Mike And Terry

As is my occasional custom, I venture out onto the information superhighway and try to find folks from my past. Although it often leads to nice things like old new facebook friends, it also leads me down some darker alleys sometimes (http://philosopherking-michael.blogspot.com/2010/05/true-crime.html). The other night I went looking for a couple of friends from college, and I found them. They died within a year of so of each other recently, so I missed connecting with either of them.
I met Mike in my freshman English course. He was small and a bit odd looking - I think he had been born with a minor birth defect. Mike loved Science Fiction (SF from here on out because I may have to type it a hundred times...) and he was an unabashed nerd. I had never thought much about the genre before that point; I had only recently acquired a marginal interest in Star Trek reruns. Mike exposed me to a wide range of SF, not only in TV and film, but in literature as well. We discussed potential Star Trek plot ideas and even wrote some short stories. Soon, I had joined the SF book of the month club and was even going to a few events on campus. My SF phase lasted several years, and I am positive I would have never gone through it if I hadn't met Mike.
Mike and I hung out often, and he soon introduced me to Terry. Terry was a big, nerdy, bohemian. He was larger than life in many ways, totally Mike's opposite. He was loud and funny. I didn't quite know how to take him, but I liked his outwardness. Mike, Terry, and I would spend our evenings at the bowling alley playing video games, and they often swung by  the Taco Bell I was working at to help me close (and dispose of leftovers). To this day, I couldn't tell you anything about their politics or if they had any interest in sports. I just remember hanging out and talking about ideas as only you can in the context of SF. Years later when I watched a clip of Rod Serling discussing SF as a social medium, I really understood my attraction to it. In SF, you can deal with subject matter in a less threatening context and really get down to the essence of an issue. This was probably my first step towards a lifetime of fascination with phenomenology.
I lost track of Terry and Mike after a few years - they were a few years ahead of me and I supposed they graduated much earlier than I (me and my seven year plan).
I thought of them often over the years, wondering what became of them. I was pleased to discover, through their obituaries, that they remained lifelong friends, didn't change much, and had families. Their love of SF seemed to grow exponentially, and I could only imagine how they must have lived through the past 40 years with all the innovations in technology and media. Terry's extra middle name was listed as "Orion." I was saddened, though, by the reality that I couldn't reach out to them and let them know about their impact on me those many years ago. Much sadder than I would have expected.  But, after some reflection, I was also pleased by the retroactive awareness that I enjoyed their friendship and that I had a very eclectic group of friends as an 18 year old. I miss my entanglement in that nerdy fellowship. Mike and Terry were two very unique individuals, and very authentic. I would like to be remembered that way myself.

Restlessness

I heard an old song today, Indian Reservation by Paul Revere and the Raiders (link below), and it started me down a familiar rabbit hole. I can remember hearing this song in a cafe every morning while waiting for the school bus when I was eleven or twelve. This was one of our favorites, and I often sacrificed my milk money to listen to it and a few other songs. We were told, my friend Joe and I, that if the songs were played enough, the jukebox man wouldn't change the records when he came by from time to time. We didn't take any chances. Listening to the song, I felt a strength I had never known - a strength that surged through me that made me feel good and valuable. It was selfless and it was pure. I was beginning my evolution from a lost young boy to a powerful, caring man. I just didn't know how long the journey would be.

I can remember that year in school vividly: I was energized by social issues and my own efficacy to help others. Despite the fact we had very little, I hoarded all my change and did odd jobs to fill the Trick or Treat for Unicef cans in our classrooms. I wrote poems about the war, participated in debates about pollution and the environment, and I started to listen to the lyrics of the music exploding around me. I was finding myself even as I was lost in the madness and chaos of my family's tumultuous existence. We bounced around the Midwest, and my social consciousness was displaced with a constant need to adapt and to try to fit into each new community we traveled to. Somewhere along that route, I picked up the notion to join the Peace Corps, and it became the only true beacon I would have for decades.

