I Stand With Standing Rock! ...but how to Stand, that's a Tough Question

Originally a Facebook Post:
https://www.facebook.com/mike.adams.754/posts/10210770374481293

I'm struggling right now. I am really struggling! I'm crying as I write this update, because I feel like I need to go to Standing Rock and support my Native brothers and sisters. I feel like I need to do that, so that I can look my son in the eye and say I did what I could to protect our water, and to protect our people.

I am just one person, with very little money, with no political influence, who is overweight, and a little hot-headed. I have people counting on me. A wife, kids, co-workers. I'm managing the software implementation of for a local 911 call center, and that is a big deal. Peoples' lives could depend on it.
But I still need to be in standing rock, holding my head high as I show support for the most marginalized group of Americans this country has. Tears are streaming down my face as I write this, because I can't feel good about any decision I make about this situation. I'm doing the wrong thing no matter what!

This summer, I met my tribe, and heard first hand how they've overcome the trauma that was inflicted on them by having their kids stolen and forced into boarding schools, where they were abused, and molested by adults who were supposed to take care of them. They returned to the reserve and have made something beautiful. Everyone has a place there. They welcomed me, my son, my blond haired blue eyed step-sons, and my white wife...all as family. They said my step-sons are all members of the bear clan. For me, that is what it means to be Indian. It means we stand up for what is right, and we welcome people even if they don't fit what it looks like to be family.

So today, I need to stay here and care for my family, and I need to get in my car and drive to South Dakota. I'm not going to change the tide of how things will work out there. In fact, I could get hit with pepper spray and die of an asthma attack, or be hit in the head with rubber bullets or a bean bag fired from a 12 Guage Shotgun and die from blunt force trauma. But my people. My native brothers and sisters have been kicked, and beaten, and taken advantage of repeatedly for hundreds years, and right now, they are again coming together to stand tall and protect their water supply. This oil pipeline was originally supposed to cross the river in a different location, but that plan was abandoned, because it threatened the drinking water for the city of Bismark. Isn't it interesting how threatening Indian drinking water is not a problem?

Standing Rock South Dakota is, right now, seeing the largest coalition of Indian tribes to resist an incursion onto traditional lands in more than 100 years. This is history, and I don't know how to be a responsible Indian, a responsible father, and a responsible husband at the same time.

My people are strong, they have refused to be killed off. We have survived many attempted genocides, in fact the Nazis studied how the US treated natives while crafting their final solution.
Guess what, we're still here! I don't know what I'll end up doing in the end. My family can't necessarily afford for me to go, and I honor that, but I am torn on such a deep and profound level, that I don't know what to do and how to make peace.

If you can go to South Dakota and stand with the Indians please do. If you can (and I know you can) call the white house and ask the President to take a stand on this issue, please do:
202-456-1111
The White House
1600 Pennsylvania Avenue NW
Washington, DC 2050

Call and write your senators:
http://www.senate.gov/senators/contact/

Call and write your representative:
http://www.house.gov/representatives/find/


If you can send money to support the Indians, please do: http://sacredstonecamp.org/faq/#howtohelp
I don't know what I'm going to to do, but I'm working on figuring it out!

http://thefreethoughtproject.com/10-protest-dakota-access-pipeline/

From Problem to Miracle

Wednesday was just one of those days. You know, the kind that happen and you wonder, "Why?!" or "WTF?" It started out as sort of a bummer. I woke up late, had part of a cup of coffee, which is terrible, because I always need a whole cup or more. Then I went to work without breakfast, so I had a combination of chex-mix, and salted nuts, which got me through till lunch. But the work was piled high, so I worked through lunch, left a little late and raced home for an appointment. It was then that I found out the bad news. For the third, or maybe fourth time in the last twelve months, a high school student in my small town had committed suicide.

I'm a youth adviser for the high school kids in the local Unitarian Universalist church, and I immediately thought about the kids, who would be most affected. Then, I felt all my energy drain and I settled into a sort of mental and physical depression. My appointment was with a therapist, so I talked a bit about how this all felt, that didn't seem to be productive, so I switched topics to how my oldest kids had just experienced a break through in their relationship and our house was no longer a constant battle ground. After therapy, I brought my youngest son to his basketball practice, which was fun to watch, and then I went home and began to wonder about this rash of teen suicides we've been seeing.

