Hey you guys!  Ok get this.  I have not been to a bar since maybe October of last year.  Tonight Twin Brother called me, not really my twin and not really my brother.  He called and asked, “Hey, you wanna get a life?”  Well, I couldn’t really argue with that so I said “Sure.”  We went to a neighborhood bar and eatery that is friendly to bikers and caught up on old times.  We were having a great time until I caught notice of activity behind me.  It seems it was karaoke night.  I am somewhat of a music snob, i.e.’ I refuse to dance to dj’s or juke boxes. Previous experiences with the karaoke scene have left me dismayed at best, horrified more likely. 

            The company was good and the beer was incredibly fresh, in fact it possessed great taste and was not filling.  I decided to stick it out for a while.  What happened next took me quite by surprise.  Singer after singer took the stage and I have to say that I was impressed.  At first I assumed my impression came from the fact that I had not been out for so long that I was starved for entertainment.  The more singers that got up on stage the more I tuned in.  Finally, there was a girl, Marta was her name, on stage who was one of those singers that make you wonder what the hell they are doing singing karaoke in Cedar Rapids, Iowa.  That is so cool that there is talent of such depth right under our noses.  

I had set a time limit of 11:00 PM for staying out, yeah rebel, I know.  What can I say, I had to get home to write my blog and I still had no idea of what I would write!  Actually I was glad that I had set the limit on my libations for 11:00 PM.  because things seemed to get out of hand.  At least to my comfort level, anyway.  I would have liked to stay longer because I truly wanted to hear more of the local talent in general and to verify that the starlet of the evening was really as good as I thought she was. 

What kind of wrecked the night for me is that some of the guys at my table had been what you might refer to as, over served.  There was a couple at the club who were taking advantage of every opportunity to get out on the dance floor and enjoy each others company.  Evidently, one of the guys at my table had a problem with the obvious joy the dancers were having as they swayed back and forth to various ballads.  He kept going on to the dance floor trying to interrupt their dance with suggestions that one of the partners would be better off dancing with him. 

            I am not certain why I did not intervene and tell him to knock it off.  I am ashamed of myself for not doing that.  I have known the antagonist of the above described situation for many years and obnoxious behavior is not unassociated with him.  The dance partners were doing their best to keep it light and seemed to laugh and toy with him as he made his advances.  In retrospect their reaction was maybe rehearsed from being in that situation before.  It is a shame that they could not go about their evening uninterrupted.  The dancers were both women. 

As I write this blog I am burdened by the idea that people involved in relationships such as theirs would possibly be subjected to interruptions such as I witnessed tonight with a frequency higher than heterosexuals would ever imagine.  It seems a sad commentary on our culture that intolerance such as this would exist in an entertainment venue on a Friday night.  As long as self described but unpracticed progressive thinkers such as myself do not make a stand for what is right in situations such as I saw this evening we will not become a society that I can be fully proud of.

 

Ok, I'm still not done learning here.  I had included this in my original posting, "Perhaps some of the blame falls on the dancers themselves.  Biker bars are hardly considered bastions of progressive thought."  That was stupid.  A friend read that and expressed disappointment in me saying it rang analogous to saying rape victims deserve their fate if they dress sexy.   She was right.  I was wrong.   

We had Thunderstorms in the Mid-west last night.  I am not sure how I developed affection for severe storms.  It wasn’t always so.  One of my earliest memories of being freaked by a storm occurred in 1972.  I don’t remember my parents going out for dinner without the kids very often as I was growing up.  My older and not as good looking, brother, was seventeen at the time.  He was out somewhere doing what ever seventeen year old boys did in 1972 on that night.  I was a strapping twelve years old and my parents had left my then seven year old sister and I home alone.  It was a rare treat to be left home alone and “in charge.”  The ABC movie of the week that evening was The Night Stalker. http://www.darrenmcgavin.net/night_stalker1.htm  I had been waiting all week to see the show and the thought that it would scare the bejesus out of my little sister was icing on the cake.

            I watched with gleeful anticipation as my Dad backed out of our driveway in his mint condition 1960 Buick Electra 225.   http://www.1motormart.com/gallery/60bck01.jpg (Ours was a hard top but the linked image was the same color.)  No sooner than my parents rounded the corner at the top of the hill and the wind began to pick up in our quiet little neighborhood.  Soon the sky darkened, the wind picked up and the sound of rolling thunder could be heard in the distance.  No problem.  We tuned in to much anticipated vampire thriller and settled in for an evening of living on the edge. 