Throughout the the last three decades, I have learned to focus that power I felt in that little cafe when I do my work. In front of a GED class, in a refugee camp somewhere in Africa or the Middle East, on a Jamaican mountain top, sitting with a group of teachers laughing and chatting anywhere, I feel that old energy, that old grace coursing through me. It is warm and it is comforting. But it needs fuel, and that is the price for this legacy, or maybe this curse. I have absolutely no dreams of retirement or taking it easy somewhere. This often creates an uncomfortable juxtaposition with many of my peers, particularly those who have not traveled and who have long since decided to end their careers at what ever institution I have come to. Their need for stability is foreign and often distasteful to me. I lust after challenge and the human interchange that helps others. When I feel a deprivation of the resources necessary to do so, I leave the environment, not knowing if I am courageously chucking away any sense of security, or cowardly fleeing human commitment and the consequences of compromise.

Lately, a little fatigue has drifted unfamiliarly into the equation. I take it as the heralding of a long overdue climax to my career and wanderings. Only a bit of lingering financial quagmire keeps me from committing to a final, more invested career change. Wherever I land, it will be a basic and humble existence, most likely a refugee camp somewhere. I can seem myself, for the first time, staying somewhere for the rest of my life. Not here though, the air is getting too thin.

For now, I will discipline myself to write a bit more, build more stuff, redouble my work ethic, and listen to a few old, friendly songs.......

Back In Garrett

As in the past few years, I went back home to Garrett to attend the Hall of Honor ceremony and to do a few study skill sessions for the high school students. And each year, I am more and more impressed with my hometown! This year, as before, the kids were engaged and respectful during a rigorous two and a half hour presentation, despite the fact that we added even younger students to the mix. We had fun and I teased them a great deal. A few teachers sat in and were very helpful. Mr. Smith, the principal, was involved as always and treated me to lunch. I did two presentations and was pretty whipped afterwards. The students asked good questions, and I have heard back from several of them already. Friday night, I went to the game and watched the new crop of honorees get inducted to the Hall of Honor. You can see them here:

This Year's Inductees

 As always, I am humbled by the company I keep in that select group of individuals. The accomplishments of the other inductees is mind-blowing! Sometimes I believe I have been included simply because most folks don't understand what I really do (Sindi believed I was a secret agent most of her life). Anyway, as I have said countless of times, whatever good is inside me, I found it in that little Indiana town forty something years ago. Here are a few things I would remind the good folks of Garret about their community:

1. Their high school has a very good principal at its helm - Mr. Smith is a passionate and caring man. We spend time together each year and he shares his philosophy of education with me. I have worked with educators all over the world; few of them as humble and dedicated as he.
2. The school has great teachers - I have met many of them in the past five years, including Mrs. Furnish and Mr. Claxton who attended this years workshops. They are kind and patient, and I see the evidence in their interaction with the kids.
3. Garrett raises good kids - I know schools face all kinds of challenges today related to state standards, funding, and mandated assessments. I am not sure where the school lands on such external measuring sticks, but I do know that I worked with 100 high schools students (freshmen, sophomores, juniors, and seniors) who were far better behaved, attentive, and engaged than most college freshmen I work with. This kind of thing doesn't make its way back to any state capital, but might be the most important work we do. They tolerated the boring bits of my presentation, answered my questions, and eagerly participated at any chance I gave them. I told them, as I would their parents and families, that I do not go to other high schools to do these presentations anymore because I am tired of donating my time to often bored, unruly, and disrespectful students. I will always come back to Garrett when Mr. Smith calls.
4. I am proud of my old friends who are an integral part of the school and community. While at the school, I met old friends who worked there (John and Gene) and saw many familiar faces in the Friday night crowd - both in the stands and along the sideline fence. They go to the games and support their kids, families, and friends. I smile each time I think of Larry as a member of the school board now, having known him then :)  His enduring passion for the school is a standard I could never meet. My friends, the Bartels family, remain at the center of it all, and catch me up on all the news of the place each time I visit. I have never been anywhere too long, so I marvel at their sense of loyalty and devotion to the community, and their complete integration into its sinews. The town owes much to them, and they to it.
5. I was adopted twice in my life - once by my stepfather and once by the town. The latter saved me from the former, truly "in loco parentis"
6. Finally, even though I only spent a few years of my life there (the students and I did the math to find out it was a little less than 4% of my time on earth), Garrett is my hometown and still the foundation of decency and human service that still grows in my heart. I truly hope that all those who stayed so close and never stepped away can see it as I do.

In another year, Inshalah, I will go back and work with a new group of students, catch up with old friends, and watch a handful of Garrett's best come home for an embrace that is too important to describe in a blog like this. I am blessed.

