Sorry

Sorry, doesn’t always make it starry. Maybe next time be more charming, so you don’t have to say sorry. Lately, I’ve been reflecting on those lyrics to the new song “Sorry” by Stryper – one of my two favorite Christian bands of all-time (Bride being the other). The words aren’t all that elaborate, but they are straightforward and true. Our sorries aren’t always warmly accepted, so it’s certainly better if we can avoid having to apologize at all. However, a real problem facing this nation today is the fact that so many of us are unwilling to say the S word.

President Trump appears incapable of saying sorry. This isn’t just a Republican problem though. Hillary Clinton could only muster a partial apology, concerning her infamous e-mails, and only after months of continuous prodding to do so. I think what our country is currently sorely missing is humility. What if our politicians, bosses and co-workers, and even our own families decided to embrace this seemingly unconventional notion of humbling ourselves amongst our fellow man? Could we at least try? I’ll even go first.

First and foremost, my apologies to God. I’m sorry for the anguish and pain my Lord and Savior voluntarily endured on my behalf, even though I understand His unjust crucifixion was necessary for a lost world. The ridicule, torture, and inhumane (temporary) death Jesus suffered on the cross was God’s quintessential plan of providing a way for one day bringing all of His children who believe in Him home. I’m also sorry for the numerous times, whether blatantly or unexpectedly, I’ve taken advantage of God’s never-ending forgiveness. I know I’m not alone in this, for the Apostle Paul can surely empathize with my plight based on a portion of his letter to the Romans. Paul wrote, “For I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate.” (Romans 7:15) God’s continuous goodness, in spite of our humanistic ways, is truly a mystery to me.

My apologies to my lovely wife. I often tell her I was put on this earth to make her happy, yet too many times those flashy words are meaningless when thoughts of myself take center stage. Similar to Kanye grabbing the microphone away from Taylor Swift, during her acceptance speech at the MTV Video Music Awards in 2009, I too sometimes allow my ego to get in the way of her important moments. I’m sorry about that. The missus knows my faults and insecurities better than anyone, yet she treats me like I’m something special. I’m sorry for the times I haven’t returned the favor. She really deserves so much more. I’ve said it before, I married up.

I’m sorry for the times I’ve been a little harsh with my son. As he’s gotten older, the less he and I are alike. And there’s nothing wrong with that. My wife and I tried to raise our boy to be an independent free thinker, and now to my slight chagrin I believe we succeeded. Today, many of my impassioned views, on a wide variety of topics, are nowhere close to my son’s chosen outlook on life. Again, it’s okay that my child’s worldview aligns much closer to that of his grandfather’s than with mine. However, it’s not always easy to have a calm conversation, even with someone so dear to your heart, when there’s not a whole lot you can agree on. Nonetheless, I’m sorry to my son for the times I’ve probably made him feel as though his thoughts, concerns, and opinions weren’t as important as mine.

My apologies to my parents and to my siblings for the times I’ve let them down as a son and as a brother. I haven’t always been the most generous person with my time. I realize I’ve been somewhat removed from the family, both literally and figuratively, since moving to Arizona. I’m sorry for being insensitive, nonflexible, and short-tempered at times. I’m also sorry to past classmates I never paid any attention to, friends I drifted away from, by not making a concerted effort to retain them, and a couple of teachers whose lives I made more difficult than need be. I’ve now had over 50 years on this earth to have possibly offended others I am not even aware of, either by my actions or with my words, but I’m sorry to them just the same.

The truth is none of us could ever try hard enough to overcome our sinful nature, embedded at birth, all on our own. “Trying” can only take us so far when targeting holiness, and inevitably all will fall short. (Heck, I’ve been trying to incorporate an abs workout into my weightlifting routine since January – with zero luck.) Regardless of one’s willpower, complete self-control is simply unattainable in this life. The good news is we can come close to that goal – but only with the assistance of the Holy Spirit. He will help guide us toward holiness when we spend an abundance of quality time in the Word and in prayer with our Heavenly Father. Traits of Jesus will naturally pour out of us when we’re in a solid relationship with Him.

Just the other day I was channel surfing when I came across a TV evangelist saying something I found to be quite profound. He said something like this: the more we are like Jesus – the less we have to say. (That might be a little challenging for an aspiring writer such as myself.) I assume the preacher’s statement meant that an active Jesus follower would remain silent rather than argue, or engage in gossip or coarse dialog. However, I possibly could’ve misinterpreted the pastor’s intended message due to my clinically undiagnosed “flipping” problem; By the time I was done scanning the other channels to see what else was on, the evangelist was finished with his message. Nevertheless, I think the theory of having to say sorry less often, when one becomes charming and resembles Jesus more, holds true. Until then…who wants to go next?

