Tagged: men
Block Two
The preacher, the only one in the room wearing a suit, leaned forward, dramatically closing in on the microphone. His hands grasped each side of the worn, wooden pulpit, a relic which never failed to support his weight in moments like these. A professional, he drew energy from the room’s silence like Superman would the sun’s rays. Attendance had been dwindling, but this morning there were more people than he expected. He took that as a sign. During this pause, he made eye contact with nearly everyone, and as he scanned the room, he found one unfamiliar face, a young man. Unlike most past guests, the young man did not look away.
The preacher, at last, continued.
“To be able to forget,” he concluded. “Sometimes I just want to be able to forget,” he said, repeating his desire, this time without pausing for effect. “You know me well enough to know first-hand that I sin as much as you,” he said gravely. “I know me well enough to argue that I probably sin more,” he said, the corners of his mouth rising as he shook his head. A lone chuckle evidenced that he hadn’t lost his knack for timing.
Unlike recent Sundays, he had something to say this morning. And while he needed to transport the audience to a place where they felt the weight of the world, he also knew they needed slight relief every so often if they were to feel him lift it completely off at the end. Picking up the pace, the preacher proceeded.
“I want to be able to forget big things, sure. Like hate, meanness, selfishness. But that’s not all. I want to be able to forget specific things. I want to be able to forget when I was mean to my best friend. I want to be able to forget when I yelled, ‘I hate you!’ to my parents. I want to be able to forget the time that I didn’t share my ice cream with my son,” he claimed, feeling his heart pound like it always did right before he pulled it out for all to see. “More than that-” he stopped, and re-directed, “I can be honest here, right? Is that okay with you?” he asked. A majority of heads nodded in response, and a practiced, deep “preach it!” could be heard.
“More than that,” the preacher resumed, “I want to be able to forget that in each of those circumstances I wanted to do those things. Those actions were desirable to me. I wanted to be mean; I wanted to hate; I wanted to be selfish. If the Lord was standing here right now, and we all got to ask one question, mine would be, ‘Isn’t it enough that we do these things? Can’t you at least relieve us of our memory of them?'” he paused, nearly choked up. “But the Lord isn’t here right now,” he said, regaining his composure. “He isn’t going to intervene and answer my question. And why not? Is it because he doesn’t care? Is it because he doesn’t exist? No. It’s because he’s done everything necessary already. The onus is on us now. Remember?” he asked.
With a look that betrayed that he didn’t even realize that he had come down from the stage as he spoke, he turned his back on the crowd and walked up the two creaky stairs, returning to the pulpit. This signaled that he was near the end.
“Remember,” he said, the word somewhere between a command, a statement, and a question.
“Certainly everyone here is aware of the current stress put on living a balanced life. Eastern religions have the yin-yang concept. Likewise, when I think of all the things I want to forget, I can’t help but be grateful for one thing that we can’t ever forget–Jesus of Nazareth. He came. He spoke the truth. He gave us hope. But he also convicted us. So we killed him for it. Did it have to happen that way? I don’t know. I just don’t know. But it did. And if we ever forget that, I’m not sure we won’t forget hope altogether.”
Entitlement
I first heard the term “entitlement nation” somewhere between 2005 and 2008. I can picture some article hanging on the wall somewhere at work. Or maybe it was the back page of a magazine at work. In any case, entitlement was about–so I thought–the general public wanting something for nothing. As in, people wanting money for not working, people wanting healthcare without paying for it, people wanting to retire without saving for it. Little did I know how wrong I was. Perhaps it is more accurate to say little did I know how small a part of entitlement those big social programs were.
Want to know what entitlement is? Entitlement is driving too close to a semi-truck that kicks up a rock that chips your windshield and believing the semi-truck should pay for the damage. Entitlement is believing that you should only have to stand in line a certain amount of time at a store. Entitlement is believing that your food should come out in a timely manner at a precise temperature, and if it doesn’t, the restaurant should pay for the meal.
Learning is defined as a change in behavior based on experience. Insanity is doing the same thing and expecting different results.
By the time a person is old enough to drive he has heard stories of large trucks kicking up rocks which can chip windshields. Learning has not occurred when a person drives too close to a large truck. Learning has occurred when a 16-year old gives a large truck enough space for some other moron to drive too close to it.
By the time a person is old enough to be in a line at a store by himself he has to have seen the correlation between number of items and people and the length of the wait. Learning has not occurred when this person freaks out or allows his emotional state to change because he just can’t believe he has to wait so long. Learning has occurred when an impatient person stops shopping during the busiest time of the day.
By the time a person is old enough to be at a restaurant and pay their own way he has to have seen the occasional slip up by the staff. Learning has not occurred when this person demands their food be free and throws a temper-tantrum. Learning has occurred when this person pays their bill and never returns to the restaurant *or* returns but has lengthened the expected wait time and lowered the expected temperature of the food.
Learning is changing. Insanity is sameness. Entitlement is sameness. Entitlement is insanity.
Quit being insane people.