So today, a full day has passed, and comments about this suicide have been planted on facebook, from them, conversations have grown, which have included insightful commentary as well as simple blame for society, or television, or bullying, and as I've watched this transpire, I've wondered what there is to say. So now I'm banging out a blog post on the topic, but just like yesterday, I still don't know what to say. I could try to talk about love, or inherent worth and dignity. I could try to talk about taking a breath and getting through the hard times, or how I've wanted to take my own life in the past. I could talk about all sorts of things, but somehow they all feel flat right now.

I think the problem is bigger than any of that. I think it is something that encompasses all of that. It is the air we breathe, the thing we're not really aware of. It lives in our community and our conversations. It breaths every time we look at someone and think, "wow I wish there was something to do, but they don't want to change. All we can do is feel sorry for that person," If we're really honest, isn't that last sentence a little more like, "I really feel sorry for that loser?" For the past day, I've been wondering what we are doing wrong? Why are our teens killing themselves? What is the source of their overwhelming stress, or their feelings of worthlessness, or shame, or lack of hope? Why can't they imagine a future that needs them and that they should live to experience? I've been asking these questions and it just occurred to me that maybe its because our society has a deficit of meaningful compassion. That people are so quick to say, "laugh, and the world laughs with you, but cry and you cry alone."

Last week my kids took a course in San Francisco and on the last day of the course, the parents were asked to come sit in another room and participate in what is called a parent coaching session. The coach asked for two volunteers, whose job would be to write what we said on two chalk boards. The first chalk board was to filled with parent statements about what we're worried about with regards to our kids. The second chalk board was what qualities a perfect parent has.

The first chalk board was filled with worries about things like our kids being lazy, or slovenly. About poor grades, or a lack of respect. About being argumentative, or defiant, or bullies. At some point, while we were calling out things that we are worried about, I gasped and realized that all of those worries are caused by our love for our children. So later that evening, when our kids came into the room with us, the leader asked if there were any parents who wanted to share something with their kids. I raised my hand and stood up. I took the microphone, looked at my kids and described how we had filled a chalk board with complaints and worries we share about our kids. I admitted that I had contributed heavily to the list. I said that some how some wires seem to have gotten crossed in my head and that while I was getting angry and being pedantic. While I was being frustrated and upset, complaining to my kids about their grades and telling them that they are being lazy. While I was hurling various insults, what I really meant to say was, "I LOVE YOU! I love you more than anything you could imagine. I would do anything for you. I want you to be safe and grow up to be happy people. I love you and I apologize for telling you instead that you that you are flawed and can never be enough." I stood there crying in front of fifty teenagers and all of their parents, and admitted how horribly I had failed to communicate what I meant.

I told them that they could count on me to remember how to say I love you and that they could count on me to look for how they are right, for how we could be a happy family, and how we could increase the love we all have for each other. I've had an increase of moments like that recently, but that one just flooded my mind and it makes me think that there may be something important in that story.

Maybe the important thing is actually a simple thing. I'll start by saying that today is the last day of Hanukkah, and yesterday, my little town was shook by tragedy. But Hanukkah is a time for miracles. So I submit that maybe a huge component of what we're doing wrong is simple to address. The most important thing that my kids taught me the other week, is that they aren't defined, nor is their value assessed by their grades. They are perfect, and my job is to see how great they are and encourage their greatness. This isn't always easy, and I've already failed countless times. But in the end, nothing great can be accomplished without lots of failure. So maybe our focus has been wrong, and that is why our kids feel hopeless. Maybe our job is not to direct them into a future where they'll have some 9-5 office job and bring home a good pay check. Maybe our job is to see them as miraculous and trust that a miracle always has a bright and inspiring future, which may be hard to imagine to an observer.

Maybe we need simply to give freely of our love and when we offer guidance or criticism, to offer that feedback from a place of love, rather than anger or frustration. Maybe we need to teach our kids that it is more important to help our fellow human beings than to be successful in business. Maybe we've been trying to solve a spiritual crisis with educational theory, and intellectual band aids.

Not current - but still true. Nine months later, Newtown still haunts me!

--by Mike Adams
I wrote this on December 22 of 2012, and I couldn't quite post it at the time. Maybe it was too raw. I just found it and decided to go ahead and post it now.

Words can't express...

Last Saturday evening, December 15th, after everyone was in bed, I finally sat to read about the headline news that I had been avoiding. I clicked my browser to the Washington Post and read about a disturbed young man, who murdered his mother, and then then went to the school where she worked and executed 20 little kids between the ages of five and seven. He finished by murdering school staff prior to turning the gun on himself.

