Wednesday, December 16, 2009

Embrace the mysteries of life

Life is full of mysteries. Some are strange. Some are ordinary. Many people try to make sense out of the insensible. Sometimes I find myself wondering whether or not we really want to know all the answers. Do we really want to understand everything? I don't think I do.

These mysteries add excitement to our lives. Sometimes they garner a sense of awe. Why do we harp over understanding the unknown? The truth limits the imagination. Not knowing allows us to dream - to make-believe and to fantasize.

When I was a kid I used to lay awake at night for hours just looking at the stars through my bedroom window - completely captivated by their beauty, and enthralled by their possibilities. When my first close relative died, I comforted myself by imagining those very stars that watched over me at night were loved ones in heaven, shining flashlights on us to light our night sky. Learning that they're really just balls of burning gas didn't add one tenth of the value of what my imagination allowed me to believe was possible.

Everyone's got an opinion, to which their entitled. Here's mine: Too often people agonize over every little detail of life. I say why not just sit back and enjoy some of these gifts of mystery that have been given to us? Embrace the possibilities.

Friday, December 11, 2009

Downpour

12 a.m.
and the rain is a freezing pool of confusion.
within wanders a single soul
drenched in perplexity, tormented by desire.
Weighed down by futility.
A single trait,
once a virtue, now his shame.
But the color grey imprinted on his mind.
Hope don't let go.
Dance this night again,
where two are as one.
A connection. Broken by virtue.
To be saved by the truth.
And the truth...
Fear not the chill of difference, but rather
relish in the warmth of connection.

Tuesday, December 8, 2009

Reading Into What Others Say (or don't say)

It seems like some people are more inclined than others to read into what people say. You might think I'm talking about women (with good reason), but guys do it too. Including me. But why? Well, what if we didn't read into things? Imagine what wouldn't be understood or how much we would miss.

-What people don't say is often more valuable and more telling than what they do say-

Here are some of my observations as to why it is often necessary for us to read into what others say.

Tuesday, December 1, 2009

The Truth is in the Perspective

Basketball was the first love of my life. I started playing when I was four, and dedicated a large portion of my life to the game. It was through basketball that a stranger (we’ll call him Dylan) became my brother. We helped each other through the hardest times of our early lives, many of which were owed to the game we loved. Before our senior year in high school he went through some difficult family problems. He transferred to a rival high school to play for our former coach – a friend of my family, and a father figure in Dylan’s life. December 23rd, 2002, marked the first time we would ever compete as opponents. In August, three months before the season began, we made a vow. In a simple gesture to honor our friendship, we decided we would wear the other’s number underneath our own jersies. I have never been so excited for a game, nor wanted to beat someone so bad.

I was team captain and had been starting since my sophomore year. The day of the game, for reasons beyond my knowledge, I was removd from the starting lineup. I saw my first action with just three minutes left, down by 20 points. After the game, almost as if they had just recognized what happened to me, every member of the opposing team embraced me. My own team didn’t even acknowledge it. The opposing coach pulled me aside and told me to “stay up.” He said the team would fall apart without me. I watched the next two games from the bench, playing garbage time at the end of each game. My coach told me wearing Dylan’s number was a betrayal to the team, and he no longer trusted me. The next day, New Year’s Eve, I handed in my jersey and walked away from the game that I had dedicated my life to.

When I share this story with people it’s because I’m looking for a certain reaction (sometimes for as shallow a reason as a little sympathy affection from a pretty girl), and I almost always get it. I tell the story as I perceive it. I tell it from the memory of my emotional pain. It is my testimonial to what I believe was an injustice. The reaction I look for is reassurance that I did the right thing. More often than not my community validates my actions, giving credence to any pain I suffered.