Why College? Veterans Know.
The reason to attend college is debatable. It shouldn’t be. Let’s clear the air.
College, if you’re lucky enough to go, is simply the place to finish out the “how to be human” training we began in kindergarten. It is not, nor will it ever prove to be, a kind of vocational training ground. But that is what a lot of people seem to believe it is. My question, the question this post asks, is why? Why is college now discussed as merely a part of our professional development, as opposed to our human development? Perhaps more important than that question is this one: what can be done about it?
Lucky for all of us, I have the answers: College became known as a place for professional development because the baby-boomers found out they actually had to work for a living, and the resultant anger they felt clouded their subsequent decision making. Poor decision making led to them not wanting to accept or own the fact that the America they grew up in did not happen by accident. The question about the future is, of course, one that I can and will answer, but it is one that we all have to answer for ourselves. Do things have to get worse before they get better? Some seem to believe that. Or can we just start making things better right now?
It’s a given that I had the least military bearing of any of my peers in the Air Force, but even I still recognized the value of “Integrity First, Service Before Self, and Excellence In All We Do.” I’m sure the other branches have some similarly applicable ideals to guide their decision making.
In other words, we should never forget that college is the place where we learn how to be human. Being human entails getting along with people who are different from us.
Veterans know what it’s like to not get along with people who are different from us, and therefore must accept the new duty of re-enforcing college’s mission. But there is more. Veterans must not shirk the responsibility of reminding the country of the value of values. Unfortunately for veterans, then, it seems the fight never ends.
Mommies Are Not Alive
Her new nearly-florescent neon tennis shoes did little to distract him from feeling the sting of what she said next.
“Mommies are not alive,” she purported.
“Mommies are not alive? I don’t think that’s right H-,” he returned.
“They aren’t alive. Mommies are not alive,” she said.
“What is a mommy?” he asked, seeking context at the least.
“K- is my mommy,” she answered.
“Hmm. So you know K- is your mommy, and that she’s alive, but you still maintain that mommies are not alive?”
“Yep, they’re not,” she said.
“Well,” he took a breath, “I hate to break it to you kid, but mommies are very much alive. Your mommy is alive. My mommy is alive. They’re alive,” he lectured dryly.
“Mommies are not alive,” she continued, a perfect stubbornness showing through. “Skeletons aren’t alive either.”
“Skeletons, eh?” he said. “Oh! I get it. Not mommies, mummies! Muh-muh mummies are not alive. You’re trying to say that dead bodies wrapped in tape are not alive, right? They’re called mummies, muh-meez, not mah-meez.”
“Yeah,” she said, her eyes betraying her brain’s increase in activity. “Bodies wrapped in,” she paused, “in tape,” she finished, her nodding head and squinting eyes calling out his inaccuracy. “Mommies-”
“Muh H-,” he corrected, “muh-meez. Mummies are not alive.”
“Mah-”
“Muh-”
‘Mah-”
“Muh-meez H-,” he said, feeling his patience about to buckle. “Forget it. Can you say reanimated?”
“Re-ami-nated?” she asked.
“Re-ani-mated,” he repeated.
“Reanimated,” she said.
“Good. Now say ‘mummies are reanimated, but mommies are alive.'”
“Mommies are reanimated, but mommies are alive.”
“Perfect.”
The Last Transmission
“This is the last transmission we received sir,” General Moberly informed the President.
“Play it.”
Click
“I feel so immature, but if you must know, my last thoughts here are of the ending of the most recent War of the Worlds film. The one with TC. You know the part I’m talking about, right? The part when nature does what man couldn’t do. Yep, that’s what I’m thinking about right now. It’s kind of funny really. Three nine-month one-way trips to a distant planet. Three successful landings. And we’ve been here for six years, nearly thriving. All twelve of us. And now this.
“No, it’s not martians that are going to wipe us out. No, it’s not bacteria. No, it’s not a lack of supplies. What’s killing us is an asteroid that’s arriving in a few minutes. Of course, it’s not going to hit us directly. Instead of a nice clean death, we’re being told that we’ll see it, feel the Mars shake beneath our feet, and then within minutes the aftermath of debris and shock-wave will rip apart everything we’ve worked so hard to build. First, the dust will erode the domes, then our suits, then our skin, and finally our bones. Apparently the cosmos doesn’t like us humans squatting wherever we damn well please. Well, I say fuck the cosmos. Sorry ma. But whoever’s listening needs to know that everyone here knew the risks and is content with this end. Don’t stop exploring. You can’t let this change anything.
“Okay, this is it. Wow. It’s so bright. I didn’t expect it to be for another two-minutes. I’m sorry for everything! I don’t want to die!”
Click
“Is that it?” asked the President, “Everyone’s dead? The base is destroyed?”
“Yes sir.”
“Well, then. It seems to me there’s only one thing to do,” the President continued.
“What’s that sir?”
“We’re going to honor their wishes. Get me NASA. And schedule a press conference. We’re going to Mars.”
“Yes sir!”