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Our Coddling Society

It all began, I think, somewhere near the turn of the 21st century. All over the country the youth of that time were practicing their skills for upcoming games against their peers. It did not matter whether the sporting season was baseball, basketball, or soccer. When game day finally arrived the excited kids would lace up their shiny new cleats or expensive fashionable high-tops, grab their gear, and show up at the proper venue. The games began innocently enough, with the enthusiastic boys and girls proudly donning their typically oversized and itchy jerseys for all to see, but inevitably the hard fought contests would end with many players and fans alike feeling a bit empty inside – an internal sense of incompletion, if you will. A majority of the kids, and a few daring parents, would ultimately ask the pertinent question, “Who won?”

Most often though the question would not be answered. That once sensible inquiry had freshly become quite taboo and deemed as a politically incorrect question to ask. Somewhere along the way the idea of winning acquired a negative connotation. I believe the thought process behind this new way of thinking was that if there’s a winner then there has to be a loser – which I guess was no longer okay. Almost overnight that undeniable fact of life apparently grew unacceptable to many adults somewhere around the turn of the century. I think that is when our coddling society began. And it has only gotten worse (unless you’re into that sort of thing). Those children, first exposed to the unnecessary pampering, are now our nation’s 30-year-olds holding onto a sense of entitlement while shamelessly living comfortably with their parents.

Nowadays, everyone gets a trophy. Little Timmy finished tenth in a field of ten? Congratulations! The first place winner is no better than you, Timmy. Be proud of that shiny trophy (your parents undoubtedly had to pay for) atop your dresser. I’m proud that I’m old-school in this area. I subscribe to the more honest notion that 2nd place means you were the first loser. I’m sorry, Timmy, but the truth is you finished last amongst the losers. You can either be content with your placing, work harder for next time, or maybe find some other activity that fits your skillset better, but absolutely no trophy for you this time. (I suppose a participation certificate might be alright.)

Our decades of catering to a coddling society have led to forced diversity and all-inclusiveness, all of today’s silly political correctness, and in turn the pampering practice has ignored common sense, shunned Biblical principles, and diminished our “acceptable” personal preferences. For instance, I have no desire to see the blockbuster movie Black Panther. That does not make me a racist. I have no interest in watching the highly acclaimed Wonder Woman movie either. That does not make me a misogynist. I simply don’t care much for superhero films. I have not seen any of them since Batman in 1989, and I only went to the theater back then because my favorite musical artist, Prince, provided the entire soundtrack.

However, in our coddling society I’m expected to wholeheartedly embrace the recent aforementioned hit movies because they supposedly “broke the glass ceiling” for all the Black actors and women in Hollywood, regardless of my personal preference of cinema. And the guilt trip shows no signs of slowing down anytime soon. I’m prepared to be callously labeled a homophobic for not wanting to attend the new flick Love, Simon. The movie is being lauded as the first major studio picture to focus on a gay teen love affair. No thank you. It has also recently been reported, via the Newton Daily News (4/4/18), “A new study finds the film industry’s move toward diversity has largely ignored people with disabilities.” Oh no, now I’ll surely be accused of handicapism if I happen to not be extremely enthused about whatever movie is first to cast a disabled person in the lead role.

I tend to mainly blame the parents of the millennial generation for creating our coddling society – which has over time incorporated the acceptance of irresponsibility, senseless premature celebrations, and quite frankly has led to today’s youth running the show. There are now an abundance of middle school, elementary school, and even kindergarten graduations to celebrate our youngsters’ glorious achievements. Kindergarten graduation? Congratulations, kid – you’ve mastered naps and playtime. I suppose conquering playtime might actually come in handy when you and your folks sign your first videogame contract. Wait, what? Last month The Wall Street Journal (3/15/18) reported that Tencent Holdings Ltd., a Chinese videogame company, will soon be introducing digital contracts which will allow kids and their parents to negotiate reasonable play times. The youngsters can even gather their friends to witness the signing of the contract. Here’s a novel idea: how about if parents just parent and make that type of decision on their own.