My eyes filled with tears and for more than an hour I wept. That was nearly a week ago, and tonight, as I sit here banging out these words out my eyes again are filling with tears. I am overcome with an immediate sense of what we've lost.

My little bugaboo is seven. He is beautiful, excited about life, adventurous, bursting with curiosity, and easy to love. Every morning in December, he bounces down the stairs, scampers to check the advent calendar and delights in gifts left behind by elves for him and his brothers.

I might get in trouble for telling you that he has a secret super hero identity. He has only shared this information with me, his mom and his brothers. I've been sworn to secrecy, so I won't reveal which superhero he is. He is concerned that “robbers” not use that information against him while he fights crime.

Last year, I helped coach his soccer team, and each Tuesday & Thursday, I worked in vain to create order out of chaos. I coaxed and cajoled a group of six and seven year olds trying to direct their focus to moving a soccer ball in one direction or another. Ultimately, there wasn't much interest in soccer. However, I was amused by the light saber duels that took place during both soccer practice and soccer games. These kids were fun and excited. Each one a miracle, a beautiful treasure, our hope for the future. So as I read about the tragedy in Newtown Connecticut, I couldn't help but to imagine my little soccer kids being gunned down. I imagined the fear in their eyes and the screams as they were violently sent from this world. To be honest, I can't bear the idea.

It is impossible to imagine the pain of losing a tiny little person, who calls me Dad or coach or uncle Mike. These little people represent my hope for the future. They are pure possibility and sheer inspiration.

To the school staff who sacrificed their lives protecting our little babies, I say thank you and more importantly, I'm so sorry you lost so much. Though my words are insufficient and I can say nothing to adequately honor your memory and sacrifice, it is all I have and it is what I can offer at this moment along with my deep sorrow.

To the parents, struggling to survive this tragedy, I can only offer my deepest condolences. I can't imagine what you are going through. Your future has been stolen from you and it is horrible. I am so sorry that you have to endure this tragedy.

To my own kids, the kids I coached, the kids I know from Sunday School, and the kids from my son's school, I say you are beautiful and I love you.

But Nothing Will Ever Change If You Don't Change It Yourself!

Last school year, my seven year old son began a career in home school. He woke every morning as I prepared for my work day. Before I left, each day, his school day had already begun.

I watched in awe as his knowledge of science, math, reading, history, and grammar blossomed. Today, he reads at an advanced level and he is a knowledgeable and enthusiastic student of history.

He has an innate curiosity, which when coupled with Tara's teaching ability produce a sensitive, brilliant and inquisitive lover of life.

I just finished watching the video below, and it reminded me of Tara. She was previously a reading coach at a local elementary school and from my perspective, she is one of the best. She is passionately interested in learning to teach ever more effectively. She spent hours researching methods of teaching and she was constantly inquiring about how she might help one of her students to master a particularly challenging skill they would need in life.

She brought her work home every day and she pursued it with zeal.

I watched as my wife invested hers passion and energy into being the best possible reading coach she could be. Her position paid less than fifteen thousand dollars a year, but she spent hours researching her topics and her eyes shone like bright stars when she shared about even the slightest success. This past year, she has been a part time tutor and a full time home school teacher.

I've seen the same passion burn within her that fed those students two years ago. Today it nourishes our little son and her tutoring clients. This evening, as I watched the video below, it brought two tears to my eye. First for the kid, Sammy, whose life has been changed for the better, and second for my wife and all the other underpaid, unappreciated and sometimes vilified teachers who show up every day and give their all to the next generation.

To Tara, I know that half of teaching is the ability to transmit information to a student, but the other, more important half is the ability to help a person become an enthusiastic student, and that is where you really shine. Your love of learning and your enthusiasm are infectious. Your students can't help but to learn when in your presence. They find themselves caught up in the loving embrace of your curiosity and they develop their own excitement for discovering the new and the previously unknown.

Though you lack certification, you are the best kind of teacher and the world is better for your being here. Your commitment to people's transformation and progress is inspiring. You are a carrier of light and wisdom, illuminating the dark places in life and we are all blessed to have you.

In Love and Awe,
Your Husband -- Mike

Though We Often Fail, Humans are Pretty Cool non-the-less!

--by Mike Adams

I've been germinating on this for a while. I'm tired and sore and should probably focus on something else, but tonight I want to write a post and I want it to be about something important.