Important to consider here is that while I told the truth, it was my truth. Not once has anyone asked me for my coach’s side of the story. When I tell my story, no one ever seems to consider my coach’s perspective. Imagine you’re a coach in your first year with a team full of disciplinary issues. Your captain, Nespo, is the only senior on a young team. Nespo has a very strong personality, and a name to match. His parents are both tenured teachers. His dad is the last coach to lead our basketball program to a championship, and is now the head coach of the golf team. Nespo’s recently deceased grandfather is a former school board president, served as Chairman for the town’s Chamber of Commerce, and served on the state’s Board of Governors for many years. His family is well respected by the town and school board, and remains influential in school related matters. Nespo and his father retain a close relationship with the former vasiry coach who now coaches at a rival school. During the last off-season Nespo took part in work outs with the rival school. He is best friends with their best player – a kid who turned his back on your town by leaving to play for a rival. There are rumors that Nespo regularly attends the rival’s games with his dad when you do not have practice or games. Early in the season Nespo called an impromptu meeting with you and the team’s starters (including your son), and proceeded to challenge you. He challenged your disciplinary actions – challenged you to take control of the team. In other words, he questioned your ability to do your job. Now, on the night of a league game with major playoff implications, he displays his loyalty to the opponent within his own locker-room. What would you do?

Perceptions. We all have our own, and often history is shaped by the one that is shared most often and most emphatically. But what happens when we recognize the other side of the story? Witnessing events from dual perspectives is important in finding commonality and potential resolutions. It is difficult, but even when our own perceptions appear to be legitimate it is important to at least consider the other perspective. We can apply this valuable lesson to worldly matters like the continued Israeli and Palestinian conflict. True peace cannot be reached unless all injustices are addressed.

Saturday, November 28, 2009

Why do people write testimonials, and do we have any responsibility?

I am a witness...

With the words on every page, seen through my own eyes, survivors tell their stories. They share with me their trauma, asking only in return that I validate their pain - that I accept their story as truth. I will not deny them their pain. I will not forget them. I am a witness.

It is a great paradox really: this idea that we, as readers of their testimony - witnesses to their pain - accept their story as truth. It is a paradox because pain exceeds the description of language, deeming its sufferers incapable of conveying its truth - all this, contrary to the very reason why they write. After all, according to scholars like Elaine Scarry, "'hearing about pain' may exist as the primary model of what it is 'to have doubt'" (Body in Pain). So if their pain cannot be literarily expressed, and to hear of their pain creates doubt in their audience's mind, then why do they feel compelled to give testimony? What obligations do we, as readers, have towards the writer?

I don't know why they write. Perhaps it is the weight of their grief, bearing down on them from within the depths of their soulds. Perhaps they write in hopes that we will relieve them of some of their burden. I once heard a metaphor made about the weight of personal anguish and stress. Though the name of the speaker has long escaped my memory, his words are fresh in my mind. He held up a glass of water to his audience, asking how much they thought it weighted. He said the absolute weight of the glass did not matter as much as the length of time in which a person holds it. If held for a short time it is no problem, but hold it for a long period of time and the arms will begin to ache. It is the same weight, but the longer it is held the heavier it gets. The same goes for the weight of emotional pain. We must set it down once in awhile. Otherwise the burden grows too heavy for us to carry. By sharing their stories with us, maybe the authors are trying to relieve some of their burden.

Maybe that's not the reason at all. Maybe they write for legitimacy. Going back to Elaine Scarry, she has a theory that the real power of torture is the denial of the victim's pain. The torturer objectifies the victim's pain, allowing the torturer to deny its existence. By writing a testimonial, the survivor gives life to his story, and he merely asks us to accept the reality of his pain.

I am a witness...

With their words they tell me their story. With my eyes I have verified their pain. From here it becomes my responsibility to share what I witness with others. It is not enough to feel sorry for what has happened in the past. It is the duty of the reader to recognize new instances of these same violations and put a stop to them. Americans are lucky enough to have a voice that our government must recognize. Those who bear witness would be remiss to let the world repeat what has happened in the past. Today there is Darfur. Who knows what we will see tomorrow. Individually it is difficult to affect change, but it can be done. Together, as a whole people, it must be done.



Scarry, Elaine. The Body in Pain. 1985. Oxford University Press: New York.