In somewhat related news, a California girl made headlines in January 2013, for drugging her folks just for the sake of being able to use the internet beyond her set curfew. Oddly enough, the American Psychological Association began identifying internet addiction as a disorder that same year. Therefore, we are expected to accept that the poor girl had no choice but to lace her parents’ milkshakes with sleeping pills due to her “condition.” Our indulging society simply does not recognize the tried-and-true practice of personal responsibility as an asset anymore. We should all know by now, in this day and age, once something is labeled an illness or an addiction, or a trend is declared an epidemic, then all blame seems to be laid at the foot of everything else rather than where it truly belongs – at the feet of the actual person whose choices led to their undesirable actions. Only in our coddling society can a man cheat on his wife, gamble away their savings, become obese, and get high – and none of it is his fault. The cheating, irresponsible, fatso druggie is regarded as the VICTIM of sex, gambling, and food addictions, and a sweeping epidemic.

Case in point, I came across an intriguing obituary late last year that I think unwittingly exposes our society’s perverse modern way of thinking and victimhood mentality. A young man died from a heroin overdose just two days before Christmas. Tragic, for sure. However, I was taken aback when the obit went on to point out that the 28-year-old Iowan was “preceded in death by 13 of his friends who lost their life to the opioid epidemic.” Thirteen! There may very well be an opioid crisis at this time in history, with enough blame to go around, but I find this particular situation to be something entirely different than what’s being proposed by the surviving family. I think it’s much more probable the deceased and his buddies were regular drug users, voluntarily in search of euphoria, rather than helpless victims of drug manufactures and negligent doctors.

Our children should certainly be heard (not just seen) and loved unconditionally, but we need to refrain from enabling them, making excuses for their unflattering behaviors, and prematurely treating them as our peers. For example, regardless of my preference for better and stricter gun regulations, I am not in favor of high school students taking on adult issues and skipping their classes in doing so. I happen to agree with the view William McGurn conveyed in The Wall Street Journal (2/27/18). The opinion page columnist wrote, “Quick show of hands for those with children: How many of you look to your teens for political wisdom, whether it’s the daughter obsessing over her Snapchat streaks or the son who would spend his day eating Doritos and binge-gaming ‘Grand Theft Auto’ if you let him?” By the way, many teens in favor of gun rights have been peacefully counter protesting the protesters, although their stance has been presumably intentionally less reported by the often biased media. The truth is every generation will be divided on this hot-button issue.

While we’re at it we should also be honest and debunk the great American lie, we keep passing on to each generation, that contends you can be whatever you want to be and do whatever you want to do. In this life, all things are not possible. I unequivocally believe Philippians 4:13: “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me,” but only within the parameters of the Scripture’s intended meaning. God can do all things, but surely I cannot be our nation’s next Olympic champion, Miss America, or a rocket scientist. I can’t even become a bona fide journalist because my mind is just not capable of comprehending STUPID algebra – which unfortunately is a prerequisite for obtaining a journalism degree. Only in our coddling society does one truly believe that anything is possible.


The Old Gal

She has had a good life. More to the point, I have had a good life, in part, because of her. We’ve been through thick and thin together, and she has silently stood with me experiencing the highs, and a few lows, of my life for almost thirty years. The times we have shared are priceless, but I’m deeply afraid the old gal’s days are numbered. I cannot fathom a life without my mainstay – my reliable one – my comforter – my mate. To me, she’s an integral part of the family. To my wife, she has served her purpose but is long overdue for being put out to pasture. I’m at a loss as to what to do about my ailing La-Z-Boy rocker recliner.

My lovely wife, on the other hand, has been lobbying for many years to replace what I’m sure she sees only as an embarrassing eyesore. Her pleas to say good riddance to the old gal have increasingly become more boisterous and much more frequent with each passing year, but her requests have consistently fallen on deaf ears. It seems as though the missus has grown to loathe the color of my easy chair, but I think mauve still goes well with our living room décor. If mauve was good enough as the primary color of our wedding then by golly it should be good enough now. “But that was over 30 years ago,” my wife keeps reminding me. Supposedly, the pale purple color is no longer hip and doesn’t even deserve a place in today’s society. When did mauve become such a bad word?

I’m guessing women just may not know how attached a man becomes to his chair over the course of time. We need only look to Martin Crane of television’s Frasier, or to the revered Archie Bunker character, to grasp the importance of a man’s easy chair in his life. If an insufferable curmudgeon’s chair from All in the Family can make its way into the Smithsonian then surely my mauve mate can continue residing in my living room. A man’s adoration for his chair is certainly nothing new and transcends multiple generations. I assume my father was very fond of his rocker recliner. Me…not so much. Many times the all too familiar sound of my father swiftly depressing his chair’s footrest meant he’d had enough of my roughhousing and was coming after me. Maybe my son has a similar story to tell about me.