            I’m not quite sure at what point exactly the movie quit being entertainment and became a struggle for my psychological survival.  Before I knew it my back was firmly pressed into my seat and my senses were all too aware of every sound in the house and outside our windows.  The lightning was flashing, the wind was howling and the rain was beating on the window panes in sheets.  It was perfect weather for vampires to sneak around in.  Not only that but I was certain the roar of the storm would drown out all screams for help when the blood sucking vampires came in for their kill.  The movie was as if being shown in simulcast as Darrin McGavin made his way up the cold storm drenched stairwell of the vampire mansion.  The idea occurred to me that I would not need to out run a vampire.  I only needed to muster enough speed to out run my little sister.  No, that wasn’t proper thinking!  I was grateful that she was too young to understand the eminent danger our lives were in at that very moment. That is when it happened.

            A humongous bolt of lightning flashed and struck the transformer at the end of the street.  The reverberations in my ears from the simultaneous ear shattering thunder clasp had not ended before the lights flickered and then failed.  No longer were the lights there to provide their shield of light from the creatures of the night.  OH SHIT!  There was no way that any vampires were going to be drinking any blood at the Wilcox house on this night.  Not if I could help it.  I felt my way through the darkened house to the kitchen and found my mothers biggest carving knife.  The cold stainless steel blade gleaned assuringly with each flash of lightning.  I made my way back to the living room where my sister sat with an unexplainable look of amusement on her face.  Perhaps her mind had already shut down and the terror which was upon us had initiated a humor defense to protect her fragile mind.

            It seemed like hours passed as I stood sentry waiting to spring to action at the first sign of trouble.  My knuckles had turned white as the blood had rushed away as a result of the death grip I held on the knife.  In actuality maybe twenty minutes passed before the welcome sight of the big Buick’s headlights turned into our driveway.   As my parents came in, shaking the rain from their jackets, they inquired to how we got along.  I had never been more grateful to see my parents in my entire life.  Their presence gave me the confidence to tell them, even as my heartbeat was still working its way down from its peak of 160 beats per minute, that all was well and that we had enjoyed our evening.  At that point my mother let out a blood curdling scream, my heart stopped and my eyes rolled back into my head.  My sister had walked around the corner from the living room brandishing the nine inch carving blade and began telling them how I had been so scared that I had not set the knife down for one second once the power had gone out.  Defeated, I just decided it was time for bed as my mother attended to the removal of the blade which had looked so out of place in their sweet little daughter’s hands.

The nobility and dignity of the human spirit never ceases to amaze me.  We are all impressed with the stories of athletes overcoming adversity to achieve crowning glory.  We are inspired by stories of people with humble beginnings who rise from poverty to positions of power or wealth.  We marvel at the heroics of ordinary people thrust into action in an emergency situation.  Our world is filled with wonderful and fantastic stories of people beating the odds and championing adversity.  One of the reasons we are so enthralled by such remarkable achievement is that most of us will never have or realize the opportunity to achieve greatness on such a widely appreciable scale.  In many cases most of us would find such obstacles or challenges insurmountable. 

            It is not such a bad thing to adjust our plans or purpose in the pursuit of a goal or when attempting to prevail over impediments in our lives.  Many times alterations are necessary from setting goals to high or recognizing that the price for relieving our dissonance is just too high.  What is important is that we entered the race or fought the fight to the best of our ability.  A lot can go into defining what “our best” really is when confronted with difficulties.  Bad things happen to good people all the time and try as we might we can never understand why that seems to be.  The other day I had the opportunity to have a discussion with some people who felt that life just wasn’t giving them a fair shake.  I was reminded of my blog post from Wednesday February 8^th which dealt with the expression, “There but for the grace of God, go I.”  I heard a story from a lady who is not only suffering in her relationships at home and at work but financially and spiritually as well.  When somebody is suffering such complete turmoil in so many aspects of their life it does not take long for the conversation to turn spiritual. 

