The Rose Window

--by Mike Adams

He stared unblinking, eyes red, the result of inflamed capillaries exploding in his eyes like tiny volcanoes overrunning a previously pristine landscape.

He blinked and pulled away from the mirror, “I'm not going to hide my red eyes today,” he grumbled as he shook his head and turned sharply for the door.

How had it come to this? A couple decades earlier, he had been excited about life. The future had seemed a treasure chest. Filled with interesting people and ideas, intellectual conversations, love, lust, adventure and movement. Fast forward to now and all of that has been replaced with routine. His life is mostly a series of chores, work, and mundane tasks. 

He is a responsible adult and parent. There seems no room for spontaneity, which is perhaps the thing he misses most. Don't misunderstand, George loves his family, six year old Gracie is a plump symphony of happiness and exuberance. Twelve year old Mason is in seventh grade and shows promise as a burgeoning violinist. While Liz, the eldest, at fourteen seems a latent genius, who waits for her moment to fly free into this world. He smiles, but soon it fades as George remembers how he loved creating and implementing “hair brained ideas” in his twenties.

“Stop thinking that way George! It's time for work.” He slides on his jacket, starts his car and pulls out onto the road. The sound of someone screaming fills his senses and jolts him into the present as he turns in horror to see a huge delivery truck bearing down on him, horn blaring, tires smoking, it is a rogue elephant bent on his destruction and he can't see any way out of being trampled.

“Oh God...I can't die Now! Not like this! There is too much to do!” He inhales deep, closes his eyes, as his body stiffens. He grasps the steering wheel in panic, but nothing happens. Slowly opening his eyes, George looks around timidly, wondering how he could possibly be in the main terminal of the international airport of Phoenix. Next to him, is Frank, his husband of seven...no eleven years. The kids are there and everyone is happy. The eldest, Liz beams at him and says, “I can't believe we're finally going to France. I've been studying the language for years now, I can't wait to try it out for real.” He smiles and ruffles the hair of his youngest child, who looks up disdainfully and says, “please don't do that. I hate it.” He nods with a smile, and wonders how that little chipmunk managed to grow so fast. “It seems like just this morning that she was only six and now she's already ten. Wow!”

In France, they immerse themselves in the experience with all the enthusiasm a child has devouring a fresh peach in the middle of summer. George stands entranced in front of the Rose Window at the Notre Dame Cathedral. Suddenly, ten year old Gracie,  hugs him and says, “I love you!” He pauses for a moment feeling disoriented before responding, “I love you too Liz, and I am so proud of you. Henry seems like a fine man and I think the two of you will make a wonderful couple. Don't make me wait too long for grandchildren though.” Liz flushes, smiles and says, “Come on Dad, lets get to the reception, this is your dance.” They walk out together and Liz says, “remember when I was fourteen and we visited this very church and you stared at that window for hours?” George smiles and says, “I was just thinking about that. It seems like it happened only moments ago”

Back to the hotel, George and Frank smile at each other, they are truly in love. Frank says, “you looked so happy out there dancing with your oldest daughter. “ George says, “I was! Can you believe how fortunate we've been? I remember when we were barely able to survive and now we own a house in Maui, and one in Portugal. We have one kid in Europe, one in the US and the third in Australia. We're able to visit all of them often. I'd say Life has been really good to us Frank.” George remembers how hard it was to work through all of the difficult and challenging times, but he's glad they did. It has all been worth the effort. He smiles, kisses Frank and lies down.

Frank nudges George, "can you believe how beautiful Mason's brand new little son is? Oh, and his wife, Stephanie, she is simply wonderful.” George smiles and Frank and responds, “I know and it seems that only earlier this evening, we were celebrating his older sister Liz's wedding. We are blessed.”.

George closes his eyes and then he sees a bright, warm light. He walks slowly towards the light, wondering what it could be. He feels cold, but the light beckons him. It emanates happiness and contentment. He smiles and starts walking, his heart filled with bliss, when suddenly every nerve in his body is screaming with pain. He becomes aware of a long and irritating beep. Again, his body is overcome with incredible pain. Every muscle seizes, his neck and back are rigid and the pain is overwhelming, then he relaxes. The beeping assumes a more rhythmic beat and he sees the light again, but not quite so warm. A doctor leans over and says, “Stay with us George, you've been in a terrible accident, but stay with us. We don't want to shock you again to start your heart, OK.” George is momentarily overcome with panic, then he remembers the truck and he hears his family outside arguing with hospital staff to let them see him. “I was hit by that truck, right!?” The doctor nods and says, “We can save you, just stay awake, OK.” George nods. He won't go back to sleep now, not knowing what he'll miss if he does.

Patriotism: This Week's GBE2 Writing Prompt

--by Mike Adams

I've pulled away from blogging in this forum, the result of working double time to promote my side business MLAdams, a remote PC maintenance service. All you need is internet and a connected computer. We can have your computer running better tomorrow! Seriously, I'm pretty good at this computer stuff, so if you need some computer support check it out. Also, if you just want some technical advice, check out my computer maintenance blog. Anyway, now that I've got my shameless plug out of the way, lets move on to the topic at hand, which is patriotism.

Sometimes, I feel that I have a lot to say on this topic, but upon careful examination, my thoughts really boil down to three main points:

• A patriot is capable of changing their mind given a reasonable point. This is because patriots know that it isn't possible to always be right, so they are looking for where they are mistaken, because they want what is best for their nation.
• A patriot knows that the political opposition is also patriotic and that their point of view is also based in some truth.Therefore, a real patriot values intelligent discussion with someone who disagrees. The true patriot knows that the best ideas are born in the creative mix of opposing and thoughtful opinion.
• A patriot bristles at the use of these words in the name of political points, "fascist," "Nazi," "Hitler." The patriot knows that unless we are discussing Slobodan Milošević, idiocy rules when Nazis are introduced. Furthermore the use of Nazi or Hitler for political points it incredibly disrespectful to those who survived concentration camps and those who fought to liberate those camps in WWII.