Monday, November 23, 2009

Chew on THIS this Thanksgiving

A little girl is crying.
What brings these tears?
A booboo on her knee?
A scary monster? A bad dream?
None of these. No, you see
this little girl is dying
from one common disease.
And sadly, but true,
this girl of just two
will fall to famine - alone.
It took her mommy, and daddy too.
Her brother Sam and sister Sue.
Her only chance now falls on us.
But...do we do our best?

A little girl is dying.
Dying, in the dark.
Yet all we do is shed a tear
then turn and look away.
Now she is falling by the wayside.
But in a land not far away.
Not Bosnia, not Croatia. Not even Paraguay.
She's starving just across the street,
right here in U.S.A.

But wait...
hold on...
She's not alone?
Thousands die with her too?
The man from the alley,
his brother in the park,
they all share the pain
of starving in the dark.
But do I?
Do you?
Do we share their doom?
If not, do we care?
Enough to share
what little we have?
Can we do without the cashmere sweater
if it means making better
the effects of this awful disease?

But alas, whats this?
You do nothing for these?
They're not worth it! you say
Let them dig through the trash
It's easier that way...

Friday, November 20, 2009

Actors and Movies, Then and Now

Movies today, with their multi-million dollar budgets, socially conscious story lines, and special effects, have no doubt evolved from the black and white days of Casablanca, and It's a Wonderful Life. Perhaps this evolution is for the better, but over time some movies come to be considered classics, and very few modern films can claim that status. Many of the classics relied heavily on their actors, without the aid of modern technoloy. Acting has evolved along with the advances in film, but are the actors of today as good as those in the classics? Can direct comparisons even be made between films of such different periods?

Some argue that no films - including the "classics" - before 1970 can compare to modern films. Actors then, like cult hero John Wayne, lacked the ability to give depth to their roles. Their lack of range limited them to playing the same type of role over and over again. However, would it be fair to say actors like Audrey Hepburn and Humphrey Bogart had a more difficult time making their stories believable? How would modern actors fare in the older film industry with the censoring of a more conservative era, or without the aid of modern technology? For example, Bruce Willis might have a hard time convincing his audience he was going to blow up an asteroid if technology did not make it look like a real asteroid was on a collision course with earth in Armageddon.

Maybe movies are similar to athletes of different eras. Direct comparisons cannot always be made. Technology changes. People change. In sports, athletes become bigger, stronger and faster. Rules change and equipment improves. We can only compare certain skill sets. For example, we can compare the fielding skills of baseball legend Willie Mays to those of Barry Bonds, but the introduction of "juiced" balls, harder bats and steroids makes a fair comparison of batting skills difficult.

When movies like Casablanca were winning Academy Awards, film was relatively new. It was a transition period for actors, and most acting techniques were developed for theatre. In theatre, projection and over-the-top expression were used to reach the person sitting in the back row. The result was intentional overacting. On film the slightest expression was picked up, so expressions no longer needed to be big to be seen. New acting techniques were developed, and today the great actors can tell the whole story with their eyes, without having to change expression.

The differences in skill sets make it hard to find actors from either era that can gracefully adapt to the other's stle and do it justice. Each generation offers us something unique and entertaining, and comparing them is unfair. There is something to be said for the originality, innocence, and subtle messages of the classics. There is also a deserving respect for the innovation, provocation and cinematic appeal of modern film. The test of time is the only fair test. The "classics" have already withstood the test of time. Will modern movies do the same?

Saturday, November 14, 2009

Are Comments Against Israeli state practices really anti-Semitic?

