The Pen is Flightier

Do you like me? Check one:
_____Yes _____No

Things are so much simpler in writing, right? In our world of instant messages, email, text messaging, and such, we're able to communicate with (in this case) millions of people at lightning speed, potentially without ever laying eyes on another human being. And that's great, isn't it?

Let's revisit that junior high school note. I wrote a few of those in my time, with varying degrees of success. Other than emotional immaturity (compounded by fear of rejection and minimal self-confidence), there's further reason that notes like this are generate: It's much easier to hide behind the written word than have a face-to-face conversation.

My aunt has taught high school social studies and coached girls' golf for more than twenty years and has countless stories regarding this topic. Recently she told me about a girl who played on her golf team. At the end of the season, after reviewing the criteria for earning a varsity letter, my aunt noticed that a few girls had not earned the accolade. One girl's mother felt the need to write a four-page email to my aunt, describing the ways this "travesty" (yes, she wrote "travesty") would negatively affect her daughter for years to come. It was, according to this mother, embarrassing for her daughter not to receive the award despite not having achieved the necessary criteria to do so. My aunt placed a call to the girl's mother, hoping to explain her stance (which was supported by her school administration as well as the athletic director). When no one answered the call, my aunt left a message explaining the criteria and offering to meet with the woman if she so desired. The next day, another email from this woman, offering further complaints and threats of writing a letter for the local paper. At this point, my aunt realized she would meet with little success, so she forwarded this email to the athletic director, adding that she wished for him to deal with further interactions, which is what happened.

This mother is clearly afraid of personal interaction. She would rather hide behind a computer screen than speak to someone in person.

I had a recent conversation with another young woman about this, and she stated that when topics are more serious, she prefers email interaction over phone calls or face-to-face meetings. She continued by adding that typed or written responses give her more confidence in what she has to say, the opportunity to think more before responding. I stated that I felt this form of communication is less truthful, that an honest conversation with another human being should include body language, gestures, at least the sound of another voice. By the way, this "conversation" was initiated on AIM.

So what do you think? Have we become a society dependent too much on the written word? Have we forgotten how to communicate personally?

In the Name of Love?

About five years ago my father was on a church committee, conducting a search for a new senior pastor. He generally kept me abreast of the process, any progress, or lack thereof. As the committee began formulating questions for potential candidates, my father shared an interesting one with me: If you could rid mankind of any single sin, what would it be?

While you consider that question (and perhaps even whether or not you believe in sin...I suggest you should, but more on that another time), I'll mention this entry's photograph. For several years I was a public school teacher, and during the end of my most recent tour of duty, I decided to start collecting eyeballs, with the express purpose of possibly using them here. Above you'll find an interesting specimen: The ubiquitous teenage male. This one possesses above average intelligence. (By the way, he's most likely going to read this entry and maybe even post a comment...so I'll avoid libel and/or slander at all cost.) But this one fits a preexisting mold. I mention his intellectual ability because it was (and surely remains) a source of pride for this young man. He regularly spoke what many would call "trash talk" about his computer skills, the lack of effort he put into maintaining excellent grades, his athletic prowess, and even his love life. Here was a prideful individual.*

The Black Keys (a band from Akron, Ohio), their song "Just Got to Be," sing a little about this:

When it comes to pride
And other sinful matters
You're gonna be misled
Let feeling tattered...

...Evil hides
In dark places
But now I find it
In familiar faces...

My answer to the question: Pride. And Thomas Aquinas agreed when he wrote that pride is "inordinate self-love...the cause of every sin."

What would happen without pride? (By the way, of course I'm referring to Thomas Aquinas's description, not the way you ought to have some pride in yourself...or a pride of lions, for that matter.) Look at the fallout:

• Eradication of competition. Many people (myself included) enjoy good, clean competition. But without that competition, one would not be permitted to boast.
• Without competition, the nature of business would change. In fact, I would venture to say that business would begin to focus more on service.
• Politics. I've always thought that anyone running for an elected office must be incredibly prideful. To refer again to The Catcher in the Rye, there's a section where Holden Caulfield discusses his lack of interest in becoming a lawyer, like his father. He says that he would only be the kind of lawyer that helps people. But how would he know if he was helping people so others would see him as a great, humble individual? Indeed. But without pride, we would, gratefully, no longer endure political campaigns.
• War. Gone. Even wars that stem from patriotism are based on pride.

Our culture encourages us to focus on the way we do things. While our minds tell us that to "look out for number one" is selfish, how many of do something other than that? Truly. The things we do, however, the choices we make, gravely affect other people, but that rarely changes our actions. In fact, most of the time we ignore other people in order to please ourselves.