I can only imagine the stories my La-Z-Boy would tell if only she could talk. I have seen and done so many things, and have watched history unfold, from the confines of my comfortable chair. I witnessed the O.J. Simpson white Bronco “chase” and subsequently the dramatic trial. I watched one evening as President Bill Clinton looked me, and the rest of the nation, in the eyes and insisted, “I did not have sexual relations with that woman.” I cheered for my favorite baseball team (at the time), the Atlanta Braves, as they were crowned World Series champions in 1995. I was also in my comfy chair when rooting for University of Northern Iowa alum, Kurt Warner, as he led his St. Louis Rams to a Super Bowl XXXIV victory in 2000.

However, not all memorable times spent with my mauve mate have been happy times. Once I was slowly rocking in my La-Z-Boy when out of the blue I informed my wife I thought I needed to go to the emergency room. It was the evening of the very day a dream of mine came true when I opened a music store in my hometown. The jubilation I was experiencing, from a successful day at Mac’s Compact Disc Shop, instantaneously turned into unrelenting pain. The culprit responsible for my abrupt anguish was later determined to be a kidney stone. I’ve also felt uneasy at times, oddly enough, in my easy chair (get the irony?). I’ve anxiously recuperated from a few colds and flus, softball injuries, and a knee surgery. I also somberly observed most of the events of 9/11 from my comforting chair. I’m thankful though that life in my prized chair has produced mostly positive memorable moments.

I can recall multiple times relaxing in my La-Z-Boy with my beloved dog underfoot. Brittany could be a bit of a nuisance though whenever she would decide to lay down directly in front of my chair. Her ill-advised choice often prevented me from operating the footrest without having to disturb her slumber. My dog’s decision also significantly hindered my path to both the kitchen and the bathroom, but it certainly was wonderful being worshiped by my faithful companion. Brittany’s unconditional love was often rewarded with a hunk of pizza crust or several pieces of popcorn (she’d expertly catch) during our family movie nights.

Many of my most cherished memories, while lounging in my easy chair, involve being snuggly encompassed with my child. There’s nothing quite like the pride I felt as a father when holding my newborn son, so close to my heart, while gently rocking him to sleep. Or a few years later when witnessing my toddler’s wide- eyed curiosity, while cozily on my lap, as he intently watched whatever shenanigans his favorite purple dinosaur was up to, during episodes of Barney & Friends emanating from our television screen.

Fast forward twenty-some years to a more recent memory I have of my adult son when he came to visit his very cool parents one weekend. He’s a fan of the old gal, too, so he’s frequently chomping at the bit to inhabit her. My respectful son is pretty good about asking me if he can seize control of my La-Z-Boy, before just plopping down, so I almost always say yes to his request. Just as predictable as my answer, is my son’s propensity to be snoring within only a few minutes of settling in. One time I found myself chuckling out loud after noticing my kid all sprawled out and making use of every inch, and then some, of my chair’s lounging capacity. Seeing my boy’s 6’3″ frame overflowing the parameters of my recliner was a sight to behold.

Although my son now lives over a thousand miles away, my mauve mate unexpectedly, but pleasantly, reminded me of him just the other day. I had flipped over my La-Z-Boy, as I’ve been doing from time to time, to see if somehow my mechanically uninclined self could find a cure for my ailing chair. No such luck again, of course, but on this particular day something trickled out from one of the rusty springs underneath the chair. It was a small, black strip of something somewhat familiar. Upon further investigation, I concluded that the small piece of plastic adhesive probably came from a handheld label maker my son used to own long ago. I turned the black label over to find only a single word imprinted on it – although it was a wonderful surprise! The one word was just the name of my son, but the seemingly insignificant label was much needed at the time (I was missing my boy) and is now my newest treasured possession. The old gal is the gift that keeps on giving.

So, with everything we’ve been through together, why am I now suddenly concerned about the remaining longevity of my mauve mate, and why am I even considering putting her out to pasture? Probably because my rocker recliner no longer rocks and she can barely recline anymore. The shape of my chair has slowly morphed into something only resembling that of a chair. And just the other day, while attempting to recline, I heard a “pop” as my La-Z-Boy immediately tilted to one side. I hesitantly turned her over to find a small piece of broken wood laying on the carpet. That can’t be good.

