an opportunistic marketer when the situation called for it. But he always saw the fullness of his life and that of his peers. I wonder if we are as wise. The idea that he would see himself as chattel to be marketed by himself or others to the exclusion of his humanity would be foreign to Poor Richard or Silence Dogood.  But we seem to happily swim in this concept every day. Maybe to the point where we miss our selves in the process. Our humanity needs to be tied to something much more than a successful marketing campaign. Ben was many thing. But he wasn't a commodity  And he didn't look at other men and women as such. Maybe that is where we should start.
   The market is a great tool. Let's not make that tool a great big hammer. Maybe it is better seen as a mirror. We all know that mirrors can be a pain, especially when looked into first thing in the morning. But look we must. Let's hope that all we see there is more than simply Green.