So I'll start by sharing a link. Take a few minutes to check it out...go there right now and read it, then come back and feel free to comment, so here you go:
http://www.buzzfeed.com/mjs538/60-moments-that-gave-me-the-chills-during-seattle

I first saw this in late December and I couldn't stop crying. Now after reading it again, I can't stop smiling, a tear is lazily strolling down my right cheek and I feel speechless.

But with me, being speechless usually passes quickly, so here we go. I've been thinking about the significance of December 10th 2012 in Seattle and at first I thought I'd say something trite, like “This is the dawn of a new era” (imagine a big booming voice when you read that...OK!) Then I decided that was too stupid. I remembered the Berlin wall being torn down and thought that perhaps Seattle had experienced it's own wall demolition, but finally I realized that this is simply what people do.

We categorize and judge forcing injustice on those who happen to be the minority until finally, there are a sufficient number of people who realize that we've all been wrong and then we begin to change.

It's what I love about people. We keep trying to grow, to be better, in short, to live our ideals. Continually, we fail, but we try and we progress and it makes us beautiful.

In Seattle on December 10th, 2012, we took a step in the right direction and that is reason to celebrate. Thanks to Matt Stopera from buzzfeed for the great post!

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.

I don't like your motives ...well, not the ones I've decided you have!

--by Mike Adams

Wednesday, May 9th was a day much like any other. I woke at 5:45 in the morning, sat in a semi-catatonic state sipping coffee and trying to get my bearings. As usual, I insisted that my feeble mind square itself with the day, an often futile exercise. I ate breakfast and left for work, where I answered calls, fixed computer problems and then returned home exhausted. That evening, I sat reading the NY Times email digest, when my attention was drawn to a rather spectacular headline. Thinking it a mistake, I clicked the link and read the following quote from Barack Obama, "I have to tell you that over the course of several years as I have talked to friends and family and neighbors when I think about members of my own staff who are in incredibly committed monogamous relationships, same-sex relationships, who are raising kids together, when I think about those soldiers or airmen or Marines or sailors who are out there fighting on my behalf and yet feel constrained, even now that Don't Ask Don't Tell is gone, because they are not able to commit themselves in a marriage, at a certain point I’ve just concluded that for me personally it is important for me to go ahead and affirm that I think same sex couples should be able to get married."

With a smile, I turned to my wife and said, "Wow! Did you know Obama endorsed same-sex marriage today?" "Yes," she replied, without looking up from her blogging activities. But I sat there stunned and glad for the change. The next few days saw rampant speculation about the President's timing, about his motives and about the political implications of his actions. But nothing anyone said had the ring of truth. The commentary was pure speculation, peppered with guesswork all wrapped in responsible language trying to masquerade as fact.

Obama had offered a simple explanation for his decision. I suppose his words lacked sensationalism, so our media had to generate engaging reasons for his decision. None were insightful, mostly they were a gage of our society's tendency to ascribe motive as a means of gaining political advantage.

This sermon is about exactly those kinds of motives. The kinds that people attribute to others without knowing what we are talking about. The kinds of motives that we create in order to know which category someone belongs in. In order to determine how carefully we should listen, if at all.

As with most of my sermons, today's talk was inspired by a conversation I had with my wife. Several months ago, she told me that I often attribute motives to her, which aren't her actual motives. I was flabbergasted.

"What?!" I stuttered, "I attribute wrong ...motives?!"

I like to think of myself as being unusually insightful and I'm not particularly fond of having someone point out my mistakes. I prefer, instead, to identify my own shortcomings and then highlight them for others. That way, I can bask in the warm glow of my own self-enlightenment. But she was right, again. I did not know what her motives were and I usually didn't ask. This insight, though annoying, caused me to consider how often people attribute motives to others without actually knowing.

Immediately, I thought of national dialogues concerning same-sex marriage, the war in Afghanistan, pro-life/pro-choice, deficit spending, pro-union/pro-business, race relations, feminism, education and parenting.

Indeed, our media, our politics, our religious conversations and even our personal lives are inundated with alleged motives that may, in all reality, have little or nothing in common with the true reasons that actions were taken or things were said.

Let's consider marriage equality, is it a civil rights issue? Supporters say yes, they insist that any two people, who are old enough, should be allowed to marry. To them, prejudice is prejudice and free choice is free choice. Marriage equality is nothing more than observing someone's right of free choice, in an arena where it is currently being denied.

Simple and straightforward. This represents my sincere point of view. However, my philosophical opponents don't see it this way. In fact, many believe marriage equality supporters are servants of evil. They believe we are pushing a "gay agenda,” which will undermine the sanctity of a bedrock institution and which could tear our society apart. To them, supporters of marriage equality are minions of Satan, bent on destroying this great Christian nation.