BTW - I was over the moon to receive a Garrett Jersey this year. It wasn't my original jersey number, but my graduating year. It is hanging in my office :)

The Deck Project Continues

I have been working on a friends deck off and on for a few weeks now. My last post documented the restoration of the deck and the construction of antique door/outdoor coffee table. This week, we built four planter boxes, two with plant pot inserts and two with slate tops. In between the two slate planters, we built a bench. Next up, we will make the last benches that tie all four boxes together. Today was Labor Day and we celebrated by having a party for some folks at work. It was a very nice afternoon with good friends and food. There were several kids having fun and I Just sort of sat in the shade and ate after 26 hours of work over the weekend. I am happy with it all so far, and hope to finish the last benches in a few weeks :)

We will take a short break and pick it back up in two weeks, Inshalah. For now, a nice long nap.......

What To Do With Two Nice Antique Doors?

Several months ago, Betty (or departmental secretary), asked me if I wanted two of her old oak doors. She knew I did some carpentry and was fond of repurposing old wood. I didn't have a use at the time, or the space to store them. Shortly thereafter, Hortencia and Carmela were talking in the office and I found out that Hortencia wanted to do some work on her deck and maybe add some furniture. They had found a picture on Pinterest of an outdoor coffee table with built in coolers and wondered if I could use the doors to build one....and we were off. I am not sure what Hortencia's husband Tony thought when we approached him with the idea though.
It was a lengthy project and I enjoyed the ever evolving design process. The finished product is far beyond my initial plans. Tony had some good design ideas, and we just kept revising as we went.

Here are the original two doors. Betty and her family had stripped the first one, and we used it for the top of the table. The iron grate you see would eventually serve as a hot plate. Four of the middle panels would be cut out to house the hidden ice coolers. The second door would be cannibalized to make the base.

This is the second door as we cut it into strategic pieces for the base units. I love working with old wood and furniture - the craftsmanship is tremendous. These two doors were solid and built to last.

Of course being two hapless guys, we needed constant supervision! Can you tell it's about 100 degrees with 85% humidity? That is not a fashion statement on Tony's head.

I should back up a bit and mention that before we started on the table, we decided to give the deck itself a face lift. It need a good deal of stain fast and some replacement planks. I think we caught it just in time. The most fun part though, as a hired gun, was watching the spousal negotiations over stain color. Tony actually won this one, to my everlasting awe and admiration....

I will let you be the judge - What do you think?

The day finally arrived. Tony and Jasmine led Hortencia out onto the deck to check out her new coffee table. The best part of the whole day was the cupcakes Jasmine made me :)

I think she likes it! The two coolers hold quite a bit of ice and beverages. The little grate on the left will be the hot plate. If you look carefully, you will see we put the family's first initials on the panels around the base. I wanted the base to have that antique toy block look, but decided to lighten it up by adding the circular cuts. Tony took it a step further with the router and added a nice chamfer around the inside edges. The grates covering the ice coolers are just common heat duct covers; I liked the pattern. So, after a hundred trips to Home Depot, the table is done. Next up, we will build planters and benches that will wrap around most of the deck....stay tuned.

