Do I Know You?

One of my favorite poems is this one by Donald Justice:

“On the Death of Friends in Childhood”

We shall not ever meet them bearded in heaven,

Nor sunning themselves among the bald in hell;

If anywhere, in the deserted schoolyard at twilight,

Forming a ring, perhaps, or joining hands

In games whose very name we have forgotten,

Come, memory, let us seek them there in the shadows.

It’s not that I’m being morbid.  I like the basic concept Justice is presenting here: the last time we see someone is the image of that person that is burned into our memory and the way we remember them until we meet them again.  I like that.

This is something I’ve thought of often since I’ve been a facebook user.  Most of my “friends” are high school or college classmates or former students.  I’ve been out of high school since 1968, college (undergrad) since 1972, and I’ve been a teacher for 40 years.  Some of my former students are grandparents!  I have not seen most of these people in just about that length of time.  The pictures I have of them in the yearbooks of my memory are images of those last encounters.

My alma mater folded in 1992.  The alumni organization is quite strong, and we have a reunion at the end of June each year.  My fraternity brothers and I started getting together in that little town a few years ago, and now I have a pretty good catalog of gray-haired fraternity “boys” and former classmates.  We get together and reminisce (we can tell the same stories to one another every year since none of us can remember the truth for 12 months!) and show pictures of our grandkids.

Social networking is another matter.  It’s always interesting to get a new “friend” request.  I’ve made it a practice only to accept requests from former students (not current ones).  Those who graduate in May and ask to “friend” me in June typically end up asking me to proofread college essays or write more recommendations for a year or so, and then I don’t hear from them for a long time.

My high school classmates and students from 25-40 years ago are another story.  Some of them are still in the vicinity, like I am.  I have run into a few at different venues, especially those folk who like my son’s music.  It’s fun to experience that “Aha!” moment when one or the other of us comes to recognition.  Usually people remember me.  Not because I am so memorable but that I can’t remember until someone reminds me!

The facebook requests from these older students are the fun ones.  Many people use current pictures of themselves as their Homepage icons.  Some don’t.  Now and then I have to look at their pages to check hometowns to see if they are former students or classmates.  The women present another problem.  If they use their married names instead of their maiden names, I have no idea who they are!  You can’t pay me enough to talk about those photos!

One of my fraternity brothers made an interesting observation a few weeks ago.  He took an unofficial poll (of his facebook friends) and noticed that most of the men post their pictures.  The women use shots of their children, grandchildren, pets, or favorite quotations, etc.  He took some heat for it, but I think he’s probably right.

Does that mean the women are more vain than the men?  I’m not going there, either.

Actually, I think it’s terrific that so many of those 60+ classmates and “younger” students of mine are cruising the Net.  We’ve had some fun re-discovering one another.  No, it’s not always what I want to know (I don’t like cats, and I don’t discuss politics or religion with anyone), and I don’t play computer games of any kind, but it’s still interesting to see where people have gone both geographically and personally in their lives.

Most of the time it makes me feel pretty ordinary…and comparatively (sometimes) that’s just fine with me!  When I stop and honestly consider who I was so long ago, I’d just as soon they got a more current picture than the one with which I left them.  They may not meet me “bearded in heaven” someday, and despite my hair loss, I hope we don’t renew our acquaintance in hell!

What color is alone?

The Blues is blue, right? When you’re feeling down and out, depressed, sad…it’s a blue feeling. It’s dim and dusky like a back table near closing time in a smoky bar. The blue hangs in the air like stale cigarette smoke.

Happiness and joy must be the glaring whiteness of a noon sun on new snow or maybe the bright softness of a field of yellow flowers.

Greed and envy, for some reason, share the green of new grass. It’s a green-eyed monster and the color of old money. Does a miser take on the hue of old bills and give off a mist of emerald gas?