            It would seem that a loving God would never pile that much misfortune on one person, especially in this example where from all outward appearances the person is doing everything they can to repair and maintain all that is left in her life.  Her disillusionment is understandable and the fact that she did not demonstrate severe bitterness was amazing to me.  One of the popular tenets of all major religions is for the complete surrender of the self and accompanying misfortunes to the higher power.  It is only after the resignation of self that God can work his plan in our lives.  It is hard for God to steer if we won’t let go of the wheel.  Yet, it is difficult to release your hopes and expectations when you are feeling dumped upon and certain that one more calamity will put you down and out for the count. 

            After reflection, it would seem to me that in a situation as described above that there may be little alternative other than to turn ones self over to God.  While I do not believe that God would pile problems on anybody to get their attention it does seem plausible to me that he would refuse to lift their burdens until they were truly ready to accept his help.  There are numerous examples recited in testimonies of people who reported having to hit rock bottom in their lives before seeing clearly that they could not control the events in their lives.  It was only after they resigned themselves to God and understood that the only thing they could control was how they reacted to the adversities in their lives that they were able to move beyond them. 

            When people are struggling in their day to day lives and make choices to trust in God and raise themselves from the abyss of their circumstance is when nobility and human dignity are at their best.  I felt honored that I had the opportunity to be in the presence of someone who, while suffering greatly, was fighting the fight to rise above it.  No accolades, rewards or fame will come from this endeavor and yet the will to rise above it remains.   The resiliency of the human spirit is revealed every day if we know where to look for it.  Heroics, wealth and achievement are commendable aspirations but more practical is having the ability to meet the challenges that can rise up in our daily lives.

The little USA Today snapshot, on Monday, had a graphic entitled, Money and Happiness.  The paper reported on, “Americans who describe themselves as “very happy” by household income.”  It seems that 24% of Americans earning less than $30,000 annually reported being “very happy.”  It then went on to report 33% of those with an income of $30,000 to $74,999, 38% of households with incomes of $75,000-$99,999 and 49% of homes which had annual incomes of greater than $100,000 described themselves as being “very happy.”  George W., with an income of $711,453* for the tax year 2001 and Dick Cheney, with taxable income of $945,051** in 2002, must spend all their time laughing their butts off.  I have no problem with them earning that kind of money.  I’m just suggesting that based on the USA Today Snapshot that they must be very happy fellows.  Good for them.

The Beatles sang a song, Money (That’s what I want) which had lyrics of “Money don’t get everything it’s true.  What it don’t get I can’t use.  So gimme money (that’s what I want)” We constantly hear that money can’t buy happiness or money can’t buy love. (another Beatles song)  Typically it is people without money who say that.  They have to say that.  It sucks to not have money and when you don’t have it you sure as well better find some other means to find happiness.  I would be the first to agree that money can’t buy happiness or love but it sure gets a lot of the crap out of the way on the quest for happiness.  Sufficient money eliminates worries about the fundamental needs of survival.  Sufficient money allows gratification of wants and desires.  And, regarding love, how do you explain the pot bellied bald guys you see in Vegas with the doting super-model wives who are twenty years their junior?  Uh-huh. 

I suppose we could get distracted about talking of depth of happiness and the genuineness of love originated on the foundation of a stellar financial statement but how do you quantify that?  If surveyed Americans demonstrate that income and happiness are directly related who are we to argue?  To suggest that the happiness associated with income is less valuable than happiness based on more fundamental principles is subjective and I would surmise that it is without merit.  More importantly, discrediting another person’s perception of happiness diminishes the inner peace of the critical observer.  The world will be a lot better off when we learn to be concerned with what we personally can achieve in life.  As long as opportunity exists equally for everybody then measurement of another’s accomplishments is an exercise in futility.

Of fundamental importance is that each person has a chance to act upon opportunities which are available indiscriminately.  When there is a concentration of power which is not disbursed equitably with all Americans able to have their voice heard we are lost.  When we allow wealth, power and special interests to have greater access to our government than a less privileged constituency then we have forsaken the principles and sacrifices which have made this nation great. 

Sources:

• * http://www.whitehouse.gov/news/releases/2002/04/20020412-6.html
• ** http://www.whitehouse.gov/news/releases/2003/04/20030411-8.html

My six year old son has prosthesis for his right leg.  His tibia did not develop correctly while in the womb.  The result ended up being the amputation of his right foot.  He is the younger sibling of seventeen year old twins, one boy, and one girl.  Regarding the twins, you can’t imagine how many times we have been asked if they were identical.  Um, no.  If that question entered your mind, please leave this web page now.  I digress, the dynamics of our family make for some interesting times.