Lets start with my first point and examine it in light of what we know about humanity. Having been a human being and lived among other humans for my whole life, I assert that the only thing humans can be certain of is that we are, all of us, often wrong. The best way to mitigate being often wrong is having facility with changing one's point of view when appropriate. I contend that loving one's country and wanting what is best for one's community necessitate a willingness to admit when we are mistaken and change our point/s of view. Anything less is specifically unpatriotic! In fact, it is narcissistic platitude masquerading as national pride. Beware nationalists, you best not stare into the mirror too long, you'll be stuck gazing with love at your own misguided self-importance and misperceived infallibility.

This is a perfect time to launch into my next point about knowing that the political opposition is most likely patriotic too. Their thoughts and opinions are based on their view of life, and their lifes' experiences. So quit villainizing them. I mean it quit that right now! We're never going to get anything done of the two or more partisan sides don't grow the f#%k up, quit calling each other names, and sit down at the table like adults to figure this mess out. SO STOP NAME CALLING! DO IT NOW! RIGHT NOW!

For those who know me, you'll know that I tend to be pretty left leaning. Well it turns out that one of my friends and business associates is pretty right leaning. He also happens to be my favorite person in the whole world to discuss politics with. He is a lawyer, he is widely read and his opinions have germinated in the fertile ground of reason, cultivated with facts and nuance. In short, we challenge each other, and in any conversation, either one of us is willing to change our mind. The last time we talked, we joked, half seriously on my part, that we should host a radio talk show. It might not do very well, but it would be the one political show, where the ideas being discussed are being examined using nuance, fact and apparently opposing ideologies. In short, we might come up with some really good and creative ideas in such an atmosphere. That is what our country and world need right now. A healthy exchange of ideas among thoughtful and reasonable people...everyone else, should either take a deep breath and come sit at the grownups table or just sit this one out, Real Housewives or 90210 is supposed to be great this coming season. We'll let you know what we come up with in a 30 second spot after we've ironed out the complicated parts.

Finally, the most personal point I have to make. The Hitler, Nazi or fascist point. Take a break from the TV if you just turned it on in the previous paragraph, because this is important. Stop invoking Hitler, or Nazis or fascists for US politicians, unless they propose that we start some ethnic cleansing or that we send the Cherokee on another long walk. 

I've often wondered when history started getting such short shrift in school. When I was in school, we were taught that the Nazis were infamous for murdering 8 millions Jews and roughly 13 - 16 million people in concentration camps during WWII. This next part bears emphasis, so pay attention: NO US PRESIDENT IN MY LIFETIME HAS DONE ANYTHING COMPARABLE! Not GW, Not Barack Obama, so quit using Hitler or the Nazis to paint these Presidents. It doesn't make your point at all. Rather, people like me, who know about the Nazis, look at your picture of a sitting US President with a Hitler mustache and think, "My God that person is truly an idiot!" 

So my advice, just stop!

Background: my wife's family, on her father's side, is Jewish. I have in-laws, whose parents survived Nazi concentration camps, and who lost every single person they had ever known to the Nazi genocide. So if you are going to invoke the word Nazi, it better be for someone who is engaged in mass murder, otherwise you just painted a giant target on your forehead, which beckons me to label you as a complete ass and a thorough idiot. This third point is really just and outgrowth of the first two points, but I felt it had to be made, so just expunge the words Nazi, Hitler or fascist from your working vocabulary and make room for some other more meaningful words.

If you are still reading, thanks for sticking with me through this rant...I appreciate it and hope you will join me on the road to an intelligent national dialogue about something...anything, please!

A Long Haul...The Marathon

--by Mike Adams

I have not posted here in a long time now. If anyone wondered where I went or noticed the silence, I can assure you that I haven't lost interest, nor did I want to stop blogging. I love writing and being part of the GBE2 community. I've missed reading and commenting on posts. I've missed the incredible conversations we've had and the sense of community. But my absence has been and will continue to be necessary. Life has become difficult and I've been exerting the sum of my energy and concentration to take care of the most important things in my life: Tara, Rowan, Devin, and Mikalh.

A little background, several years ago, Tara began experiencing unexplained pain and when it didn't subside, she began seeking medical help. Over the course of time, the pain got worse and since then, she has been surviving chronic migraine headaches and almost constant bodily pain.

This past year, our medical bills have ascended a steep incline due to co-pays having doubled, prescription costs having doubled, a significant increase in the number of doctor visits, and an increase in the quantity of prescription drugs. Our monthly medical expenses hover around $1000. Let me be clear, we can't afford that. I don't bring home enough money to cover our medical, our mortgage, our food, our utilities  and our gas. My parents have generously been helping me to pay bills each month, but they can't do so for ever, and more importantly, being forty one years old, I have a personal need to take care of myself and my family without being constantly bailed out by my parents.

My ego has taken a beating, and my self esteem seems to have been trampled. I simply don't know know how to proceed, what to change, or where to start. I have avoided sitting in paralyzed fear, but my actions have produced little in terms of tangible results. I started a small business, MLAdams, which provides affordable computer maintenance services to small businesses and sole proprietors. I've began studying for additional computer certifications and I've studied both marketing and search engine optimization till late in the evening almost every night. I've pushed myself beyond what I had thought possible and I continue to push each day.