My left butt cheek now sits about two inches lower than my right one when I’m all nestled in my chair. The silver lining though is that the new angle relieves a bit of pressure off my ailing right hip, and I’m now even closer to my crossword puzzles and any snacks or beverages that may find their way onto the nearby end table. To be sure, there are a few stains here and there on my La-Z-Boy, but my adored chair does not stink, and there are no holes, rips, or tears in the upholstery to be found. Not too shabby I reckon for something that has shared in my daily experiences, and has seen me through thick and thin, for nearly three decades. I suppose I’m no longer at a loss as to what to do about my La-Z-Boy rocker recliner. I’m keeping the old gal!


#MeThree

I remember it well. I was working as a grill cook at McDonald’s in the mid-’80s when the incident occurred. I was innocently flipping some burgers when a co-worker left her assigned cash register up front and appeared directly beside me for a quick swig of pop (what Iowans call their soda). This was a very common practice in our industry because an employee eating or drinking in front of customers was considered non-professional and even a bit rude. The female colleague knelt down, took a sip, and asked “if there was anything she could do for me.” I glanced down at the considerate co-worker while thanking her for her thoughtfulness, but I declined the offer. (I prefer doing things my own way.) My colleague then gazed squarely at my crotch and in a seductive manner repeated, “anything?”

At that point I fully understood the situation was not simply about filling the ketchup dispenser or fetching some cheese out of the walk-in cooler. Once more I declined. I had no interest in the girl beneath me, and she was well aware I had a girlfriend (another co-worker who eventually became my lovely wife). That was that. I’m not sure if I was a victim of sexual abuse, sexual harassment, harmless flirtation, crude humor, or something else that day. At the time I didn’t think much about the unwarranted and unprovoked advance. Looking back, I still don’t. However, I think my experience decades ago surely meets the criteria for joining the #MeToo club.

All kidding aside, I think the #MeToo movement is a joke. I truly am not making light of the seriousness of those who’ve been raped, sexually assaulted, or sexually harassed. The #MeToo campaign itself though is guilty of just that by unwittingly lumping together the unsubstantiated, weak, and even false claims of abuse with the admitted and proven cases of sexual abuse. There are currently millions of members who’ve joined the club; however, I would suggest that legitimate claims of abuse make up only a small percentage of the colossal total. As a society we must be careful not to instantly jump on the bandwagon or play judge and jury.

When an allegation is made publicly it’s impossible for the accused (guilty or not) to escape a life long sentence of being stigmatized. A wise man once said, “Peoples lives are being shattered and destroyed by a mere allegation. Some are true and some are false. Some are old and some are new. There is no recovery for someone falsely accused – life and career are gone. Is there no such thing any longer as Due Process?” Actually, that quote did not come from the wisest of men – it came from President Trump – and it, of course, came by way of a tweet – but the content was spot on just the same.

Recently, for every valid claim of sexual misconduct there seems to be just as many lacking in credibility which inevitably tarnishes the entire #MeToo campaign. For example, a Los Angeles filmmaker has just gone on record accusing her former photography professor of sexually abusing her in 1999. She claims she was in his classroom, sitting at a desk, when the renowned teacher asked for her attention. The naked professor then walked directly towards her and placed his erect manhood in her mouth. She said the encounter was very brief before she ultimately pushed him away and left the room. The filmmaker said, “He committed oral rape against me.” Oddly enough, the woman admitted to keeping in touch with her former teacher via e-mail even after graduation. She continued requesting recommendations and asking for advice several years after the incident. That seems more like a #Regret moment to me. Likewise, last month a fairly famous actor was publicly accused online of sexual abuse because he didn’t turn out to be what his date had anticipated leading up to their one night together. The woman deeply regretted the experience since she was left with only negative feelings toward the celebrity after their consensual tryst.

Also muddying the waters a tad, as far as I’m concerned, is a recent decision made by a 2016 Olympic gold medalist. We know for certain she, along with countless other gymnasts, was sexually molested by the U.S. team doctor. The Olympian is now on a crusade to spread a message of empowerment to children who’ve possibly been sexually victimized themselves. She recently said, “I do a lot of school visits. I’m trying to communicate to these kids that they have a voice, and if something doesn’t feel right, they should speak up and ask questions.” The decorated gymnast went on to say, “I feel like I have a voice, and I feel like I have a responsibility.” That is all well and good, but also during this time the crusader chose to model for the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue – even posing “tastefully” nude for assumingly a predominantly male viewership. I think the gold medalist gave a losing performance with her recent decision to pose especially considering her desire to be a role model for children. What I glean from the confusing message coming from the Olympian is that being victimized is not okay, but being objectified is fine.