We associate emotion and color in so many ways. I’ve always wondered, though, what color is alone? Take out your box of crayons and life’s coloring book and look for the picture of yourself in a crowd, the lost pebble that is a solitary person surrounded by a sea of people, their conversations and associations washing over you. Which color are you? Turn the page and find the picture that reminds you of the lonely nights when you’re isolated in your room or your car and absolutely no one is near.

What color is your loneliness? Which crayon is in your hand to outline the disconnect you feel or fill in the spaces of your need?

What color is the emptiness when you can’t hear a familiar voice, or you don’t even have the echo of a memory of the last “hello”…or “goodbye”?

What color is the place where you can’t feel the touch?

What color is heartache?

What color is alone?

“Once more unto the breach, dear friends….”

I suppose quoting Harry in the middle of a battle is a bit dramatic for the beginning of a new year, but I’m afraid there are too many comparisons to ignore it.  On the other hand, approaching 2012 as another year of opportunity instead of conflict is much more optimistic.  I’m too much an optimist to start out dreading what might come….

My favorite quotation, as my students will attest, is Thoreau’s comment in Walden about building castles in the air and then putting foundations under them.  I tell them to note that the dream comes first; then the brick and mortar.  This also, however, means that some reflection has taken place beforehand, contemplation of what has brought us to this place and why, who has helped prepare us for the dreaming and building and, perhaps, been our foundation all along.

In other words, the start of a new year is a good time for reflection as well as looking ahead!

This reflection is easier for me, I think, at the start of my 62^nd year than it is for my students in their 17^th or 18^th.  My memory may be bad, but I have more to remember than they do. 

The last year had its usual assortment of ups and downs for me.  Nothing terribly tragic occurred in my family even though it might have appeared so at the time.  My sons continue to make me very proud, as does my daughter-in-law.  My grandsons are quickly coming into their own distinct personalities and add so much delight to our lives.  Our wider family and circle of close friends also add to the warm glow that is every day.  Best of all, Nancy and I continue, after 39 years together, to discover and grow in our love for one another.

History has always interested me, particularly when I can make associations and connections from the past to the present, see the cyclical or spiral nature of events.  I’ve enjoyed reconnecting with people from my past—former classmates, students, colleagues—and drawn on some of those relationships as I look to the future for new opportunities and endeavors.  It will be fascinating to see what the new year brings.

I look forward this year most of all to my new grandchild.  Most are hoping for a girl, but I think the odds are against them.  Boy or girl, I am sure this addition to our family will bring us joy as well as his or her own challenges and changes.

I am hopeful that everyone will find opportunities to grow.  Clayton and Britnie are settling into their new jobs—parenting three children will bring its own…opportunities.  Matthew is at a crossroads of sorts in his music as he becomes once again primarily a solo artist.  I look forward to hearing new music!

My alma mater, Tarkio College, seems poised at rebirth after twenty years of closed doors.  Talk about challenges and opportunities!  This should be fun.

Every day I’ve been in the classroom I have seen all of this promise, the future building on the past, in the faces of my students.  My career is winding down and I look forward to new things, new faces in the next year or two.  It’s always great to see what they will do with their lives.  I am often surprised by them.

To paraphrase my favorite poet, Robert Frost, I enjoy looking into the woods so dark and deep with memories and the promise of peace, perhaps, but I, too, have “miles to go before I sleep,” and it’s time to get on with it.

Happy New Year!  Grab a brick.  You have castles to build.

Then Tears

I’ve struggled the last few months just motivating myself to write.  Funny.  I thought when school was out last spring that I’d make time to do lots of writing over the summer.  Guess I enjoyed my summer too much.

Today, on this 10^th anniversary, on Patriots' Day, I have to do something.  It occurred to me that this poem that I turned into song lyrics (I’m hoping my son will write a tune for it some day), sort of fits the mood of the day.

Then Tears

Lines storm across the page

that grows too heavy to hold

stealing away from trembling hands

two lives shatter and grow cold

Then tears.