It was the systematical extermination of more than six million Jews. It was the annihilation of over 10 million human beings. Whether we recognize it as the ‘Nazi holocaust’, or the more emphatic ‘Holocaust’, does not change what ook place in the concentration camps of the Third Reich during World War II. To call it man’s single worst crime against humanity simply does not capture its horrific reality. It is only logical, with a human rights violation of this magnitude, that any claim of its memorialization or industrialization for the personal gain of mostly Jewish lineage, or for the sake of U.S. global positioning, would be received with ridicule and charges of anti-Semitism. First we are appalled that such accusations could even be imagined, quickly followed by anger and personal attacks on the integrity of the individual responsible for such hateful and hurtful allegations. For a guy like Norman Finkelstein (wrote the hotly controversial The Holocaust Industry: Reflections on the Exploitation of Jewish Suffering), we dismiss him as a ‘self-loathing Jew’: an anti-Semite of the worst kind. We are quick to discard his claims solely on the anti-Semitic basis; but we never dismantle his theses with legitimate counterpoints. If you’ve never read the essay, in it Finkelstein makes the shocking claim that the Nazi holocaust has been used to justify U.S. support for criminal policies of the Israeli state. Offensive to many, but he supports his claims with powerful evidence that should not be dispelled without a reasonable investigation into their legitimacy. Unfortunately such an investigation cannot take place without first addressing the controversy surrounding the alleged anti-Semitism in his claims.


Here’s a brief summary of his claims:
The Holocaust Industry was created in 1967 after a dominant display of military prowess in the Six Days War proved the Israeli state could be a powerful Middle East ally to the U.S. Shortly thereafter, a dramatic increase in scholarly attention in the U.S. to the Nazi holocaust resulted in the popularization of Israel as a victim state for a victimized people; the effect of which created anti-Semitic implications in any criticism against the state and its military action. “The Holocaust” became a means to reach the end (the end being a formidable ally in the Middle East, particularly for the U.S.): “an ideological misrepresentation of the Nazi holocaust” (Finkelstein, 3).


Are these claims anti-Semitic? If they are anti-anything, they scream anti-American foreign policy. The lack of a U.S. presence in post WWII Holocaust issues prior to an extensive interest in Israel’s power within the Middle East is a recurring theme in Finkelstein’s supportive evidence. The implications of this expose a controversial and underlying factor in the discussion of the industrialization of the Nazi holocaust, but are of little consequence to the relevance of anti-Semitism in Finkelstein’s claims. Therefore, I will refrain from comment on the validity of his statements and concentrate on the motives behind them.


An unbiased reading of the text will reveal a simple theme. We are presented with a Jewish son of survivor lineage, whose perception of today’s exposure of the Holocaust has him concerned about the legacy of Holocaust victims – both the survivors and non-survivors. When he sees individuals (Jewish or not) actively pursue capital or social gain from the suffering of an entire people, he sees a loss of solemn reverence that should accompany the history of the victims. The way he sees it, “Holocaust profiteers” are diminishing the suffering of his ancestors through the objectification and misuse of the monumental devastation that was the Holocaust that justify the infliction of the same kinds of suffering on another people. In his own words, his concern is that “[t]oo many public and private resources have been invested in memorializing the Nazi genocide. Most of the output is worthless, a tribute not to Jewish suffering but to Jewish aggrandizement” (8). He is angered that “the moral stature of their (Holocaust victims) martyrdom” (8) is being cheapened by efforts for monetary retribution and social advancement. Finkelstein blatantly states that he cares “about the memory of [his] family’s persecution” (8). Here is the key point that Finkelstein wants to get across: He believes the “falsification and exploitation of the Nazi genocide…has been used to justify criminal policies of the Israeli state and U.S. support for these policies” (7-8).