Manhood

I think a lot about what being a man means, especially being a good man. I have never been comfortable with other people defining this for me, whether they be women or other men. I do know that I am often amused by men whom many women find to be "good examples of modern men", and more than a little disgusted by men whom other men find "manly."  I am also not a feminist, and subsequently have no appropriate label in this society. I am not a chauvinist (although that term has been perverted), nor am I particularly macho. I have developed a few rules and theories; and if I had a son, I would teach them to him. In no particular order or refined structure, here they are:
Strength -  I have remarked before that being strong is not easy, natural, or especially rewarding. I think it is something that has to be practiced - it is as much physical as it is mental; therefore it must be developed and fortified. If not, it is confused with pride and stubbornness. Without quoting everyone's favorite philosopher on the subject, strength, as seen in others, is often comforting, threatening, unintentionally exploited, and largely taken for granted. If you want to be strong so that people will be grateful, keep in mind an old adage - "No man is a hero to his debtors." Some people will use your strength when they need it, then deride it when it indicts their own weaknesses. You may become a favorite target and means of last resort. But make no mistake - when there is no one else to help them, you will be called.
So when you refuse the aspirin and tylenol, only reluctantly go to the doctor or hospital, and suffer silently through physical and emotional maladies, you are not being pig-headed and macho - you are building up for bigger and harder things that will befall you and your loved ones. And you will be ready. What is often viewed as silly male competition is evolutionarily valuable: Strength is a psychological construct (we know it exists but cannot measure it directly) and there is no internal scale available to us. So by focusing on what we believe to be stronger males and females and then competing with them is a valuable metric. Practice with purpose and potential.
Whatever strength is, it is certainly not simple endurance. That attribute must be given to God or to our genes; whichever you subscribe to. There is a huge difference between surviving something you cannot avoid and stepping up to take on something voluntarily that others shrink from. Everyday, on every task, be the first to volunteer and the last to give up. Strength is in those moments, not some cumulative and romantic posture only seen in movies. Strength is also not aggressiveness or violent. Bullies, like my least favorite presidential candidate, are the antithesis of strength - they pick on the weak instead of supporting and defending them.
Finally, strength carries with it the conviction to simply do the right thing at the right moment. There have only been a handful of times in my life when I did not know what the right thing to do was; there were many times however, that I struggled to get out of the obvious solution by trying to complicate the issue. Two enemies of my strength have been sympathy and compromise. A little about both....
Compromise - I really despise compromise as a virtue! As far as my manhood and compromise go, I have some very complicated connections: here goes (I would ask for a bit of patience here): I have heard many times that collaboration and compromise are hallmarks of feminine strength (not exclusively though). I separate the two concepts however. I think collaboration is a wonderful skill and very necessary. And I do believe that women often do this better than men. But this is where I step off to a dark notion - I think collaboration to compromise is unhealthy and might be what John Ogbu labeled as a Secondary Cultural Difference. To scaffold to this point, we would have to agree that women are a minority (given the percentage of power owned, not sheer population). When two groups coexist and one subjugates the other, the minority group develops new traits that are defensive and not true to their authentic culture. I think women have been subjugated and to deal with the inequity of power, have learned to work together more effectively to deal with the individual discrimination. Girls are rewarded for their compliance and collaboration. But this notion of shared existence goes to far when the aim of collaboration becomes compromise (and I am not saying compromise is a feminine phenomenon only). There are too many institutions and organizations that view themselves as "families" and then put a premium on compromise as if it was almost a sacred virtue. Compromise is not always appropriate, and it should never be a foregone conclusion or immediate goal. Contrived compromise is a recipe for mediocrity. There are times when your strength lies in your resistance to compromise. But then again, we dance just over the line of stubbornness and pride.
Sympathy - I smile whenever I think of this word. I smile because I remember clearly the first time trying to exploit it backfired on me. I have said many times that "you cannot ask for my sympathy and respect" - choose one or the other in your appeal. I then will make up my mind what to grant you (perhaps both). I have seen and experienced some bad things, some even terrible I suppose. When I mention them, it is often to give someone else a new perspective on my thoughts or actions, not to gain favor or to avoid a consequence. In Jamaica, I witnessed the death of a small baby very personally. Later, when with a group of friends and strangers, I broke down and cried having not processed the experience to that point. Their emotional response was warm and comforting, yet I knew at that moment I could exploit and manipulate their kindness somehow. A few years later, I had a similar experience with a friend who called me on it and rebuked me quietly. I was embarrassed but grateful - I didn't need his sympathy at that moment, I just wanted it for reasons I did not understand. I am not saying it is wrong to express such things. I am only wary of the purpose of such ventures. Accepting sympathy is dangerous currency exchange; particularly when it occurs well after the traumatic event or circumstance. It is not something to be bartered or stored. It is a gesture others bestow on us temporarily when we are down and recovering. And for crying.....