This sort of behavior is unusual for me. I tend to enjoy my time off and the way I enjoy it usually doesn't include much exertion, but because I love my family more than anything, I get up each day and I work hard. This beautiful family simply will not fail if I can prevent it.

The problem is that I feel I'm in an impossible position. My family needs me. They need me to be present, to be loving, to be tolerant and supportive. They need me to be available and to be compassionate. Simultaneously, they need me to earn enough money to cover our expenses. They need me to ensure that my wife's health is taken care of, to ensure that our mortgage, utility bills and food expenses are covered. They need more from me than I feel I have available. They need a me who is a workaholic breadwinner and another me, who is inspired, available and loving.

But as they said in the Highlander, there can be only one. So here I am, exhausted, sad, lonely, and afraid. I don't feel I have more to give, and because more is needed, I often feel like a failure. I am overwhelmed with what there is to accomplish, and I'm forgetful of important tasks that needs my attention. I trudge through life focusing on what is in front me, forgetting the things that lie on the periphery, and I am missing things that are sometimes really important. I'm tired, angry and frustrated. I'm difficult to get along with and my wife needs me to be happy. She needs me to get help with my emotional state and my attitude. I agree, I believe that I need those things, but I don't know how I'll afford it or when I'll seek it. My teeth need dental attention, and my back is tied up in knots. Both are the result of a bicycle injury from twenty years ago. I live with a constant headache and I'm physically, emotionally and spiritually exhausted.

But none of that compares to the pain that my wife has to endure, so I try my best to ignore whats going wrong with me, because I have to keep going. My family needs me to keep going.

So tonight, I decided to take a break from my professional life and share with you what is going on, so that I don't feel that I'm doing it alone, so that maybe, I can capture some perspective and bring that with me as I continue to trudge this portion of life's path. I know "this too shall pass" and I know if I, and my family can come through this difficult time, we'll be alright...probably even great. So that is my goal.

To me, this is like that part of the marathon, where the runner just wants to give up, where they can't imagine running even one more mile. Some quit, but others just keep going and before they know it, they're crossing the finish line.


That is where I am right now, where my family is, and from what I can tell, where our nation is too. We're all at mile eighteen and there are eight more long miles to run. Our legs are weak and burning, our sides are cramped, we're gasping for breath and we can barely take even one more step. We keep eyeing the curb or the shade of a tree and thinking how easy it would be to collapse there and rest. Forget the race, we'll just walk home later, alone. To keep running is too painful. We need to remember, this is not the time to stop. We're not at the finish line yet, and we didn't set out to run part of a marathon. This is simply not the time for us to quit. Rather it is time to dig deep and find resources we never knew we had. It is time to remember why we entered this race in the first place. It is time to push ourselves through to the finish line. Even if we're the last runners on the course and no one is waiting at the finish, none of that matters, because even if the finish line is deserted and all cleaned up, our prize WILL be there. That is the perspective I'm going to take.

So along those lines, I'll say, Tara, I love you with my whole heart and my whole being. I know we can and will be happy if we can get through this tough time. I know I am tired and irritable and intimidating. I am trying to figure out how to address those things and I will find a way to succeed, I promise.

To Rowan and Devin and Mikalh, I'm so sorry for the lack of patience I've had with you and I'm apologizing now for the inescapable times I'll have a complete lack of patience with you in the near future. This is not the person I want to be and I am trying to become better. Please remember that I love you completely...I love you more than you can imagine.

Everyone, please forgive me for my arrogance, my short temper and my sometimes dismissive attitude. I never meant to hurt you and I'm working to do better. Please know also, that I do and will forgive you for what ever there is that I should. Not because I'm some great person. I assure you I am not, but simply because we are family and that is what family does, when they love each other, they forgive!

I love you all!

Interdependent Existence: Our Blessings and Our Curses

--by Mike Adams

Delivered July 29, 2012 in Rio Rancho, NM

In our seventh UU principle, we covenant to affirm and promote...”Respect for the interdependent web of all existence of which we are a part."

What does that mean to you? Look around, everything you see or feel, the air you breath and the chair where you sit is composed of stardust. That stardust was created billions of years ago by supernovae. It was a time before life or water or planets. A time, when energy danced through the cosmos making stars and morphing into matter. A time of energetic creation, which truly is the beginning of our story. It is the root of our interdependent nature, an interdependence which exists not only on a physical and biological plane but also ontologically between our achievements or success and the suffering others have endured unjustly. I don’t necessarily mean the results of our nation’s ill deed as in legalized slavery or the genocide of Native Americans. Rather, I refer to the unseen interdependence, the byproduct of another person’s misfortune, which improves our lives. The tragedies in which we never participated, but somehow they made us who we are. According to Blaise Pascal, “The Least movement is of importance to all nature. The entire ocean is affected by a pebble.”

I recently attended a UU service in Cambridge, MA. The result is that I have been contemplating this UU principle of interdependence ever since. Rev. Mark Morrison-Reed delivered one of the most profound and moving sermons I have ever heard. I arrived there quite by accident. The previous night, I had searched the Internet for UU services in Boston and I was drawn to this one. The topic and the guest preacher sounded intriguing. Rev. Morrison-Reed is one of the few African-American ministers in Unitarian Universalism and he has written extensively about the experience of African-American UUs. But what really drew me in, was his topic for a Sunday sermon. It was a topic, which reached across this great country, and touched my hometown of Los Alamos, NM.