Truth be told, THEY HAVE MY MOTIVES ALL WRONG!

But what about assigning motives in the other direction? What if we consider another topic like pro-life vs. pro-choice? I am pro-choice and my reasons for this position are similar to my reasons for supporting marriage equality. I believe in free choice and I feel a woman has the right to choose if, how and when her body is used, including for child birth.

On the opposite side of this controversy, we’ll consider my late Grandfather, who was a staunch Catholic. His pro-life conviction was steadfast. He was clear that aborting a pregnancy is tantamount to murder. He saw an unborn fetus as being no different than any person you might meet in this world. It was a simple matter to him, conception creates people, abortion kills people, killing people is murder and murder is wrong.

Simple and straightforward, I drew different conclusions from him, but I can respect his clarity. My Grandfather’s position on abortion did not make him misogynistic. I reject the notion that pro-life activists are primarily motivated by a desire to control women's lives and bodies. This may be true of some, but I’m convinced that most pro-lifers feel passionately that they are fighting to stop murder. I think they are bewildered when accused of being dishonest or nefarious. Honestly, THE LEFT HAS THEIR MOTIVES ALL WRONG!

These two examples demonstrate a broader problem. A problem, which prevents intelligent conversation, which discourages collaboration, and which undermines the creative power of controversy. I believe the most innovative ideas are spawn from controversy. That when opposing opinions clash, and intelligent dialogue ensues, we create fertile ground for the germination of new ideas.

But in our society, the required dialogue is missing. We hurl insults and categorize people as Nazis so as to insulate ourselves from having to consider their points of view. The soil that should nurture tomorrow’s solutions is growing fallow and most of today’s ideas are little more than a polished regurgitation of yesterday’s discarded plan. This is a concerning state of affairs. With global climate change, a dubious economy, rampant starvation, a growing population and shrinking resources, we face unprecedented challenges.

So what is the solution? That’s the hard part. Humans prefer simple answers, but today’s challenges are complex. They defy black and white categorization, they require thoughtful discourse, a nuanced approach, and wholistic thinking. We need to constantly look for where we are falling short of our own values. UU values include a free and responsible search for truth, promotion of the inherent worth and dignity of all people, and respect for the interdependent web of existence. Those are values, which could make a profound difference in today’s world. They are values that humanity desperately needs, and we could be their greatest champions, if we are willing.

But we’ll have to give something up. We’ll have to pay a price and that price will be our certitude. Ours is a religion, which ought to make room for everyone and yet there are very few African American UUs or Hispanic UUs or Native American UUs or Republican UUs. If we want our message to be vital, we need to reach these people and if we’re going to do so, we must stop thinking that we know what their motives are.

When we assume we know someone's motives, we excuse behavior, which is normally unacceptable. I used to rant that G.W. was a fascist and a Nazi. I was wrong! My wife’s paternal family is Jewish. One of her cousin’s parents lost everyone they knew to the horror of Nazi concentration camps. She has no grandparents, or aunts or uncles. Her parents have no life long friends. They were all murdered in Nazi Germany.

So using the term Nazi to describe anyone who isn’t engaged in the mass murder of millions of people is wrong! It is particularly disgusting when used to score cheap political points. The memory of those men, women and children who were lost during that genocide is worthy of a much greater reverence and respect than to be used for short term political gain or to discredit someone we simply don't want to listen to, because we dislike what they say.

If we’re going to change this world and leave it a better place, if we’re going to really promote our UU values at large. We’ll have to rise above such contemptuous foolery. We’ll have to elevate current dialogues to a level where change can happen, where innovation can flourish, where UU values can sow dreams, which might sprout and become tomorrow’s thriving harvest. If we’re going to create that world about which we talk to eloquently, we will have to abandon inflammatory language and try to gain an honest understanding of why people disagree with us. Otherwise we can’t possibly hope to reach them and we are sure to miss the valid points they make. We're sure to fail at creating the needed ideas for tomorrow. We're sure to short circuit the creative engine of intelligent disagreement, which will yield tomorrow's great ideas.