            Kids will be kids and when you have the combination of a rambunctious kindergartener and a young woman anxious to take on the world you are bound to witness some incredible exchanges.  A particular favorite of our family involved the six year old being particularly bothersome while his older sister was working hard to prepare for an upcoming project at school.  It did not take long for things to escalate.  The little guy is well trained in which buttons to push to attain his sisters undistracted attention.  Problem is the attention he desired and eventually received was delivered in a manner that he soon found extremely undesirable.

            It only took moments for the dialogue to deteriorate to the point where phrases such as, “shut up”, “knock it off”, “go away”, and “I hate you, you are a stinky Pete” became so prevalent that parental intervention seemed eminent.  In hindsight, we really should have intervened but the conflict took a turn which piqued our curiosity.  “If you don’t stop it and leave me alone I am going to rip your leg off!”  In a household not inhabited by a child who wears a prosthesis this might be cause for alarm.  In our house, knowing the parties involved, we envisioned either the demonstration of a youngster knowing when he had gone too far or a youngster learning a valuable life lesson.  Moments later the final ultimatum was laid down clearly eliminating any doubt that the threat of the forceful leg removal would be acted upon if the younger brother uttered one more word. 

            “Jerk”, came the reply in the timid and reluctant voice of the child who was only beginning to understand he could not win this battle.  The next sounds we heard began with the hurried and determined footfalls followed by the noises associated with a frightened six year old scampering toward the stairs in attempt to elude certain and swift undesired consequences.  There was a shriek, a split second of silence, the thud of the prosthesis landing at the base of the stairs and then heartbreaking cries of apology and pleas for mercy.  Lesson learned.

            Another opportunity arose for our family to consider the idea that a prosthesis is not something most people have a lot of familiarity with.  Guests arrived at our home late in the evening.  They had traveled a considerable distance and were set upon by the fatigue which occurs from all day travel.  They had never met my son but would have to wait until morning as he had already gone to bed.  As we welcomed our visitors we lead them to the living room when they suddenly stopped in their tracks.  Looking somewhat uncomfortable and unsure of themselves I followed their line of sight and noticed that my son had left his prosthesis on the living room floor.  It was pushed up against the couch and gave the impression that the couch had landed on him and we had just left him trapped beneath.  I think they felt that our amusement at their expense was not entirely understandable but they somehow found a way to forgive us.  So it goes.

I am finding, in reaching out through this blog, that it is not uncommon for people to feel that they have untapped reservoirs of compassion and understanding which they aspire to share with others.  The desire to connect with others originates in the basic social nature of humanity.  Everybody has or should have a belief that they possess gifts, unique to their individuality, which could provide comfort, joy or understanding for others in their world.  If we take the time to talk to anybody we will find something in them that is beautiful and special.  Why not give them the opportunity to share that?  We have become a divided nation, not only politically but as individuals.  The ego-centric mentality which seems to be proliferating in our culture is exemplified in increased incidences of incivility and intolerance.  It would seem that when we dismiss another any individual as being of inferior value we are really diminishing our own personal experience. 

Intolerance and incivility is especially myopic when we apply those behaviors to entire classes of people.  Whether the class is ethnic, religious, economic, education level, gender or sexual preference humanity would suffer had we not benefited from their contributions.  It matters not what subset of humanity a group of people belong to but rather what is in their hearts and minds.  By imposing preconceived judgments on the value of any categorization of humanity we risk not only the opportunities of personal enrichment but also historic achievement.

The risks inherent with diminishing the worth of a classification of humanity are equally applicable in individual considerations.   Consider the child whose self esteem is thwarted by inattention when there is an accomplishment to be shared.  Imagine a lonely co-worker unable to share exciting personal news or the neighbor who has experience in a trial that you are facing.  Ponder the lonely spouse whose love is unreciprocated by their mate or the forlorn employee at the local store.  Each of those people believes they have contributions to make in the world.  It would be realistic that people long for a connection with others that is mutually fulfilling.  What better gift could we give not only ourselves but another person if we take the time to discover a meaningful connection of shared hopes or experiences?  If the recipient of our attention suffers any perception of marginalization then the reciprocal benefits can be infinite.  How much better we would feel by abandoning behavior of incivility or intolerance.  Go on, spread a little joy today!