Rev. Morrison-Reed's father had been one of the first African-Americans in US History to be hired as a scientist. Apparently, the US war effort during World War II, opened many doors for African-Americans and the Reverend’s father walked right through one of those doors and joined the Manhattan Project as a chemist. The result for young Mark Morrison-Reed was that opportunities became available to him as a youth, which were out of reach for most African-American kids of his day. His education and life path were possible because of his father’s profession. So when, Mark began contemplating the human tragedy that resulted from the atomic bomb. When he realized that his father’s success was tied to that creation, he was troubled. Years later, the Reverend traveled to Hiroshima, on a pilgrimage to make peace with this specter from his and his father’s past. He went to confront the horror and to offer apology to those lost souls who had suffered a nuclear storm. His story was insightful, emotive and thought provoking.

It was at least one full day before I really began processing the poignancy of Rev. Morrison-Reed's message. During his sermon, I sat transfixed, tears gently gliding down my cheeks, each word infusing itself into my emotional and intellectual life. Time evaporated and for a moment, I was transported, I had the profound privilege of sharing another person’s spiritual quest and as the Reverend described his moment of redemption, I too was set free.

Several days later, it occurred to me that in some very important ways, my life mirrors that of Rev. Morrison-Reed. I was struck by the absurd complexity and nuance of existence. I was humbled by the incredible depth and profound nature of covenanting to affirm and promote the interdependent web of all existence.

I thought of my mother, a full blooded Canadian Indian. She was kidnapped as a young child by the US Government from a Seattle hospital. She was placed into foster care, where she endured violence, neglect, and abuse. As a youth, she was adopted into a family, which provided for her physical and educational needs, but affection was a rare commodity. As a young adult, she attended college, and married a man who later became abusive. She also gave birth to me and to my sister. As I thought about her life and all that she had endured, I suddenly became acutely aware of the fact that my life is possible only because another innocent human being was forced to endure unimaginable torture and suffering.

Had my mom been allowed to grow up with her Canadian Indian family, she would have been loved and cherished. She would have been the eldest sibling in a large family, where she would have played an important role in tribal life. A talented, intelligent and loving person, she would have been an asset to our tribe.

However, she might never have gone to college. She certainly would not have grown up in Santa Fe, or become a LASER technician at Los Alamos National Laboratory. She would not have addressed a group of Native-American students about technology and inspired one to finish college and become a science teacher. Most pertinent to me, however, neither my sister nor I would ever have been born.

So my life, my sister's life, the lives of our kids, and possibly the lives of countless Navajo youth who learned science from a woman, my mom had inspired are possible only because of my mom’s sacrifice. She is a woman whom I love unconditionally, whom I admire and revere. A woman who sends care packages to our service men and women overseas, who volunteers her time in our local schools, who has taught Religious Education for more than fifteen years. She is a beautiful and kind person, whom I love completely. So it pains me to know that she had to sacrifice her childhood in order that I might live.

How does a person make peace with something like that?
"Respect for the interdependent web of all existence of which we are a part."

It occurred to me that this interconnected relationship between success and tragedy is everywhere. The fabric of our existence, of our country's success is filled with strands of achievement that were purchased by another person’s loss. UUs are quick to applaud the courage, sacrifice, and accomplishments of civil rights heroes, of abolitionists, of those who ran the Underground Railroad or worked for women's suffrage. But we often forget to pause, to remember, and to respect the unwilling sacrifices forced upon millions of nameless victims. We forget that our lives are built not only on the courage and effort of our heroes but also on the shoulders and terror of all those anonymous victims who lost everything. We are the inheritors of their legacy too, and we owe it to them to remember their sacrifice.

During World War II, Nazis tortured and murdered between 11 and 17 million people. By 1945, two out of every three Jews from Eastern Europe had been killed in concentration camps. Additionally, there were millions of others, including homosexuals, disabled people, Pentecostal believers and political dissidents. This world was filled with survivors who had lost everyone they had ever known. They had been forced to watch as their brothers and sisters, as their parents and their children were systematically worked to death. Deprived of adequate food they labored past human capacity and were killed. For years, the survivors had daily inhaled the smoke and fumes of Nazi ovens, burning the remains of their fellow victims. They lived and slept with this horror, and when liberated, they returned to this world alone, having lost every person they had ever known or ever loved. How often, we forget that the holocaust was a major contributing factor to the conditions that allowed the US to enjoy a position of global leadership after that war. We may not have condoned or participated in that evil, but we certainly benefited from it.

Some of you may be wondering why I am talking about this on a beautiful Sunday morning. Why would I introduce such ugliness and negativity? Don’t people come to church for inspiration? Maybe, but there are some people like me, who actually come here for the free coffee...

I also come to church, because I am inspired by our seven principles. I believe that when we covenant to affirm and promote the interdependent web of all existence of which we are a part, we also covenant to speak those forgotten tragedies aloud. We covenant to bear witness to the horrible cruelty which humans can inflict. We covenant to acknowledge that our success is intimately tied to and dependent on the horror of someone else’s life.

Unitarian Universalism has always stood for those who lack power and who need a voice. We have always stood for those who are not the heroes or the freedom fighters, but simply the victims. Today's sermon is not so much a call to action, but rather a reminder that we have promised to remember with deep reverence, those forgotten and frightened people. We have promised to remember their unwilling contribution to the creation of this world. We have promised to respect the interconnected nature that their lives played in all of existence.

People's’ reactions to this sort of truth vary. Some may choose to dedicate their lives to peace. Others may decide life is short and unpredictable--that they need to ensure their friends and family feel loved. Some may be fidgeting and thinking, “I can't wait till this guy stops. The coffee wasn’t worth it today." Another person may simply feel moved and contemplative, there are countless valid reactions.