I believe the values this world needs can be found in our UU Principles and sources of faith. I believe we are the ideal people to promote those values in this world. I think the essence of our shared promise, our covenant to affirm and promote our seven principles is a call to action. I believe it is nothing less than a call for us to stand tall and challenge each other to climb higher, to champion our values with an even louder voice. I think we have a powerful legacy to uphold, that we are the culmination of generations who have struggled to realize these values in this world. We are needed, our message is needed and our values are needed. We've promised each other that we would promote those values and I believe this is the time for us to walk out into this world and shout our good news at the top of our lungs. To sow our dreams into the fertile ground of tomorrow for this world's future. To create the vision we have dreamed and manifest our beautiful vision for the next generation.

Follow this link!

Hi, My beautiful and talented wife has started an incredibly interesting conversation on her blog:
Ask Team Ambiguity: Are Women Enslaved by Modern Motherhood?

Please take a few moments to check it out and participate in the conversation. The one thing to bear in mind is that this conversation has rules...mainly, be respectful! The rest can be found here

Popularity of Bullying Remains High

--by Mike Adams

After my last post on bullying, I decided to check the thesaurus for synonyms. The thesaurus always seems to make words more interesting and this occasion was no exception.

The verb “bully” is synonymous with “intimidate”, “bludgeon”, “bulldoze”, “coerce”, “harass”, “oppress”, “terrorize”, “threaten”, “torment” and “torture”.

I don't know about you, but for me that list doesn’t summon the image of a schoolyard ruffian wearing a scowl. Rather, I envision robed KKK militias closing in on besieged African -American families who dared to stand and demand their rights. I think of the terrorist bombing in Oklahoma City or the acts of Ted Kaczynski. I am reminded of the current "war on women", and Bush's statement that "either you are with us or you are against us".

That list of synonyms has forced me to conceive of bullying as more than simply a traumatic experience, limited mostly to our fragile childhood and early teen years. Rather, bullying has taken on a much broader meaning. It reaches brazenly into every aspect of life, stealthily injecting malice, causing rot and decay, spreading animosity, hurt and distrust. It invades what was once vital and beautiful, causing blossom to wither and fruit to spoil.

In fact, it seems that perhaps we are just a little bit "in love" with bullying! Crazy talk you say? Doesn’t everyone hate bullying?

I don’t think so, popular TV shows like “The Apprentice” or “Survivor” actually encourage backstabbing, deceit, cruelty—bullying! Our entertainment industry thrives by actively rewarding bullies and selfishness.

It is so pervasive that I suspect bullying is woven into our very fiber as social creatures. Perhaps it’s as natural as breathing or eating. In truth, research suggests an evolutionary advantage to bullying behavior. According to Hogan Sherrow's blog article for Scientific American, “The Origins of Bullying,” animals in nature, use bullying behavior to promote group conformity and maintain a cohesive community.

But with humans with our mastery of abstract ideas, our complex use of language, our ability to remember and convey ideas long after an event has taken place. With all of that, bullying has a profound capacity for harm. It is a devastating weapon, which can permanently damage its victim.

So while we publicly disparage bullying, we are perhaps duplicitous. Our society tends to justify bullying, except we call in something else. One group might claim to be defending “traditional values” while to another it is “encouraging the entrepreneurial spirit.” In fact, if we get honest, bullying is encouraged in business, politics, religion and even the management of our children and youth.

We excuse it, saying “Boys will be boys” or “Let the kids sort out their own difficulties.” We actually encourage and reward bullying in some form in virtually every important venue of life. Then we pause, exasperated and ask why it continues to accost our children.

Here is why:

We are teaching our kids how to be bullies.

We are teaching them that it is appropriate to bully people when they hold an obviously “wrong” opinion.

We are teaching them that it is OK to bully people online, especially in political or religious discussions.

We are setting the examples that our kids follow and thus encouraging bullying in “appropriate venues,” where we call it, “lively debate” or “an impassioned view.”

We are teaching the next generation that poverty, starvation, and cruelty are impossible blights, and that anyone who tries to change this is a “doe eyed idealist.”

We are teaching our children that bullying works,that aggressive behavior is profitable and that selfish profit is respectable.

We are teaching the next generation that anyone who is different or who disagrees is fair game for ill treatment and contempt, that it is OK to try and humiliate someone if they favor a political figure we dislike or their sexual orientation is “wrong” or they want to have an abortion.

In short, we are actively teaching our children to be bullies.

So my question is whether this is truly what we want?

Are these the values we want to manifest in this world?

Do we want to perpetuate the ‘dog eat dog’ world of today, or do we want a world where people are expected to show empathy, where we truly believe and act like all people are created equal and endowed by our creator with certain unalienable rights?”

How do we want our children to grow up?