These certainly are confusing times, so I guess we shouldn’t be too surprised to find the subject of sex to be perplexing as well. David Brooks, writer and political commentator, proffered his thoughts on that very topic just last month (1/19/18) in The New York Times. He penned, “Over the past 100 years or so, advanced thinkers across the West have worked to take the shame out of sex, surely a good thing. But they’ve also disenchanted it.” This is clearly evident today with the integration of “friends with benefits,” sexting, and the surge in lovers opting to live together without the commitment of marriage. Then there’s the millennial generation (and beyond) who’ve shockingly determined oral sex really isn’t sex, and they are content with engaging in sexual relationships before committing to a boyfriend/girlfriend status.

The prominent writer concluded his Op-Ed piece with a couple of keen observations and some pretty sound advice: “Sex is seen as a shallow physical and social thing, not a heart and soul altering thing. One unintended effect of this disenchantment is that it becomes easy to underestimate the risks inherent in any encounter. It seems that the smarter we get about technology, the dumber we get about relationships. We live in a society in which loneliness, depression and suicide are on the rise. We seem to be treating each other worse. The guiding moral principle here is not complicated: Try to treat other people as if they possessed precious hearts and infinite souls. Everything else will follow.”

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking as well in regards to sex in America. Lately, I’ve been pondering why exactly millions of people would respond to the #MeToo campaign and why they’ve waited until now to come forward. I have concluded all men are pigs. I think a better answer though may be that we are in a season of angst, division, and rebellion. The time is ripe for protesting – regardless of a movement’s legitimacy. I think a great number of the #MeToo club’s members may just be longing for inclusion. Our human nature, at its core, is to belong.

God indeed created us with an inbred craving, but that hunger can only be satisfied by Him. From the time we are born, we errantly search for other things in trying to make us feel whole. I understand it can be extremely tempting to participate in something so big – so trendy – just to fit in. This may be the case for an Oscar winning actress who was recently quoted in People magazine (2/19/18) as saying, ‘I went from thinking, “I don’t have a story” to “Oh, wait, I have 100 stories.” I think a lot of people are having these reckonings with themselves.’ I’m sure most of us have stories of a sexual nature we could tell – whether good, bad, or indifferent – but that does not mean they are all #MeToo worthy.


Immigration

Immigration is not a topic I’m at all passionate about. I certainly have my beliefs and opinions on the matter, and I surely have concerns about our nation’s safety, but I’m not overzealous when it comes to immigration policy, illegal immigration, and immigration reform like a majority of politicians and their constituents appear to be at this time. President Trump, during his first State of the Union address, presented a plan for conquering a problem that has been debated for many, many years. Trump’s immigration proposal calls for what he deems as the four “pillars”: constructing a border wall, granting legal status for the so-called “dreamers,” reducing the family-based immigration system, and replacing the lottery system-based Diversity Immigrant Visa Program with a merit-based system.

The consensus amongst politicians seems to be that any immigration reform must start with securing our nation’s borders. I would venture to say most Americans agree with that sentiment. How to go about it is where people tend to branch off in different directions – turning the issue into a politically partisan situation. Republicans are generally in favor of a wall being built across our southern border while the majority of Democrats are opposed. A short decade ago both parties appeared to be united in favor of constructing a barrier between the United States and Mexico. In 2006, an overwhelming, bipartisan Senate majority, which included Chuck Schumer, Hillary Clinton, and then-Illinois Senator Barack Obama, were in favor of building a fence along the border. Today, it’s about building a wall which apparently is one of the sticking points for Democrats.

What good is either a fence or a wall if it can easily be breached? I recently came across a brief article on that very subject. It was just a snippet and buried deep within the pages of The Washington Times, but it was there (1/19/18) nevertheless. Prototypes of President Trump’s proposed wall has been deemed highly effective. Military special forces and U.S Customs and Border Protection special units spent three weeks trying to get past said prototypes without any success. The tactical teams utilized an array of tools and climbing gadgets including torches, saws, and jackhammers, but they found the walls’ astounding heights and durability too difficult to breach. I’m not too enthused about the cost of “the great wall,” but our government has added to our national debt in the past on more frivolous things (e.g., the Iraq War). Hey, isn’t Mexico suppose to pay for the wall anyway?