But I ask that you set those aside and join me now.
Take this moment to be silent and remember.
Remember the child, neglected and abused,
or the child who watched as their family was killed.
Take this moment to breathe and to mourn,
to mourn their suffering and horror and pain.
Take this time to experience life,
and give reverence to those who were sacrificed.
To honor their contributions to our lives and to all that we know...

In closing, I’ll quote D.H. Lawrence, “I am part of the sun as my eye is part of me. That I am part of the earth my feet know perfectly, and my blood is part of the sea. There is not any part of me that is alone and absolute except my mind, and we shall find that the mind has no existence by itself, it is only the glitter of the sun on the surfaces of the water.”

GBE2 - Week 58: Strength, a Tale of Eric and Joe

--by Mike Adams

Eric wondered if it was a general lack of good sense or the deprivation of oxygen that had caused his little brother to act so erratically. In truth, the little monkey was acting deliberately. He only wanted to see what his older brother would do in a situation that broke all the rules of Eric's rational world view.

Despite being separated by a seven year age gap, living at opposite ends of the personality spectrum, and sharing no physical characteristics that might indicate familial relations, the two brothers had a deep affection for each other. Secretly, the older envied his younger brother's curious bliss. He wondered, sometimes, if perhaps they weren't actually related. Not that it mattered, his love for the little bug was incredible and though his personality was an outlier in this family, he truly loved every member. His only complaint was that he often felt alone, not due to any lack of being shown affection, more because he was so distinct. He came from a different mold and he felt on some subtle level like a complete outsider.

For years, his cheeks would flame as embarrassment possessed him when a parent reprimanded him for being cruel. He meant no harm, he simply failed to consider that blunt honesty might actually hurt someone. His personality was a synthesis of unemotive computational logic delicately covering a subtle and insipid rage.

He was brilliant, but couldn't understand many of the most important and basic social rules in life. Rules that his younger brother seemed to grasp without effort. The other thing that really struck him about the little guy was his sense of justice and overwhelming compulsion to stand up for what is right regardless the possibility of negative consequences.

As a toddler, Joe would stand defiant against anyone, who he perceived as perpetrating injustice. Joe would affect a look of defiance and place himself between older and larger warring parties. He would hold his hands up, look at everyone involved and say, "You stop that! I don't like it when you act that way, quit being mean, NOW!" Usually the intensity of his ire and the smallness of his demeanor would cause everyone to laugh and say, "OK Little Mister, I'll stop."

This kid, nicknamed "Bear," seemed an anomaly to Eric, who had a difficult time mustering the courage needed to intervene in bullying. If he could bring himself to act, people would listen, there was no doubt. He was generally well liked, and despite his unusually small size, there wasn't a person in the school, who could provide a physical challenge to him. He was fast, strong and had years of martial arts training under his belt. No one wanted to mess with him and he knew it.

So why then, couldn't he intervene as his little brother did? Where did this kid's courage come from?

Was he destined for greatness or for heartbreak? Would his idealistic little brother go forth and change the world or would the world crush him? Eric had no idea, but he hoped that his brother would triumph. Eric always liked an underdog and somewhere deep inside, he believed that Joe the Bear might possess some secret strength that no one suspected.

Shenanigans...who'd have known?

--by Mike Adams

I smiled, when first I read that this week’s GBE2 prompt is shenanigans.  This would be fun, a light-hearted topic, where I could revel in youthful pranks and funny memories.  So after a quick trip down memory lane, I went to Thesaurus.com.  There, I learned that the word shenanigan is complex and encompasses a range of “pranks” that include lighthearted, mischievous fun, and vile deceit or outrageous damage.

This piqued my curiosity and sent me to mirriam-webster.com , dictionary.com and etymonline.com in order to learn more about this word that I thought I knew.

I had always believed shenanigan to be an Irish word.  Something that Darby O’Gill would utter with a tinge of affection while recounting his adventures with Ireland’s “little people”.  It turns out that the earliest record of shenanigan is dated 1855 and it originated in San Francisco or Sacramento.  Mark one against my home brewed etymology.  Next, there doesn’t appear to be much information about shenanigan, except that it possibly is derived from “chanada” or “charranada”, meaning trick or deceit.  “Hmmm, chanada, there is a word I haven’t heard in a long time…in fact, I’ve never heard it!”

OK, time to hit Merriam-webster and dictionary.com, both of which define shenanigan as either a youthful and lighthearted prank or a devious and underhanded trick.  Wow, I hadn’t known that shenanigans could be so dark.

It turns out that the list of synonyms for Shenanigan includes: atrocity, catastrophe and devilry.  To my surprise, there is even a book titled “Financial Shenanigans: How to Detect Accounting Gimmicks & Fraud in Financial Reports”.  This book even has a second edition.

This shows me how I've limited my use of the word shenanigan over the years.  I think perhaps I should practice deploying this word in a more diverse venue.  Say, a threat, “Just be aware, no one will like that…if you proceed, you may well find yourself on the wrong end of a shenanigan!” or “Don’t cross him, his shenanigry runs deep and it is filled with vile and heinous deceit.”

Thanks GBE2, you have broadened my understanding of a rather common word.  I’ll use my newfound knowledge only for good though, because as we all know, “with great power, comes great responsibility.”

Confrontation - a frightful visage!

--by Mike Adams

Confrontation! ...Sometimes the very word sends a tiny spike of adrenaline racing through my body. It is not a topic that I relish, nor one I would typically write about. In fact, for me, it is fraught, occurring as something to be feared and avoided. However, Ms. Word Nerd has spoken, and confrontation is this week’s GBE2 writing prompt, so I’ll put my head down and proceed.

