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.