I don't have the answer. In reality I know that the most prideful of hearts is my own. All too often I get caught up in my own desires, creating unnecessary conflict. While I would like to think of myself as unselfish, mostly I'm self-deluded. Another of my favorite bands is the Vigilantes of Love, sing about selfishness and pride in "Black Crow" (You can buy the record here).

"Thought I killed the sin of pride...a hundred rounds I must of spent
Now everywhere I turn my eyes I'm all over the pavement.
It whispers from the furnace, offers a disclaimer
Justifies the falsehood and leaves you the remainder."

So pride enables us to be self-deluded, self-interested beings. I hate when I discover the root of my selfishness. It's too hard and painful to dig up.

"There ain't no goin' back when your foot of pride comes down,
Ain't no goin' back."

*Note: In all reality, this young man generally has a good head on his shoulders, and I always saw his arrogant posturing for what he intended--sarcasm, tool for the insecure, and a good topic for a future post.

Innocence Lost

I've wondered this before; I'll wonder it again. When does it happen that we stop being innocent and start looking at the world for what it is? One moment we're making garbage bag balls, filling Hefty bags with crumpled newspaper, kicking them around the front yard. Next time someone looks, we're playing cops and robbers, "shooting" one another. When does that shift happen?

Of course it's a revisiting of a previous theme, but one I'll never tire of.

American Dogs

I love my dog. In fact, here he is:


It's imperative that I open with that because I don't want you to misunderstand anything here.

In addition to being a dog-lover, I also like sports. For those of you within throwing distance of a television, radio, computer, or fellow human being can probably foresee where I'm going. Not long ago, a professional football player named Michael Vick was indicted on federal charges of being associated with (if not being the ringleader of) a dogfighting operation. (By the way, he recently pleaded "Not Guilty.") I won't go through all the trouble of recounting the horrors of which Vick is being accused, but they are inhumane at the very least. And as a fan of my dear ol' four-legged friend and his ilk, I am troubled by this. America, however, is seething.

PETA is regularly picketing the NFL headquarters in New York City; the ASPCA has an FAQ on their site regarding dogfighting; the Humane Society of the U.S. also mentions dogfighting and has posted stories of rehabilitated canines. A brief web search brings up countless blogs saying Vick should be fired from the NFL, thrown in prison for the rest of his life, fed to dogs, and other unmentionable acts. Hey, I'm furious with the guy, too. So I start thinking about ways people treat their dogs.

A few more moments wasted online brings up a plethora of ways to pamper your dog. My (least) favorites include PetCarriers, Pampered Puppy, and the Lang Institute. I was at a suburban shopping mall recently, one in middle America, where metropolitanism hits a few years after either coast. And there was a woman, maybe twenty years old, heading up a department store escalator, with her chihuahua in what I thought was a purse. Okay, so perhaps she was concerned about the dog chewing her wires at home or pooping in the back of her mother's Oldsmobile. And when I took my dog to obedience school, the instructor regularly made mention of the benefits of massage and aroma therapy...for the dog. Americans love their dogs.

So now what, Mr. Eyeball? Well, a television personality in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, was recently fired over these comments regarding Michael Vick. And that bugs me. But not because of the callousness with which the gentleman made the remarks. Paul Zeise may have been exaggerating, but he's not too far off the mark.

While America is on a collective rampage about Michael Vick, we have forgotten about more pressing issues: Poverty, Homelessness, Domestic Violence, Violence Against Women, and these sites devoted to ending child abuse: No Excuse, Kids First Fund, and ChildAbuse.org. Include with that list many other global organizations that help people in need. We care about the violence done to our pets, but overlook the violence done to one another.

We shouldn't stop caring that dogfighting continues to happen because it's an atrocious, horrifying pastime for some, one that I'm please to have never witnessed. I hope that as Americans, as human beings, we begin to re-recognize the sanctity of human life, that be place more value on humanity. Let's not treat our dogs with more dignity than we treat our homeless, poverty-stricken, and hungry.

Waning Imagination

When we're kids we have amazing imaginations. Every moment of our lives is filled with creativity. I remember kindergarten recess when my friend, Eddie, shouted to me from the monkey bars, "Hey, look at this." He then held up the "OK" sign: To which I replied, "The Eye." (Now you see the connection to the blog, right?) This continued to evolve into a game we played for years, at least until we went to middle school, where we were much too cool to play "The Eye." But the point is, as six year old, we took something rather mundane and created an odd universe, making up rules and characters on the fly.

Later in elementary school my teacher read the poem "The Spangled Pandemonium" by Palmer Brown. One of our tasks was to draw a picture of the spangled pandemonium. What were its features? Long fangs? Claws? What about its hide? Was it furry? Rough? Did it have paws or fins? And what color was it? If I still had my creation, I'd post it here now. But take a moment, read that poem, get out your crayons, and draw a spangled pandemonium. Done? Now get an eight year old to do the same thing. Which one's more realistic? I guess that depends on your state of mind as well as the kid, but perhaps you get my point. Do the same thing with MadLibs, but keep it clean if kids are around.