What first comes to mind when I think of confrontation are the myriad regrets and half remembered humiliations from my life. Times, when I over reacted, or times that I failed to take a stand, each leaving its own chink in the armor of my self esteem.

In this, I certainly am not unique. Everyone regrets certain episodes in life, where they acted foolish either by way of melodrama or by way of cowardice. My first strong memories of this are from seventh grade. Middle School is a tough period for human development and my Middle School years were terrible. By the end of seventh grade, I had gained nearly one hundred pounds easily placing me in the category of obesity. This marked me as a prime target for verbal and physical abuse. My peers relentlessly taunted me to the point where I could barely hold back the tears, which would only have encouraged their cruelty. In class, the teachers did nothing, leaving us to “sort out our interpersonal difficulties.” At lunch, other students punched me, kicked me, spit on me, shoved me and threw me to the ground each day. They smeared ketchup in my hair, held me down and poured drinks on my crotch and relentlessly called me, Fatso, Faggot, Dough boy, Stinky, Indian blood fart, etc...

I hated life—I hated school—but mostly, I hated myself.

Occasionally, I would seek out a weaker victim and pick on them hoping to feel some relief, a sense of power, but this always backfired, leaving me more depressed...not only did I feel like a loser, but I had also been a complete ass, so I stopped.

Thankfully, High school brought reprieve. I was reasonably well liked, I achieved a healthy weight and I joined the swim team, the track team and the cross country running team. On a primal level, however, my self image was unaltered. I knew, with the same certainty that I held for gravity, that if anyone really knew me, I’d be rejected, ostracized, ridiculed again.

Living in constant fear of exposure and disgrace really twists a person’s ability to live in harmony with their own values. So I avoided all confrontation at any cost. My younger sister, had been my best friend since childhood and in high school, she was generally liked but the so called “cool people” didn’t “hang with her”, so I didn’t spend much time with her either. The hardest memories, however, are a few occasions, when I overheard someone make rude or condescending comments about her. I wanted to say “Cut it out! ...that's my sister you're talking about!” But I was afraid, so I looked away and kept quiet. Every time that happened, my spirit died a little...my self esteem took a dip.

Twenty three years later, as my two older kids were approaching Middle School age, I began to worry about how they would fare. I began worrying about how they would navigate the Middle School years. In an effort to bully-proof my kids, I began talking about how all three of us could study Tae Kwon Do together. After some cajoling, they agreed and we all three enrolled in a class at the local YMCA.

Several years have passed since that and today, my middle son is preparing to enter Middle School. He holds a brown belt in Tae Kwon Do. My eldest will begin High School next year and he holds a black belt. I could not be more proud!

What has surprised me most, however, is the effect that studying martial arts has had on me. A few years ago, while sitting in our mini-van waiting for everyone to come out of Target, I had a life changing thought.  Out of the blue, it occurred to me that, I could defend myself if I had to.

With that thought, I found freedom. I shattered the oppressive shackles that had held me for decades...the cumbersome chains that had kept me small fell from me and though I had never been aware of their existence, I couldn't imagine how I had lived with them for so many years.

I began to view the world in terms of what I’m willing to work for and what I’m willing to fight for. Life’s difficulties and challenges have increasingly occurred as a punch or side kick. My job, step aside or block, redirecting the force away from me. Avoid personal injury and react quickly with a well delivered counter.

I no longer cower in some secluded corner waiting for confrontation to pass. I still have to contend with that frightened, beaten, and emotionally damaged twelve year, who yearns for invisibility. But today, I am also a loving and powerful forty year old man, who has earned a black belt in Tae Kwon Do and who carries with him, the courage of conviction.

I have become the kind of person, who can be counted on to say what I think. I can be counted on to try and see others as an expression of their commitments. Today, I try to view people as a reservoir of possibility and potential—as reflections of who they want to be. I try to inspire the best in those around me, because I believe that everyone can be great, that each of us are capable of miracles. Perhaps I'm part fool, but I believe that somehow, I can make a difference in this world, that somehow, despite our perilous course, I and people who believe as I do can leave this world a better place for the next generation.

Today I am generally happy with myself. Though I have many flaws, I am content. This journey has forced me to confront my sense of worthlessness. I've had to confront my tendency and capacity to live in delusion. I've had to speak my mind, especially when I felt terrified. I've had to point out the hypocrisy of people I admire and whose approval I desperately want. Somehow, I have emerged, a burgeoning leader within my own Unitarian Universalist Congregation.

I continue to be plagued with the fear that I’ll be exposed as a loser and be ostracized...laughed out of countenance. However, the gentle warrior, the man, who loves and would do anything for his family, the man who never followed through on anything until his late thirties, when finally he persevered to earn a black belt. The man, who believes we might yet change this world for the better, if we believe and work for it. He keeps getting stronger and he keeps getting more persuasive.

So here are a few things that he wants me to tell you.

1) I believe that human beings are neither inherently good, nor inherently bad. We have a choice to make from one moment to the next. We choose whether to be good or bad. We each have the capacity to be ruthlessly selfish and perform acts of unthinkable cruelty, or to perform human miracles, to inspire the best in others and to extend compassion to someone when they need it most, no matter how low they may have sunk. This is important, because I believe that by ignoring our capacity for evil, we risk being its servant, even while we try to do the right thing.

2) I believe it is simple to make a big difference in another person’s life. Seventeen years ago, when I lived in San Francisco, I stopped one day to talk with a homeless guy, Bob, whom I had seen every day for a year.