I’ve numbered each unwelcome drop

mapped out every stream

sailed too often from that shore

sought an elusive dream

Dial tone hums a lifeless line

the silent rending of a heart

final warning, long distance longing

connection torn apart

Then tears.

I’ve numbered each unwelcome drop

mapped out every stream

sailed too often from that shore

sought an elusive dream

Cold embrace pushes love away

emptiness fills the broken space

when hands and hearts no longer touch

lifeless, loveless, careless face

Then tears.

I’ve numbered each unwelcome drop

mapped out every stream

sailed too often from that shore

sought an elusive dream

Perhaps because I know the way

this time there’ll be no tears at our

“Goodbye”

11/19/10

Summer Solstice

June 21^st.  The earth stops and the sun is suspended in the sky longer today than any other day of the year.  In the Midwest, this can mean a long, beautiful day of sun and fun or more daylight to get a better look at clouds and wind and rain.

I remember several days long ago when I thought the day would never end and didn’t want the sun to set.  One day in particular stands out.  I was in summer school at Tarkio College in 1970.  It was such a gorgeous day that hardly anyone went to class.  The large grassy area behind the girls’ dorm, Hopkins Hall, was the place to be for impromptu Frisbee contests, softball games, maybe some soccer, and lots of just sitting around in the sun with friends.  I think everyone on campus was there most of the day.  It was one of those perfect days, too.  The cloudless sky was also calm and a perfect temperature—not the possible unbearable heat and humidity. Lunch and supper from the cafeteria or snack bar were takeout.  No one wanted to leave.

Eventually the sun approached the horizon and we watched the azure sky become pink, rose, reddish-purple, deep blue.  We watched stars appear in the clear sky.  Millions.  Billions.  Even the rising moon couldn’t diminish the showy constellations.  The Milky Way was a creamy streak.  Still we stayed to watch the shifting pinpoints and chase their reflections in the lightning bugs that zipped across the yard.  We wanted it to last, but that day blended into the next with all the promises the future holds.  A perfect memory.

Today—forty-one years later—was much different.  Last night storms ripped through the area.  High winds brought down tree limbs.  A tornado destroyed buildings nearby.  Heavy rain and hail pounded the area.  The Missouri River, already well over flood stage, rose another destructive foot.  The day brought more clouds, cold wind and rain, and the promise of more devastation.  The day seemed like it would never end, but we wanted to put it behind us.  Whatever could go wrong seemed eager to oblige.

I spent the day with my father in the hospital.  Nurses and doctors were in and out of his room, attaching tubes, running tests, exchanging grim faces for reassuring smiles.  Aneurism, weakening valve, decreasing heart function.  Eighty-one years taking their toll.  The sun was out there, behind the clouds and the rain.  The promise of tomorrow was still in the air, but our conversations were more about yesterdays, and plans for “tomorrow” were “what ifs.”

It was the longest day of the year.  I thought it would never end and let me could go home and try to sleep and forget for a time.  Too many memories were vying for my attention.  I had too many phone calls to make to marvel at the ferocity of the storms or wonder where the stars were hiding.

As I drove home, thinking about the day’s events and another summer solstice, I kept remembering Dylan Thomas and wondered if he might have written, on the longest day of his year,

“Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”

“Beyond the Barricades”

We went to see Les Miserables again today; our fifth time, I think.  It’s such a great story and play.  Every time I see it, it gets me to thinking about so many things—love, sacrifice, and patriotism most of all.  I guess those are three very closely related abstracts.  Today I found myself thinking historically.  It’s a natural connection to a historically-based drama.  The various iterations of the French Revolution were directly connected to the American Revolution.  Most revolutions around the world since 1776 have had that connection, at least those in which the populace has risen up to demand liberty, equality, fraternity.