Kids also create words and phrases, usually based on sound. I recently read a book about trucks to a child I know. When we came to the page with the pickup truck, he said, "Pickup truck? It should be a hiccup truck." That's just silly and definitely not something I would have generated on my own. Another child I know recently coined the phrase "Slop choppy." When asked what this means, he replied, "It means when you have to go the bathroom a lot. You get slop choppy."

So what happens to our imagination? Where have they gone? I won't offer a pacifist view (like Pete Seeger in "Where Have All the Flowers Gone?") But I will pin it on growing older.

I've spent the majority of my adult years working with teenagers, who are notorious for becoming jaded starting shortly before their age ends in "teen." In fact, I've forced many of them to read The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger. For those of you who have forgotten the book, the protagonist, Holden Caulfield, is generally antsy about growing up. In fact, during a telling conversation with his younger sister, HC comments that all he really wants to be is the "Catcher in the Rye," a guy who stands at the edge of a cliff and keeps kids from falling to their doom. Upon further examination, the metaphor is clear: Holden wants to protect children from the cruelties of the adult world. I haven't lost you, have I?

But that's what happens to us. As we age, we see the ugliness of the world around us, that the recent bumper sticker is right: Mean People Suck. Yet we realize that, in fact, lots of people are mean. So we protect ourselves from this meanness by stifling our silliness, our creativity, our fun mode. Most adults look at creativity (and serious art, for that matter) as frivolous, like we don't have time for these things because we have to work, pay taxes, choose the right cell phone (and plan), mow the lawn, hire a pool guy, wax the car, buy a new car, watch television, check our email, keep up with which celebrity is marrying/divorcing/going to prison/having whose baby/smoking whose crack, et cetera, et cetera. The average American clings to and cares about celebrities in order to forget about these same realities. Speaking of which, Major League Baseball Hall of Famer Goose Gossage recently said about America's obsession with celebrities' lives, "Get a life, America." (I love Goose...and his mustache.)

And so I implore you, dear reader, to reacquaint yourself with your imagination. Perhaps this is what Bob Dylan meant when he wrote "Forever Young."

"May you build a ladder to the stars
And climb on every rung...
May your heart always be joyful,
May your song always be sung,
And may you stay forever young."

An Introduction

Recently (as in, for six months or so) I've been thinking about the explosion of internet material, access, usage, personal pages and the proliferation of personal information. MySpace, Facebook, even Blogger.com, and a slew of other sites offer anyone with appropriate know-how and access to offer the world a glimpse into his or her mind. I know several folks who post regularly, pouring out their hearts, minds, and daily occurrences to any number of the millions who may stumble upon their rantings.

So I began thinking, "Maybe it's high time I establish my own presence on the internet, let the world know what's going on in my brain and sphere of influence." And then the dilemma: I'm rather private and prefer not to chronicle my daily activities, unless something terribly interesting, or even seemingly mundane, happens. So here we are. If you're still reading, now we're getting to the meat of this thing.

Pictures: As mentioned, I'm private. Unless you know me personally, there's really no reason you need to know what I look like. It's irrelevant. And the eyes, well, there's a saying that goes, "Eyes are the windows to your soul." The folks who generously donated their eyes to this project knew what they were offering and even a little bit of why. Some of them may have even inspired an entry or two. And there are a couple of great songs about eyes and their importance that have prompted me in this direction. First, there's a Cincinnatian named David Wolfenberger who has a song called "Closing My Eyes" that deals with experiencing the world and how heavily we rely on our eyes in order to do that. Another is a song by the Original Harmony Ridge Creekdippers (That's a mouthful!) that actually has the line "Eyes are the window to your soul." And they follow this with a great question: "What does it show?" So that's sort of the point behind the eyeball pictures--What sort of emotion can you, the viewer, (or I, the writer) get from these eyes? There are, of course, a few other reasons, but I'll keep those for another time.

Content: I was explaining this project to my wife earlier. She asked something along the lines of, "If you're not keeping some sort of online journal of events like a teenager spilling his guts to any one of a million readers, what are you writing about?" Well, let's see. My first, as perhaps easiest, answer is that I'll be writing essays on the human condition, prompted by everyday occurrences. Also, I'm doing this to keep me writing. In essence, if I tell people I'm writing a blog (and those folks read it), it will challenge me to be more disciplined in maintaining it.

And with that, I welcome you here. I appreciate and welcome your comments (though I reserve the right to delete them). Hopefully we'll all learn something through this process.

A Test

This is just a test post since I've been telling some people about this, and they may be checking. There will be more in the near future. Hopefully something entered here will be worth your while. Oh, and each entry will include at least one close-up of someone's eyeball...More on that later.