Mac ‘n’ Cheese’s Home Date
“How’s your mac’n’cheese H-?”
“It’s far away,” she responded matter of factly.
“Huh? How’s your mac’n’cheese?”
“It’s far away. It’s in Townsville,” she said, finally elaborating.
“Wait what?” he asked, shaking his head. More curious than ever to discover where this would lead he again asked, “How’s your mac’n’cheese?”
“I told you daddy. It’s far away. It’s in Townsville. On May 10th. That’s my birthday,” she said, nodding her head while staring at the dish. Searching eyes exposed her thoughts more than words ever could. “How can I be more clear? I think I’m being clear,” she thought.
“Your mac’n’cheese is far away, in Townsville, which is on May 10th?” he asked, attempting for clarification.
“Yep,” she answered, delighted by his demonstration of understanding.
“Oooookay then.”
High Class
“Do we have cauliflower?” she asked after he mentioned broccoli.
“Nope, just broccoli,” he answered.
“Why don’t we have cauliflower?” she persisted.
“Because I didn’t buy any,” he said, not giving in.
After finishing her broccoli, she watched as he slid the grilled chicken on to her plate. Together now, they began to eat.
“Oh,” he interrupted, “did you want barbecue sauce?”
“Yes,” she said, “the new sauce.”
“I know, I know. You didn’t like the hot stuff.”
“Hot stuff?”
“Nevermind. Here’s your sauce. And here’s my sauce.”
To the sound of silverware squishing into chicken, they returned to the task at hand. Suddenly, she let out a shriek.
“What?” he asked, fearful that even the new sauce was too hot.
Spitting out the chicken, she replied, “I don’t like the roasted ones. That one’s roasted.”
“Huh?”
“See daddy? Roasted,” she said, pointing at the grill marks on the chicken.
“Oh. You don’t like the burnt part. Excuse me, the roasted part. Okay, you don’t have to eat it,” he allowed. “High class H-, you’re high class,” he thought, pride swelling.
“To Forgive Divine”
“But you know that there’s more to the quote than ‘to err is human’, right?” his friend pressed.
“Certainly. That’s the whole point. The full translation is “To err is human, to forgive divine.’ But it seems like forgiveness is a lost art. One mistake, one err, and you’re done. As the random soldier in Last of the Mohicans says, ‘And I will not live under that yoke.'”
“What am I? Chopped liver? Shit man, I’m still here.”
“I know you are. That’s because you’re my friend. You know how to forgive. You’re dee-vi-ine.”
“Whatever. You know what I meant. Are you done? I have stuff to do.”
Needs
“I need things, you know?” he said, as his friend’s eyebrows raised and eyes widened. “I’m serious.”
“Oh, I know you’re serious.”
“One thing I need–I mean this is a prerequisite to life no different than air–is to be able to make mistakes,” he explained.
“I guess I can buy that. Don’t you have that?”
“I don’t know. Sometimes I think I do. But then there are times when the pressure to not err is so great that it’s asphyxiating. Have you ever felt that?”
“Uhm…I don’t think I understand what you mean.”
“I mean that there is a feeling, something ethereal, maybe it’s not even real, but I feel it just the same. There is a peculiar feeling I get when I know what the right thing to do is, the right course of action, but at the same time I don’t really want to take that route. It’s like I can see a bunch of infographic style arrows pointing to the right decision, and yet another option, one that is not highlighted, holds greater appeal,” he continued.
“Okay, I think I can say I understand what you mean. If you’re simply trying to describe that you feel like always choosing the right thing makes you feel less than human, or that always choosing to do the right thing makes you feel not alive, then yes, I have felt that feeling. For me, I think I can relate on the patience virtue. I know when I need to be patient, but there are some times I can’t help but ask myself, “‘What am I even trying for here? Most perfect man ever?'”
“Exactly. That’s exactly it. Didn’t someone famous say, ‘To err is human?’ I feel like that sentiment was taught under the premise that erring is only something that happens by accident. What does it say about me if I err on purpose?”
“Uh…that you’re human.”
“Oh. Good point.”
Sounds of Life
His fingers slid along the front side of the envelope. He recognized the sender as one capable of bearing no news or bad news. The fear of bad news might be why he heard his fingers as they slid, a sort of low hiss. He was near his breaking point. His body was on full alert. Finding a slight opening near the seal, he heard the envelope tear as he wondered why anyone would ever buy a letter opener. He unfolded the pages, hyper-extending the crease with a pop. Next, the sound of paper against paper filled his ears as his left hand unveiled the second page.
Then, there was no sound.
In that moment, in that void, he did what any good soul does when receiving bad news. He used the limitless silence to escape. He filled the silence with questions, with doubts, with denial. That led to him filling the silence with Lawrence Fishburne’s voice. “You have to let it all go Neo. Fear. Doubt. Disss-Bee-lief.” Finally, he filled the void with a smile. Because the truth was–the truth was that from rock bottom there is only one way out. Up.
Then, as always, laughter broke the silence.
Captain’s Log 