Are these statements anti-Semitic? I do not believe so, but let me explain why. He expressed one man’s pride and respect for his people’s history. He expressed the concerns of a man who genuinely believes their memory – the solemnity of their suffering – is being tarnished by the use of that suffering as an excuse to use any means necessary to protect against anti-Semitism or to defend the Israeli state and military policy, including the oppression of others. When broken down in its simplest form, Finkelstein’s text introduced me to an individual deeply offended by the world-wide manipulation of his people and their history for reasons of personal and national gain. His claims include the actions and manipulations by individuals of Jewish ethnicity, including the heralded Elie Wiesel (and amidst much controversy). Finkelstein generalizes with the term ‘Jewish Elites’ multiple times in his criticisms, but sometimes for articulation purposes such generalizations are necessary. He explains his definition of the Jewish Elite strictly as “individuals prominent in the organizational and cultural life of the mainstream Jewish community” (13). They are the ones with the access: the power. Was every US Jewish Elite guilty of conveniently ‘forgetting’ about the Holocaust during the Cold War (when the U.S. relied on West Germany as an ally)? Of course not, but as the most personally invested social group with the power to influence action, they have to be referred to as one unit. I equate this to saying SUV drivers are responsible for the hole in the ozone. Accuracy of the statement is secondary to the implications my statement makes. Does it mean I am anti-SUV drivers? Absolutely not – my mom is one of them – and it certainly doesn’t imply that I am anti-automobile drivers as a whole. It is conceivable that I can be against my mom driving an SUV without being against her personally. Similarly, it is conceivable that Finkelstein’s frustration over the presence of U.S. Jewish Elites in Holocaust issues now that there is something to gain does not make him anti-Semitic.


Here is the point: If accusations like Finkelstein’s are viewed as anti-Semitic, then there is a severe flaw in our sociological makeup. We should be able to express displeasure with Israeli policies – particularly military policies – when we disagree with them. Exactly when did a criticism of an individual’s (or a state’s) actions become the criticism of his ethnicity? When did the expectation of accountability become an offensive suggestion? Finkelstein might suggest it was right around 1967 with the international casting of Israel as a victim state. Then again, we are still waiting on a legitimate exploration of his evidence…



Finkelstein, Norman G. The Holocaust Industry: Reflections on the Exploitation of the Jewish Suffering. 2nd Ed. Verso; 2000; 2001; 2003.

Friday, November 13, 2009

Snowflakes: A Metaphor for the Human Relationship

Each snowflake is something special all its own.
It is whole. It is unique. It is beautiful.
When it falls from the sky it is graceful.
It doesn't know where it will land, but each flake has its own destination.


But when it lands it meets another flake - like itself, yet unique in its own right.
These two perfectly whole and perfectly beautiful flakes combine and become one.
Together they join and make something even more beautiful;
A picture perfect scene.


Their union turns them into something new. They are changed forever.
Even if you separate them again they are changed forever from their original state.


This one snowflake was whole before it met another.
Then it met its other half, and together they made something magical;
a scene one solitary flake could not possibly make on its own...
forever changing them both.

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

November 11: A Family Day

November 11, for most of the country, is a time to honor the veterans who have defended our country - many by giving their own lives so that we may continue to enjoy the freedoms we take for granted. For my family it is much more than that. On this day, 18 years ago, my mom's mother passed away. It was the first death I ever experienced, though I was young enough that I remember very little of it.

Today also marks the ninth year since my dad's father passed away. I remember this day vividly. It was two days before the start of my sophomore basketball season. My grandfather was my biggest fan, sitting in the front row at mid-court for every home game. That season was the most difficult season of my life. I visited his grave before every game. I wore a rubberband with his name and the date of his death to every practice. It was very hard to look over at the stands and not see him sitting there.

Pop Pop was one of the most influential people in my life. He was awarded the Purple Heart during World War II. He was a successful entrepreneurr who opened a jewelry store over 50 years ago, after hitchhiking over 200 miles to and from Philadelphia to learn the craft of watch making. He was a man of honor, and a distinguished philanthropist in our community. It was the way he lived his life that influenced me to pursue a career in non-profit work.

As hard as his death was to take, the events that took place in the time leading up to it, and the reaction I saw from the town after it, had an enormous impact on my life.

Pop Pop was sick for weeks, and we were graced with the opportunity to come to grips with his inherrent death. We were not taken by surprise, and we were given the time to really take advantage of what little time we knew we had left with him. The few days before he passed we knew it was coming. My whole family came in to be with him. They flew in from all over the country. All of my aunts and uncles, their kids, and my siblings were able to come together for the first time in years. The night that he passed we all sat around his bed - all 21 of us - and recited prayers. As we took our turns with saying private goodbyes, the rest of us sat in the kitchen and reminisced. It was a sad occasion, but it was beautiful. It was sad because we realized we were losing someone so important to us, but it was also a joyful time because we were all together and ablt to - as a family - recognize what a wonderful person Pop Pop was, and just what he meant to our lives.