Bob surprised me. It turns out, he had earned a Bachelor’s degree in sociology and later became a fire fighter in a small town. He loved being a fire fighter, however one night at a house fire, he had made a mistake and a two year old girl was killed. Bob couldn’t live with this, he tried therapy and anti-depressants but he was haunted by the image of that little girl’s mom collapsing to the ground, wailing in agony, thoroughly inconsolable.

He drank and used drugs to blot out this memory and by the time I met him, Bob had been living on the streets for more than ten years. As I was getting ready to leave and continue with my day, Bob began crying. He told me that I was the first person to and talk with him for as long as he could remember. I was the first person to make him feel human, so he asked if he could call me a friend. Every time I saw Bob from that day forward, his face lit up and he donned a buoyant grin.

So looking back on that day, there are a few things that seem important. First, to speak with Bob that day, I had to confront my own bigotry towards homeless people. Additionally, I had to deal with my own discomfort concerning Bob's personal hygiene. But in the end, I somehow stumbled into making a profound difference for another human being and I got to be a better person for having done so.

So while confrontation is something that I would prefer to avoid at all costs, in the end, it seems that opportunity hides within its frightful visage. So I encourage anyone who will listen to welcome confrontation, to embrace it as an old friend who always offers transformation. Ask the hard questions, the ones that seem impossible to answer.

If you don’t like the answers, ask them again. Why do we tolerate having so many people, particularly young children living in abject poverty? Why do we tolerate the fact that fifteen million children die of starvation each year? Why haven’t we ended slavery yet? In the USA, we have a law called “no child left behind” and yet we are leaving thousands behind each year, for want of early childhood education, proper nourishment, a safe place to learn, etc...why is this acceptable?

I’ll leave you with these words from the preface of a book that I may finish writing some day.

I am motivated to write this book, not because I believe myself a skilled author or profound thinker. Rather, my reasons are very personal, they consume my time and energy, they motivate my focus on career and they simultaneously invigorate, and deplete my personal energy reserves. Regardless of any immediate emotional state I may be experiencing, they motivate my efforts to become a better person and provide a continued reason for my identification as a Unitarian Universalist. In short, they constitute the foundation for my unyielding commitment to try and make a difference in this world.

My motivations are named, Rowan, Devin and Mikalh. They are my three exasperating, inspiring, draining and beautiful children. To me, they embody humanity’s future and they serve as a constant reminder that my generation’s legacy, though still unwritten, may prove a burdensome load for its inheritors.

Simplicity - GBE2 Writing Prompt

--by Mike Adams

This week's GBE2 prompt, simplicity, inspired numerous thoughts, each of which seemed, to me, simply brilliant. So on Saturday evening, in the eleventh hour, when the posting was due, and after having recorded none of my ideas. I realized, with amusement, that had I committed them all to writing...you would be in the unfortunate position of reading a college term paper about simplicity, which charts a course of complexity, that makes Odysseus’ famed trip look like a mere row around the community pond.

Alas, I have been to busy with life’s required tasks to inflict that on anyone, which is a good thing. So my simplicity post, will have to be simple...how appropriate!

Tomorrow morning, my fourteen year old will be completing a coming of age program and he, along with other youth participants, will be delivering their “This I believe” statements at our church service. This has been a long path, filled with intellectual conversations about challenging topics, difficult questions and examinations of personal values, honest reflection on how our youth might react in various morally difficult situations and the logistical equivalent of juggling five bouncy balls, while wearing base ball mitts. In the end, though, it has been worthwhile. Tomorrow, I get to sit back and watch with pride as my eldest son declares himself to this world. He is simply growing up and moving into the next phase of his life. This is exciting to witness, and inspiring to be a part of.

Today my middle son, who is at his dad’s for the week, called to let my wife and I know that his team won their soccer game. Last year, they didn’t win any games, so this was a BIG DEAL. Later this month, I will complete a two year sentence as a board member for the soccer club. Finally my kid’s team is coalescing into a competitive force and this is great. It really fulfills on so much of what I’ve wanted for him as a soccer player. It is deeply gratifying to see him revel in elation over such a simple pleasure.

This morning, my “little boo”, who is six years old, came and cuddled up next to me on the couch. We talked about Star Wars, about how he wishes he could have a real light saber, except that he’d be worried about accidentally killing someone, because he would forget it is real and accidentally cut someone in half. This made me chuckle and love him all the more. Next, he expressed how glad he is that we don’t still have legal slavery in this country...”Things are better than they were before, right Dad!?” He has a brilliant and warm smile. A gentle soul and a streak of creativity, which might fill Claude Monet with jealousy.

These brothers are the source of my deepest motivation in life. They are simultaneously exasperating, inspiring, draining and beautiful. To me, they symbolize humanity’s future.

I love them.

A sordid tale of lacerations, Hungarian hip-hop performers and an icy petting zoo

--by Mike Adams

GBE2 - #40 Posting Topic: "Jane's Story" This idea caught my imagination and I had fun writing this...I hope you enjoy it!

Before I delve too deeply into the details of this story, I think it best to ensure that we are all on the same page. Though this is probably pointless, because if you are one of the two or three people who read my blog, you are obviously on this page, so perhaps I’ll proceed to the next order of business, namely, providing a short explanation of Hungarian hip-hop artistry as it has been revealed to me during my life’s most recent ...and dare I say confusing travail.

First, I’d like to assure you that I am no eccentric nincompoop, whose idea of being uber-cool entails being a fan of obscure, and probably sub-par, artistry. Rather my exposure to an Eastern-Block interpretation of African American entertainment, was entirely coincidental to my attending the grand opening of an “Arctic Petting Zoo” in down town Phoenix last week.