Drawing that line brought me to current events, of course, especially what’s happening in Libya.  The successful events in Egypt spilled over across northern Africa, but the history of the United States with the country now known as Libya is long and violent.  As the “Marine Hymn” denotes, “the shores of Tripoli” were the first beaches stormed in the history of the Corps.  The Barbary Pirates were the problem then.  The new United States Navy and Marines were called on to clean up the seas and help make it safe to travel and ship goods; in 1805 our country was only a few years old, but we were already demanding the world be a better place.

Not everyone wanted us there then.  Some of the countries that stood and watched wondered where this upstart nation found the wherewithal, the brass…to take matters into its own hands.  Some thought we were sticking our nose in where it didn’t belong and that we had no right to throw the bastards out.

Interesting, isn’t it?  Think about how many times we’ve done the same thing in the 206 years since then….  I’ll give you a minute to Google that.

Those who do think about the many times we’ve stepped in usually have no trouble getting into a variety of arguments about the reasons.  We’ve driven out pirates, solidified our borders, pulled things together in two world wars, went to Korea (not for the kimchi), went to Viet Nam to stop the dominoes of Communist aggression (really?), listened to Van Halen in Panama, vacationed in Grenada, capped an oil well in Iraq, did some mountaineering in Afghanistan.  OK.  I shouldn’t joke about that.

Why do we make these trips?  We really aren’t sending our young men and women on vacation in exotic places.  Tens of thousands of our best don’t come home.  Tyrants still pop up all over the place.  Communism “fell” all by itself.  We still need oil.

Look out there, though, beyond the barricades.  They’re still there, you know…the barricades.  People are still piling carts and paving stones and their bodies in the streets to stop the armies of the dictators.  And they’re still looking this direction for help.

They’ve read about 1776.  They’re reminded every four years that change is possible without bloodshed.  They read in our newspapers and now on the Internet that we agree to disagree and defend the right to speak of those who spew the most outrageous slogans, even those who maliciously slander the soldiers who protect them.

We keep sending our soldiers into the thick of it whenever any people need our help.  Sure, too many times we get a worldwide black eye from the ones we want to help.  It costs billions of dollars that we could use here at home.  It costs thousands of lives.  And sometimes it doesn’t seem to change anything.

But we can’t afford to stop trying.  When we turn our backs on those who need our help, whether it’s to fight against slimeballs like Mommar Khadaffi (hey, you try to spell it!) or to clean up after a tsunami…when we turn out backs, the bastards win.  And we lose.  Not fighting is losing. 

We have to keep disagreeing with one another.  We have to keep demanding the best from ourselves and refuse to settle for anything less.

We have to pledge allegiance to that damned bloody flag because when it stops flying, the world starts dying.

A Recipe for Bullying

We're hearing a great deal of debate and conversation about bullying in our schools.  Many wonder where it originates and what its later effects might be if it isn't curtailed or, worse yet, allowed to fester.  From where does it come and how volatile can it be?  Here's a recipe I think I've seen stirred up frequently.

BULLYING

4 parts Ignorance

2 parts Brutality

1 part Mob Mentality (Peer Pressure)

add Passion to taste

Begin with a “clean,” uncorrupted container. Do not add Education or Experience that would dilute the Ignorance. Add to the Ignorance 2 parts Brutality and 1 part Mob Mentality and stir, seasoning with Passion.

This mixture creates one human Bully at any age above two years. Starting early increases the yield; it grows with age.

Serves one or a multitude; historically has led to one-on-one playground battles, gang fights, lynchings, witch hunts, clan feuds, border wars, civil wars, and World Wars.

Goes with all forms of Prejudice and is usually served any time opportunity arises, most often when something does not go as planned, and someone—other than oneself—is needed to Blame.

Also known as Racism, Ageism, Sexism (all other “-isms” of this nature), Bias, Bigotry, and, sometimes, plain Stupidity.

Taken in large doses, this mixture can produce Insanity, Torture, Capital Punishment, Coups d’Etat, Genocide, Cultural destruction, and other forms of human perversion.