What kinds of people do we want them to be?

How to we want them to remember us?

How far are we willing to go in service of manifesting our vision?

How critical will we be of ourselves to get there and can we handle what we find?

Can we forgive someone who is “undeserving” in order to build the world we want?

Can our kids count on us to live the values we claim to believe in?

Can we count on ourselves to do what we know we should?

I don't have any answers or suggestions for action. I have only questions and a desire to generate thoughtful discussion and honest feedback. Thanks for reading.

Parenting - Remember the Tiger Mom?

--by Mike Adams

Last January, Amy Chua published an article in the Wall Street Journal, which the editors titled, “Why Chinese Mothers are Superior”. Chua’s article examines her views on what she sees as the big difference in how “Western” and “Chinese” parents view their children. She explains that Chinese parents think of their children as strong and resilient. Capable of excellence and capable of hearing blunt feedback in service of fulfilling on their potential.

By contrast, Chua suggests that “Western” parents are overly concerned with their children’s self esteem, thinking their children fragile and unable to endure criticism. Chua, says that “Western” parents could go a lot further in trusting their kid’s resilience in pushing their kids to succeed and flourish. Essentially, she says that in the West, we fail to point out when our kids are being lazy or selfish.

Chua first received national attention on this topic with the publication of her book, “Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother”. I haven’t yet read Chua’s book, but a quick perusal of her site reveals complicated and nuanced person, Chua explains that she wrote this book as a way to try and save her relationship with her youngest daughter who was in full rebellion. She wrote the book as a form of family therapy, a way to work things out and figure out how she lost her way. Chua says, “Jokes aside about A+s and gold medals (much of my book is self-parody), in the end for me it’s not about grades or Ivy League schools.  It’s about believing in your child more than anyone else – more than they believe in themselves – and helping them realize their potential, whatever it may be.”

Well, that quote about sums up who I want to be as a parent. I don’t do the Chua regimen, I do the dragon Daddy regimen and whether that puts my kids on the wrong end of a seething mythical dragon from the Hobbit or in the good graces of a gentle Eastern dragon is kind of up to them...and how things went at work today, and sun spots, and how much sleep I got...did we run out of coffee, etc...etc...

Point is, I love my kids and I’m imperfect...really, majorly imperfect! Just check out my post on “Parable of the Demonic Feline” to see exactly how imperfect I am...it might make you laugh and hopefully make you think.

Anyway, Amy Chua has sort of slipped off the radar, but I’ve been thinking about some of what she said and letting it germinate in my psyche for more than a year now.  I have to confess, I love Amy Chua...now don’t misunderstand, this is no romantic, sending notes and flowers sort of love, rather, I love the controversy she started, I love the vitriol her book and her article in the Wall Street Journal have inspired. I love that people are thinking and discussing. It is true, the bloodsport of controversy can be entertaining, but what I love here is the fact that for the first time in my working memory our society’s conversation about parenting is in flux. Questions have been raised and they aren’t going away.

I love that things are being said, which were strictly taboo only a few years ago, I love that people are being pushed out of their comfort zone and that opinions, which have have gone unquestioned for years are finally receiving scrutiny. In short, I love the creative synthesis that can occur inside of this sort of controversy. I love that we collectively have the opportunity to emerge fortified, armed with new ideas and ready to continue blazing that path of parenthood, which is more art than science.

If there is one thing that drives me crazy, it is someone acting like they’ve got this whole parenting thing figured out. They know all about ADHD and school and homework, etc.... Because, guess what people, no one has it all figured out. Remember in the 80s when they kept telling us that we’re each a unique snowflake...well this is where that cheesy conversation is really useful. My kids don’t react the same to various kinds of encouragement or discipline as someone else’s. In fact, they each react differently than each other. Basically, what worked with my fourteen year old when he was six...That does not work my current six year old.

I remember one day, my wife and I overheard someone say that they didn’t really approve of our parenting. Tara was a bit concerned about this and later she asked me what I thought they might be complaining about. I shrugged my shoulders and said, “either they think we are too strict or they think that we are too lenient...who knows?”

Basically someone is always going to think there is something wrong with my parenting, but why do I care what they think...I have to live with my kids, not them, so I’ll determine how best to navigate my relationship. I’ll make mistakes, I’ll lose my temper sometimes, but in the end, my kids all know that I love them, that I would do anything for them, that I am proud of them and think they are the best things since Amy Chua. This whole being human thing is messy and awkward, and if that aint bad enough, being a human parent is even worse, but I love it. I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Because I’m a parent, I have a unique opportunity to try and learn how to be a better person. More importantly, I get to watch these beautiful, fascinating and brilliant people grow into adulthood and unleash themselves on this world...what a miracle!

