He Was a Prisoner of Hope

My dad always takes a moment during his annual Thanksgiving Blessing to welcome his guests, acknowledge all the year has provided for which he is thankful, and then offer a token of wisdom for the younger generations. The kind of wisdom that can only come through the experience of living a few quarter centuries of life.  This year his toast was especially poignant, calling to mind our beloved grandfather – who passed away 15 years ago this month – and his eternal optimism. 

“A prisoner of hope,” my dad called him.  Pop Pop was a champion of ‘what is possible’, and never beholden to simply ‘what is.’  Sure, life brought its setbacks and disappointments. But even in his darkest times, Pop Pop remained firm in his belief that goodness was always just around the corner, and reaching that corner required taking that next first step. There was no time to dwell on what was already behind him.

“A prisoner of hope.” I’ve been a prisoner of that term for 5 days. There’s just so much to unpack from that term that needs to be understood in this moment of our existence. The last few months have been painful for a lot of people. It seems every day we are forced to bear witness to some new shade of tragedy. The tragic death of a young friend(s). Watching someone we care about fall into the throes of addiction. The worldwide devastation and vitriol brought on by an unfathomable and murderous evil.

But every day we are given a choice. It is not an easy choice, but it is our choice. We can choose to focus on our fears and struggles – and there are days when it’s just so damn easy. Or we can choose to remain hopeful that tomorrow will be better, and start taking steps that might make it so.

Helen Keller brilliantly suggested that “no pessimist ever discovered the secrets of the stars, or sailed to an uncharted land, or opened a new doorway for the human spirit.”

But hope. Our brightest future exists in hope, and it’s painted by our ability to dream. Hope is where we will awaken our creative genius. It’s where we will find the strength we need to stand tall when the world tries with all its might to knock us down.  

Sometimes it will be hard, but today I choose to be a champion of what could be. I want to be a prisoner of hope. I will strive to not let ‘what is’ get in the way of my brightest future. I choose hope.

And I will work my ass off.  Pop Pop would want you to know you have to work your ass off.

30 Life Lessons from a Soon-to-be 30-year-old

     

1.  Fulfillment can't be found in a career.  It won't be discovered in a relationship.  It's not the result of a good deed.  It is the sum of all parts.  Fulfillment is a lifestyle.

2.  All my favorite life memories involve mistakes.

3.  Work to improve your weaknesses, but build a life and career around your strengths.  Otherwise, you will never be the best possible version of yourself.

4.  Never cling to dignity at the expense of a worthwhile laugh.

5.  It is better to say "I love you" too early, rather than too late.

6.  Embrace the weird.  It's just more fun.

7.  It's true - things happen.  It's up to us to determine the reason why.

8.  Within each of us is the power to inspire, but that power is never so strong as during childhood.

9.  We can either choose to be noticed or choose to fit in.  No one ever made a difference by trying to fit in.

10. Any good plan for the future requires embracing every moment as it comes.

11.  If kids made the rules, we'd all pick our noses and fart in public without judgment.  And we'd all be really happy.

12.  No one person can change the world.  But one person can inspire 100 people to action.  And 100 inspired people working together towards a common goal can do anything.

13.  The things that get us picked on in junior high and high school often become the things that make us cool when we're adults.

14.  We give words far too much power.  Don't allow yourself to be easily offended.  It gets in the way of progress.

15.  Words are really powerful.  Use them wisely and sensitively.

16.  There is no such thing as altruism.  And that's ok.

17.  Holding back is normal.  Honesty is good.  Authenticity is better.

18.  Every hero has the ability to break our hearts.  We are best served to live as the hero we wish to look up to.

19.  Hard times suck, but they always come to an end.  When they do, I'll either be a better person or I'll be dead and won't care.

20.  The lack of a solution should never get in the way of doing things a better way.

21.  Doing things a better way should never be confused with being the solution.

22.  The 2nd most important people in the world are teachers.

23.  The most important people in the world are their students.

24.  Sometimes it's just as important to learn what we DON'T want in life.

25.  Take chances.  Try new things.  Put pineapple on your pizza.

26.  Love cliches are true.  And they're awesome.

27.  The most important things we learn in school rarely come from a book.

28.  Sometimes lost causes are the causes most worth fighting for.

29.  Among the many balances required for life, it is important to balance every moment as a learning opportunity with equal knowledge that every moment is an opportunity to teach.

30.  Sometimes it's okay to leap before you look.

And one to grow:  31.  Life is thoroughly entertaining.


Now it's your turn.  What advice do you have for my next 30 years?