The President’s second pillar deals with the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals (DACA) policy. I too have some compassion for the “dreamers.” They had no choice when brought here illegally by their parents. However, I feel much differently about the parents – the ones who blatantly broke the law and are totally responsible for putting their children in the predicament they are currently in. This unfortunate situation is neither President Trump’s nor Congress’ fault. I do not understand why illegals (and those avidly lobbying on their behalf) have so much trouble comprehending that breaking the law is wrong.

I’ve been accused of being legalistic…which I proudly am. I believe we have laws for a reason, and if they’re broken there should be consequences. Not all laws are wonderful, and some may not even make all that much sense, but when they are on the books then they need to be obeyed. Therefore, I think illegal immigrants should not be allowed to vote in our elections or receive in-state tuition at our colleges. How many other nations would go to extreme measures, and willingly risk political division, catering to the illegals in their country? Some would surely argue – but that’s what makes our country so special and America so great. I don’t think turning a blind eye to lawbreakers is what makes America great.

President Trump’s remaining two pillars are mostly about reducing the number of immigrants coming into this country and having a better idea of who exactly the ones are being allowed to enter. I view these scaling back efforts as acceptable tweaks to our current immigration policy. Using the proposed merit-based system should take some of the guesswork out of who we’re actually welcoming in to our country. I’m well aware Lady Liberty possesses an inscribed plaque, attached to the spectacular statue’s pedestal, which indeed reads, “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses…,” but don’t we already have enough citizens like that legally living here?

It has been reported that Democrats, and even some Republicans, are repulsed by the possibility of Congress finally resolving the immigration problem with President Trump at the helm. Supposedly, their distaste for Trump supersedes passing any immigration reform, and giving their leader a bipartisan victory, even if they would’ve supported such a plan in the past. I hate to imagine any of our elected officials being that vindictive and petty. When giving his State of the Union speech, the President presented his proposition as “a fair compromise” in which “nobody gets everything they want, but where our country gets the critical reforms it needs and must have.” Trump went on to say, “These four pillars represent a down the middle compromise, and one that will create a safe, modern and lawful immigration system.” I concur, although I’m still not at all passionate about the topic of immigration.


Catching Up

We’ve got some catching up to do. Hopefully, we can effortlessly pick up from where we previously left off. Like catching up with an old high school chum you haven’t seen in ages. You know what I mean. The type of relationship where the conversation flows without missing a beat even when there’s been no contact with one another for up to years at a time. I haven’t written for a while because I’ve been a very busy guy these past several months. There were crossword puzzles to solve, craft beers to sample (so many brews, so little time), Netflix to watch, and then Christmas came along. Admittedly, those aren’t very convincing excuses for neglecting what I typically enjoy doing and am usually quite passionate about.

The truth is I needed a reprieve: some time away from the slew of partisan political talk consuming our nation’s media. I was exhausted from reading, watching, studying, and then painstakingly having to decipher the actual truth in what was being reported by our melodramatic media from the accusations, partial truths, and even a few bold faced lies. I hungered for a life void of daily negativity, disappointment and anger, and I realized I could no longer pen my thoughts on current topics and keep my sanity. I opted for the latter, and in doing so I found more peace, more contentment, and even a new hobby or two. Ignorance truly can be bliss. Not knowing about the daily exaggerated “firestorms” was utterly refreshing. However, I think I’m now ready to get back into the fray and rejoin society, regardless of how errant many of its members appear to be happily existing, but this time without any lofty expectations of the human race.

I have found that having a SENSIBLE political discussion is an anomaly. There are still only two major political parties in this country, but now there are factions within both the Republican and Democratic parties which only further complicates matters. These days hardly any member of Congress completely agrees with the other elected officials in their own coalition – which would probably be fine in some other existence except unfortunately that “independence” as of late has not led to compromise or making America an even greater place. I have also found that many of President Trump’s supporters are impassioned minions willing to follow their leader into the abyss if necessary. Meanwhile, a majority of Trump haters are going to continue to hate even if a few of the President’s policies happen to align with one of their own darlings (Bernie Sanders). By the way, I certainly hope the Democrats can do better than Oprah in 2020. (I suppose she’d be a bit better than Kanye though.)