Crying - I have cried a few times in my life and regretted each instance. These were at low points, and the people that I made this physical appeal to were indifferent or obliged to endure it. I have even tried to cry when I was alone without much success. I guess I relate crying to the muteness of an infant - a generalized appeal for comfort or a particular desire with language to specify or distinguish. But I have language and I have a logic to deal with my problems. I simply find no comfort in the intended release granted by shedding tears. Much like my endearing belief in faith though, I have no doubt that what I hold may be different from others, and that crying may be therapeutic for them. I would like the same reciprocity without the over generalization that this phenomenon is healthy and normal for us all.
Honor - Never has there been such a mismanaged masculine misnomer as honor. This term might just be the apex of misspent privilege and perverted power. Honor does not manifest itself in swagger, violence, or self-righteousness. It is simply the adherence to a basic, simple code: Do what you should do when and how you should do it, and make sure simple self-interest isn't your primary motivation. There is no honor in military bravado, tattoos, flags, guns, sport franchises, cloistered societies, politics, or smugness. It is not a bright and shiny thing. The people I have sought to emulate did not have bright and shiny lives - they had a normal, often dull existence that was punctuated by the moments of God-given grace when they could stand apart from the meandering crowd and fight an injustice without compromise and certainly asking for no pity or sympathy. They did not thump their chests or compose songs. They lived honestly and simply and defended others to their own detriment. I have had slippery glimpses of honor, and each has motivated me to redouble my efforts to adhere to my code so that when the challenges come, I will be ready. That feeling I experience like an evaporating morning memory is incredible. I can only imagine the energy and purpose I could harness if I worked harder and was more worthy of its mantle. If I do get closer to an honorable life, those feelings and emotions will become even more private, even more hidden from the world. I will not be a loudmouth, gun owning, redneck, patriot drinking beer and droning on and one about God and country. I will not be some effete liberal, self-righteously congratulating myself on an early and exceptional transcendence to a superior place. I will learn true humility and ever-extending moments of grace.
My Path To Date - I have a certain semblance of strength through my endurance of early challenges, survival of my own follies, and a persistent and stubborn desire to become stronger. Like many males, I fought the wrong battles too easily when I was young, for the wrong reasons, and I have shied from the right battles latter in life in fear of  losing what I have recently learned to be cheap and artificially constructed conveniences that I thought composed my life. Instead, they compromise the life I want to live and I need not fear their loss any longer. I have not developed and/or stored this notion of strength for my own benefit (arguments about ego and insecurity aside), but for the benefit of others. Despite my childhood, I don't fantasize about alternative beginnings or fortunes. I also believe that I was quite a long time on the other side of the honor and strength side, well into the stubbornness and pride region. I am not happy about that and I am sure it was to the detriment of many around me. However, for me, it has been a lot easier to come back down to a sensible place than to work up to the right place after all these years. I am happy where I am, at least with ample challenges. I want to change the world and I need to be strong to do so.
My Continued Journey - I love being the man friends and moderate foes alike will look to when they need help. No matter how, no matter when. I love the fact that they believe I will be there and I will not fail. I will be on time (would rather you chop my little finger off than be thoughtlessly late - although that might just be my German blood talking). I like less the consequences of those assurances, for I get sore and tired and there are times I could just sit back and let someone else handle things. This is the very unromantic part of my strength - it still sucks sometimes and is never very exciting. I am not some altruistic, intrinsic (always hated the word intrinsic because I never understood it) nice guy. I am learning every day that my strength and eventual sense of honor is built on a multitude of inconvenient tasks. I am clearly no martyr either - I have never been asked to do something I could not accomplish, or that really took too much away from me personally. It's the simple, sucky stuff. Simple! And before any logical protests: I am not a hero or father figure either. I don't want to be someone's only resource, only hope in small or large situations. I don't want to be perceived as stronger than anyone else either. As a matter of fact, the one late transition in my life has been the abandonment of external sign posts and role models - I am in my own race now. I have listened to God and have understood the things I need to do and the goals I need to develop. I will need a lot more strength though. a lot more.
Epilogue - I have learned that I am not exactly like anyone else, and far removed from many. I don't believe (as I am often told) that I am less than a complete man because I don't let others in or that I do not make myself vulnerable. At this point, other than a gently used work van, there is very little I think I need. I will continue to find more selfless engagements and chase down that ethereal corridor of honor and strength.

Skype Call

Today we had a Skype call with the camp. It was the first time I had talked to all of them at once in a year. Our president, Dr. Jenkins, attended the call and the folks in the camp were thrilled. They told us how they were continuing and expanding on the programs we started last year, and about the challenges they are facing. At one point, the Girls Empowerment Group sang us a song (in the picture above). Several of our staff came by to attend as well. Teddy and his team did a great job and we all were uplifted by the experience. After the call, I chatted with my president a bit about the possibility of bringing Teddy over for some training for a few weeks. I have to double down and get busy and get back on track to return and possibly to bring Teddy over. The potential is exciting, the work overwhelming, the rewards incalculable.