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

A Moonlit Stroll

As the moonlight catches your eyes,
and the starlight is clear and bright
above in the night skies,
I whisper in your ear a song so sweet.
I look at you,
you're looking at me.
and like a fairy tale
our meandering eyes connect and meet.
I'm mesmerized.
You're captivated.
We stand alone - together.
The two of us.
Love, no longer unknown.
And we realize the truth
as I lean in for the kiss
finally, I think to myself.
My dream is a reality.
And I wake to the beautiful morning
alone again...
the reality was just my dream.

Saturday, November 7, 2009

An intricate web of confusion and bliss.
A lonely heart aches for a feeling like this.
On one hand, a lover. On the other, a friend.
Through one eye, a journey. Through the other, an end.

Saturday, October 31, 2009

Happy Halloween

I love Halloween. If it were a national holiday it would rank right behind Thanksgiving, and just in front of Christmas. It is the one weekend of the year where I get to unleash my creativity without fear of repercussions. It is a time when I can choose to be hilarious one night, make a statement the next, and make girls fall in love with my creativity at the same time.

Some people think Halloween is just an excuse for girls to dress like whores, children to eat too many sweets, and teenage boys to vandalize the neighborhood. I say it's an opportunity of expression. When the whole world pressures us to be something we are not, Halloween provides us with one weekend out of the year to give society the finger and let our suppressed personalities flow freely.

This is not to say I condone all activities that go on during this time of year. It is true that I have been known to partake in a little mischief in my younger days, but deliberately damaging the property of others goes beyond mischief. That is just being a little prick. I also do not believe girls 13 years old should be prancing around in belly shirts and navel rings. At the same time I believe young women ages 18-35 are well within their rights to dress as provocatively as possible. In fact, I encourage it.

Sunday, October 4, 2009

Some people will walk through this world their entire lives and never see the good things standing right before their eyes. Who says you have to be without sight to be blind?

Friday, October 2, 2009

Social Awareness, being "the white kid"

It took two years of being surrounded by people in the business world, and students concerned only with bringing in the big paycheck after graduation for me to realize that's not who I am, nor want to be. I always thought I wanted to be rich, but I became so disgusted with the greed and selfishness I was surrounded by that I wanted to transfer. Midway through my junior year I came to the conclusion that I want to do good in this world. I decided I wanted to get involved with non-profit management, and maybe eventually politics, though it was not an overnight change. It began with freshman year and my first exposure to new cultures and people.

I grew up in a small country town in Northeastern Pennsylvania. I was not given the opportunity to experience much culture beyond that of the blue-collar, white Christian kind. I can count on two hands the number of people I knew who came from a different cultural background. I was friends with most of them and thought I treated them like I treated all my friends. I never understood it when they would make comments about being outcasts, or complain about being watched everywhere they went. They would talk of racism, always being categorized, and being treated differently because of their skin color.

One issue I could never understand was the problem with categorizing. I believed in political correctness, but I could not understand the problem with recognizing differences among people. Why couldn't we call a stone a stone, or a brick a brick? I didn't see why there was a problem recognizing some people as black and others as white, but it was a big problem that resulted in a lot of racial tension in my school.

My freshman year in college I was introduced to a little more culture. Culture shock might be the more appropriate term. I lived with a Dominican from Harlem and a Haitian from Mattapan. Our backgrounds were about as different as it could get, but we became close firends and spent a lot of time together. One weekend we went to a party at an all-girls school in search of pretty. When we got there I realized it was a Black Student Union party. It was over 300 black students - and me: Mr. Hick from the Sticks. I thought about my friends from high school as I became increasingly aware of the fact that I am extremely white.