Make a very special woman's 90th birthday as special as she is

A few years ago, while working at a children's charity in Boston, I answered a call requesting a home visit to pick up donations. That wasn't something we typically did, but it was only 3 miles down the road, and it was an 87 year old Italian woman who crocheted a few dozen baby hats and mittens for Christmas. I ended up talking to her for two hours. Over the next few years, every couple of months - especially at Christmas time - she'd call me up to donate some goodies she and her sister had put together, along with a homemade dinner. She always referred to herself as my surrogate great-grandmother. She treated me like family when I was 400 miles from home.

Mary Valentino never had children of her own.  She doesn't have any money.  But what little she has, she gives to others.  She's spent thousands of hours over her lifetime using her hands to make blankets for Father Bill's in Quincy, MA.  With the little money she has, she tries to help as many charities as she can.  $5 here.  $10 there.  With the help of her sister, Nelda, she shops the local consignment shops for the best deals on children's clothing which she donates to Cradles to Crayons.

A few months after I moved to Philadelphia I was going through some challenging times.  One day I came home from work and there was a note from her waiting for me on the table when I got home from work. She had handwritten her favorite prayer and told me she's been saying it for me for months.

I said a prayer for you today
and know God must have heard.
I felt the answer in my heart
although He spoke no word.
I didn't ask for wealth or fame.
I knew you wouldn't mind.
I asked Him to send treasures
of a far more lasting kind.

I asked that He be near you
at the start of every day.
To grant you health and blessing
and friends to share your way.
I asked for happiness for you
in all things great and small.
But it was for his loving care
I prayed the most of all.

On January 9th Mary turns 90 years old.  My real grandmother passed away this last October.  The out-flowing of love I saw for her was a gift everyone should be so lucky to experience.  I want Mary to be so lucky.  She deserves it.  Please join me in celebrating 90 years of a beautiful person.  Let's show Mary that she has not only touched the lives of every person she's met, and every person who has ever benefited from her generosity, but that her generosity has inspired hundreds of people she's never met.

Options to send Mary a birthday card:
A. Drop off your card at Nespoli Jewelers or Fuel Fitness in Berwick PA by December 29th

B. Mail the card addressed to Mary Valentino to me at 513 Queen Street, Philadelphia PA 19147 by January 2nd.  I will hand deliver them to Mary that weekend.  I will FedEx all of the cards I receive after that to Mary's sister who will hand deliver them to Mary on her birthday.

C.  Make a donation in her name to Cradles to Crayons at www.cradlestocrayons.org  

D.  Share this with anyone you know.  Or share the Facebook event page.

Thank you for your kindness

How Long Should We Mourn the Death of a Dream?

Have you ever been wrong? I don't mean wrong like stating that Wilt Chamerbalin was the greatest player of his era, when it is very clearly (and rather undebateable) Bill Russell. I'm not even referring to someone asking you a question that you think you know the answer to but you're just flat out incorrect.

I'm talking about never being so sure of something in your entire life - so sure, in fact, that it was an important factor in many of your life decisions - only to find out that everything you thought you knew...was wrong. Everything you thought existed was an illusion - a lie. Have you ever been THAT wrong?

Wow... What then? What comes next?

How long do we allow ourselves to mourn for the death of a dream? To lament the loss of our last thread of innocence before complete sinicism assumes control?

How long do we get to feel sorry for ourselves for being a fool before it's time to pick ourselves up and find a new dream?

Is one day enough? A year too much?

It's interesting what the freedom of being wrong can bring with it. When we are THAT wrong we can suddenly find ourselves with absolutely nothing to hold us back from pursuing some of the life paths we have put on hold. No ties. No obligations. No longer paralyzed by a false sense of hope.

In a way, dreams can be blinding. Don't get me wrong, without dreams we have nothing. But dreams based on a fallacy or miscalculation (a dream of the worst kind - doomed to fail from the very beginning because of our own mistake) can blind us to any semblance of truth. These kind of dreams can allow us to create our own reality where anything can be taken as a sign that only pulls us in deeper. Where the truth, that we're on the wrong track, can smack us in the face over and over again - but in our warped state of mind, driven by blind ambition and certainty that we know something no one else does, we accept these truths at nothing more than another challenge to our goal. Just one more little obstacle to overcome. And how glorious will it be when we can show everyone just how wrong they were.....

I was wrong once. So wrong, in fact, that on far more than one occassion I let what I thought I knew get in the way of my ultimate life goals. A few years later I finally learned what I knew was wrong. It took me all of a few hours after that to realize how stupid I had been, and just how much time I had lost, before I started putting myself back on track for where I want my life to lead. Within hours I was planning the next phase of my life, and I was surprised to see how little it had to do with where I was actually at. Suddenly I was free - and motivated again - to retake the reigns of my life and start living up to the potential I was told I had.

But I haven't yet forgiven myself for my foolishness - for all of the time wasted. In many ways it saddens me. Which is why I ask the question: How long can we mourn the death of a dream? Is one day enough? A year too much?

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 23^rd, 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.

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.

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.