What I’m trying my best to impart at this moment, and have been attempting to convey since the launch of my blog, is that we all should be open to the possibility that there could be some legitimate ideas and reasonable arguments coming from the other side. One party or person (except for Jesus, of course) does not have a monopoly on the perfect (or even best) solutions to EVERYTHING. For instance, I’ve never subscribed to the notion that the Republicans’ “trickle-down theory” works. That very belief appears to be the basis for the recently passed U.S. corporate tax cuts. However, CNBC reported last week (1/24/18) that Starbucks announced the company will use some of their savings (more than $250 million) from the aforementioned tax cuts for giving their employees raises, company stock, and expanded benefits. The renowned coffee chain joins Wal-Mart, Apple, Comcast, and American Airlines who’ve already made similar announcements regarding their newfound tax savings.

Therefore, I find the newly enacted U.S. corporate tax cuts to be at the very least beneficial to some working-class folks – not just the wealthy. There is one thing we now know for certain: by implementing the radical tax cuts, the Republican Party doesn’t seem too concerned about adding billions of dollars to our country’s national debt. The GOP can no longer claim with a straight face to be the “fiscally conservative” party. The Republicans’ tax reform plan is definitely far from perfect, but it’s surely not a complete disaster either. Nothing would please me more in this political climate than to hear both sides of the aisle admitting as much. Maybe then I won’t need another reprieve in the future. Well, until we meet again. It’s been nice catching up.


Saying Goodbye

My wife left me yesterday. It wasn’t entirely unexpected either. In fact, we both knew it was coming since she’d been talking about it for some time, so I let her go without putting up a fight. I must admit I am somewhat surprised that neither of us seemed all that sad or concerned when saying goodbye. We’ve been married for almost 30 years, for crying out loud, so you’d think my wife’s departure would have been quite the ordeal, yet in actuality it was a far cry from an emotional farewell. I suppose the missus leaving me really wasn’t that big a deal since my lovely wife will be back home, from a business convention in Vegas, tomorrow.

Saying goodbye isn’t as cut and dried as one might think. Bidding a fond adieu is actually a tricky concept. When saying goodbye to someone, we are not assured of ever seeing that person again. That’s a sobering thought, but it’s certainly true. We assume we’ll meet again in this lifetime, but no one is promised tomorrow. I have an aunt who routinely goes out of her way to say “see you later” instead of goodbye. I think her preferred choice of words is a superstitious attempt at fooling Mother Nature. I believe she’s even alluded to that in the past. To each their own.

The airport can be such a sad place, with countless goodbyes being said. On the other hand, the airport can be the happiest place on earth (no offense Disneyland). It’s a place where one can witness numerous reunions with loved ones, relieved embraces of military personnel returning from deployment, and an abundance of authentic ear to ear smiles. So much happiness can be found within the confines of an airport. I reckon train stations and bus stops evoke similar feelings although I’ve never experienced either of those places firsthand.

George Bailey, Jimmy Stewart’s beloved character in It’s A Wonderful Life, boasted that the three most exciting sounds in the world are “anchor chains, plane motors, and train whistles.” I don’t doubt that is true, for those who are desiring to set out on a new journey, but that’s surely not the case for any loved ones left behind. In the summer of 2007, I had the mindset akin to that of George Bailey when my wife, my son, and I uprooted from Iowa, to Arizona. I longed for a new adventure – an opportunity to chart a different course – a chance to explore the unknown. I did not give a lot of thought at that time as to what my mother and father, or anyone else for that matter, might’ve been going through because I was solely focused on what was ahead…not on what was being left behind.

Remember when you were a kid, and your parents used to say once in awhile, or maybe quite frequently depending on the amount of grief you gave them, “just wait ’til you have kids of your own”? It was almost as though the people raising you were actually taking some comfort in their hopes of getting sweet revenge one day. Our folks were surely angry, frustrated, or disappointed when such statements were made. Regardless, as it turns out, I’ve recently found their ancient warnings to be profoundly correct. The shoe indeed is on the other foot. I’ll soon be experiencing what my parents were forced to experience when saying goodbye to them 10 years ago.

I can now fully empathize with my folks because after spending the past decade in Arizona, my son has decided to move back to Iowa. He has grown extremely weary of the desert sun and is looking forward to the Midwest’s changing seasons, rainstorms, and even the snow. His mother and I are very fond of Arizona’s sunny days, the dry heat, wearing shorts yearlong, and NO SNOW. We’re used to having our only child living just twenty-two minutes away from us, but soon he’ll be 1,187 miles away. I’m truly excited for my son. I admire his independence, as well as his courage to try another path, but I’m not too happy about saying goodbye. That’ll be a tough one.