I felt like every eye was on me, like everyone was giving me dirty looks. Most importantly, I felt like "the white kid," - and I didn't like it. Even the girls who went out of their way to see if I was having a good time made me self-conscious, because I knew they were giving me attention because I'm white. For the first time in my life my race became something that made me different than everyone else, and I was treated differently as a result. At the end of the night I realized our roles had been reversed. I was categorized that night and it made me uncomfortable. Now I understand, to some degree, why it was such a big issue in high school, and remains a big issue today.

Thursday, October 1, 2009

Reason for this Blog

I want to be funny. I want you to laugh when you read my thoughts. In the future some of them may tickle that the proverbial funny bone, but not today. Today I explain my reason for taking the plunge into the world of blogging.

On the surface I couldn't be happier, and with good reason. I've tried to celebrate the fact that I have generous and loyal friends who would do anything for me. I've tried to show my appreciation for my brothers and sister, with whom I share a friendship and bond that sadly seems to be missing from many American families these days. I've tried to relish the love and support my parents have given me, the sacrifices they've made for me, and the example they have set for me through their continued love for one another. I've tried to be thankful for the talents I've been blessed with, and the many gifts I have been given - including early success in a job I absolutely love.

And yet for the last few years I have woken up every single day with a deep sadness casting a shadow over my heart that I continue to struggle to articulate.

My sadness stems from the seemingly incurable hatred, suffering, poverty, and pain that I see every single day. Sometimes I don't know what saddens me more; the existence of these evils, my inability to make change on my own, or my inability to accurately express my own sadness that results from these everyday travesties.

I'm not just referring to the genocide in the Sudan, the hostility over nuclear advancement in North Korea and Iran, the continued Palestinian and Israeli conflict, or million+ women and children forced into sexual slavery each year, or the famine that plagues many African nations.

I'm talking about the 300,000+ Massachusetts children under the age of 12 whose parents can't provide them with a warm coat this winter. I'm talking about our country's leaders failing to put the good of our people ahead of the good of their party. I'm talking about the war we are facing here at home. 3 innocent teens were killed in South Chicago gang related violence in the last month - the most recent, 16 year old honor student Derrion Albert, was killed on his way home from school last Thursday.

I'm talking about it. I hope you will talk about it too.

I hope you don't stop at talking. I hope you take action. This is the first step for me, but it's not the last. Come back and share in my personal struggles with society, my philosophies on life, and my ideas on how we can make it better. Hopefully some of it will be fun and make you laugh. Hopefully some of it will be thought provoking. Maybe even a little inspiring? .....that would be cool.

Share your comments and some of your own philosophies. The world is broken, and I'm just naive enough to think I can fix it. Will you help me?

Friday, September 11, 2009

A quick reflection

It has been 8 years. I assume everyone at some point today will reflect on that day, possibly remembering where they were when it happened. Or perhaps they won't... It's amazing what details people remember from a day of such significance. It is also interesting what we forget.

I was in 11th grade English. I was sitting in the third row from the right, two or three seats from the back. The teacher's desk was in the back right of the room, not far from my seat. We had just begun talking about The Crucible, and how it was a response to the fear of Communism. I remember a teacher coming in and telling us "a plane just flew into the twin towers," but I don't remember who he was.

We had a test scheduled for the next period. I sat in the third row from the left, third seat back. I don't remember what period it was. Maybe 3rd or 4th. I don't even remember if we took the test that day or not. I do remember the test was on some aspect of World War II, and while I can't remember when I took it, I remember I flunked it because I ran out of time.

It was eerily quiet that day in school. No music came from the band-shell. The squeak of shoes coming from the gym was replaced by the buzz of televisions in every classroom humming through the halls. Friends consoled one another, worried for family in New York, unable to make contact.

We had a cross country match after school. I have no recollection of how I did or who we ran against, but I remember we won.

September 11th will stay with most of us forever. That day I predicted the events we witnessed would bring us together with a new sense of pride in our country, devoid of partisanship. For a time it did. But today our country is more divided than ever. I am deeply saddened by our supposed leaders' inability to rally together and work as one cohesive unit focused on building a unified nation.