One final note, the Tiger Mom's daughter, who was admitted to Harvard wrote this rebuttal to the vociferous criticism her Mom received, who apparently received some death threats (my how we love to go way over the top in society). Please read:
http://www.nypost.com/p/entertainment/why_love_my_strict_chinese_mom_uUvfmLcA5eteY0u2KXt7hM/1

One of the Most Difficult Days in My Life

--by Mike Adams

It was spring 1979 and I, a confused, seven year old little boy, could not fully comprehend my circumstances.  I had just entered a polished and elegantly furnished room.  The finished oak, and exquisite wall patterns were complemented by flowing curtains filling the space with a sense of dignified solemnity. My Mom, Grandparents and extended family entered the room first, followed by both my sister and I. In contrast to the decorous surroundings we were a bit skittish.  I had abandoned “good behavior” and bounced chaotically about the room, periodically attempting to swing on a curtain or clamber over furniture.  

Several relatives tried to gently distract or restrain me. However, no one showed anger or frustration, the situation simply wouldn’t tolerate that.  My sister and I would soon confront a difficult and life changing experience. Thus our efforts at distraction were accepted with kindness.

My mom and Uncle spoke at length with the man in charge, after which, we moved towards the front of the room.  There, the family paused as my sister and I stepped forward and gingerly peered over the edge of a grey box, where we confronted the remains of our father, Kirby L. Adams.

He appeared to be sleeping, so I reached out to nudge his face, hoping he would wake up, smile and hug me.  When my fingers touched his cheek, I was jarred by his cold skin.  It seemed to send an electric shock racing through my arm, to my stomach, where it inspired a convulsion before continuing to the focal point of my emotional life.  There is crashed through any obstruction, releasing a flood of grief and anger, for which I was completely unprepared.  

My legs crumpled and I fell towards the ground.  My uncle raced over to lift me, at which point, I pushed free with all my might and darted into an adjoining room.  There, I collapsed into a chair, I was overwhelmed with grief, sobbing with every fiber of my being.  I cried because my Daddy was really gone, I cried because for the first time in my short life, something truly terrible had happened and I could do nothing to change it.  I cried because, despite uncountable dutiful prayers, God had turned his back on me.  I cried because there was nothing else to do.  I was filled with a limitless reservoir of pain, which would never empty.  I thought I might cry so hard that I too would die and be laid to rest with my dad, but this didn’t happen.

I have no memories from the rest of that day. The only thing I’m sure of is that I couldn’t believe he was gone.  I couldn’t accept that neither my sister nor I would ever cuddle up on his lap while he tickled us or imitated Donald Duck.  My Daddy was gone, he could no longer make me feel safe, loved or important, He was really gone.

For months, I suffered intense grief, periodically bursting into tears, while at play with my friends or watching TV.  Slowly, I adjusted to life without Dad and months passed, turning into years as grief was replaced by fond memories.  

It has been more than thirty years since those events took place and today they occasionally seem as fresh as this morning’s coffee, while on other occasions, they are more like a movie or book about some sympathetic character, whom you want to reach out and comfort.

I recently noticed that when I think about my father’s death, I usually think of myself as I am now.  Meaning, I remember those events through the filter of a grown man, with all the wisdom, knowledge and capacities that I have today.

I can’t truly remember the small child or how he felt. That young innocent and trusting soul is a stranger to me. He has become, dare I say romanticized, though a romanticized part of who I am today.

Several years back, while visiting my Dad’s grave, I watched my then seven year old step-son speed around the premesis.  He pranced about, lackadaisically hanging from trees, and intermittently chasing his little brother. I stood at my father’s grave, simply remembering. When suddenly, I realized how young I had been. I saw that little seven year old boy gallivant about the cemetery reflecting the sun's jubilance, oblivious to the significance he played in my life on that day.

For the first time in many years, I began to cry over my deceased father. Not due so much, to personal grief, but rather out of compassion for that young child, whose world had been torn asunder some twenty eight years earlier. I cried for his loss...as I watched my step-son play.

And I realized that though he was a part of who I am as a grown man, I am in no way a part of who he was. That little boy is unknown to me and I will likely never really know him.  He is gone, grown into an adult, a father and husband, transformed by life into who I am now.