I’m sure you are thinking, “What was that lunatic doing in Phoenix, when he lives in New Mexico, and did he really drive that hapless excuse for a car to phoenix in order to witness the grand opening of an arctic refuge in a completely in appropriate biome?” Unfortunately, the answer here is yes...I am the dork, who traveled hundreds of miles in a rattling and squealing heap of petrol powered steel in order to witness the thoroughly out-of-context commencement of a wild-life habitat, which serves the dual purpose youthful entertainment center.

It was here that my auditory senses were overcome with the sounds of hip-hop, but not really done quite right. Apparently, the event organizer had acquired a number of arctic animals who are naturally denizens of frozen fields in far flung places, whose names, though unpronounceable, mostly end with the four letters “stan”. For purposes of this fable, we’ll lump them all together under the affectionate term, “refrigerate-a-stan”.

I assume the organizer had gone in search of eastern music, In an effort to either make the animals feel more at home or to be culturally sensitive in spite of the forced relocation that had been perpetrated. As it turns out, the only response to her query came from a Hungarian hip-hop band, so without giving it much thought, she hired the band, and with that, the wheels of fate commenced to turn towards the culmination of unfortunate events that would unfold on this day in this icy oasis, nestled amidst humid golf courses and soaring temperatures in the western city of Phoenix.

As I walked slack jawed towards the Hungarian funk masters, my dumbfounded gaze was momentarily shaken by another bewildered arctic pilgrim. As our eyes met, we shared a moment of telepathic understanding. One of those spaces where you intimately share an experience with a complete stranger and when the moment passed, she smiled and said, “this is amazing!” To which I replied, “I know! I never could have imagined that I might have the opportunity to enjoy DJ Funkgarian, while petting a Siberian Hamster.”

My new acquaintance, Jane, had also traveled to Phoenix for this grand opening, and it turns out her husband, like my wife, wanted nothing to do with visiting a sub-zero winter wonderland in the middle of a blistering desert. Unimpeded by the disapproving and emotionally more mature gaze of our spouses, Jane and I began to explore the possibilities of our surroundings. She mentioned seeing a sporting goods store at the mall right next door and in a moment of shared genius, we simultaneously exclaimed, “Ice Skates!” Goaded by the pulsing beat and hypnotic expression of the Funkgarian experience, we hastened to Big 5 in hopes of finding a pair of size 7 and size 13 ice skates. After searching through Big 5 for less than three minutes, Jane triumphantly,hollered, “Frank...or John...I mean Mike, MIKE! Get over here now!” I sailed on wings of misguided glee to the side of my co-conspirator and gazed with hallowed awe at two pair of clearance priced hockey skates in exactly our sizes. The price barely broke thirty dollars, even after tax. so off we went to join the penguins in sliding through Phoenix’s new winter haven to the throbbing beat of Funkgarian the Hungarian.

As we hastened towards the arctic petting zoo, I suddenly exclaimed “STOP!” “We cant just go traipsing in there with ice-skates, there is no way this is allowed...we HAVE to be stealthy Jane!” She acquired a look of purpose and said, “They’ll never know we’re commin’ man...you’ll be Mike the unseen and I’ll be double-O Jane. Before anyone has caught wise, we’ll have completed a minimum of three laps.” I affected my own purposeful expression and said, “follow me, I’ve got this covered.” Following a few preparations, we proceeded into the arctic petting zoo, easily evading detection, as we employed all the guile that a snow leopard might use, while stalking a skittish rabbit. Within minutes, we both were inside and ready to skate.

At this point, Jane looked at me and I saw for the first time a glimpse of terror in her eyes, as she confided that she hasn’t been ice skating since she was nine years old and she really didn’t want to be arrested. With the jovial and inflated assurance that one normally conjures only as a teenager, I smiled and assured my new criminal accomplice that all would be well, that we were impervious to legal consequences and that we should start skating before we’re spotted. Jane’s smile was immediate and it buttressed my confidence, so like the Wright brothers at Kitty Hawk, we took off into the winter museum on blades of hope, spurred by our vision of greatness, hoping to avoid disaster if only by a razor’s edge.

Within minutes, I heard the terrible sound of a billowing voice yelling, “Hey, you can’t ice skate in here...what are you doing, get over here right now.” But Jane and I were prepared, we broke for the exit, our plan...to place rubber covers on our skate blades and dash through the parking lot, to where we had left my grizzled clunker unlocked and running in preparation for our grand escape. At the exit, I attached my rubber blade covers with uncommon agility, but Jane was unfortunately shaken and she was having a great deal of difficulty preparing for our exodus, so as the guards bore down on us, I quickly affixed her blade guards and in a panicky voice said, “we better skedaddle, lest we cool our heels in the can tonight.” With that, we darted into the parking lot, guided by the singular focus of escape, driven by the overwhelming desire to remain free and it was then that I heard Jane’s voice, she was screaming in agony. I turned to see her clutch her face, and contort in pain, but she glared at me and said, “I’m not getting arrested...run faster, DON’T STOP!” We jumped into my car and sped from the scene of our crime with the same alacrity that Michael Weston might use in escaping disaster.

It was then, that I noticed the blood running down Jane’s face. Noting the look of concern in my expression, she explained that in fleeing the zoo, she misjudged her proximity to a Russian Olive tree. One of it’s protruding spears had, unfortunately, latched on to her left cheek and tried to tear it from her face. Fortunately, it had failed and twenty seven stitches later, with a great story to explain her scar, Jane slammed down a Dos XX and siad, “I don’t always drink beer, but when I do...it’s after a close shave with the law and a closer shave from a Russian Olive Tree...thanks for the adventure Amigo!”