What’s your sign?
March 5, 2012
Our sleepy town doesn’t really have a homeless problem. None that I know of, anyway. Those who through choice or circumstance lose their station in life usually have family or friends who are more than willing to offer them a place to stay.
But things are different in the nearby cities, where there are more than a few poor souls who have slipped through the cracks and settled on society’s murky bottom. Forgotten or, even worse, ignored.
You see these people most often perched along the busiest intersections. Their appearance is consistent with their desperation and need—dirty clothes, often a dirtier hat, unshaven and gaunt. And there is always a sign.
VETERAN PLEASE HELP GOD BLESS.
HIV+ NEED MEDICINE.
HUNGRY FAR FROM HOME PLEASE GIVE.
I have friends who refuse to give to such people based upon the skepticism that whatever proceeds these people receive will be used for less than savory activities. They don’t want to be a part of enabling a drug addict to buy more meth or a drunk more liquor. I also have friends who give regardless, believing that their act of mercy, of helping the helpless, is an act God happens to smile brightly upon.
I happen to adopt the latter position and give as often as I can, though I’ll admit there have been more than a few times when I have questioned the validity of their statements.
Still, these signs have always fascinated me. They represent the current state of one person’s life pared down to reveal only the essentials. One story able to fit on a single piece of discarded cardboard. And they are each by necessity crafted to initiate an immediate response. They are not designed to persuade through the intellect or please the eyes. They are meant to be shot as an arrow into the heart.
After running a few errands in the city yesterday, I was on my way home when I saw a man sitting by the guardrail on the opposite side of the road. His flannel shirt hung loosely from his body, sleeves rolled up against the hot sun. The blue work pants that completed the outfit were the sort that provided the maximum amount of wear for the least amount of money. A pair of untied brown tennis shoes shuffled the gravel.
But it was his sign that caught my attention. Three words, and no more. Three words that spoke very much with very little and offered honesty rather than a plea.
DESPERATE AND TIRED, it read.
The rush hour traffic was such that I couldn’t turn around and offer him what I could. I didn’t have much choice but to keep going. As I drove I watched him through the side mirror, hoping someone would stop.
No one did. Some, I suppose, didn’t notice him. Others probably did but then decided not to. One car full of teenagers blew their horn and offered a chorus of middle fingers.
The man never moved. Never shifted his weight or lifted his head. This was not so much an insult as it was the status quo.
Yet I realized that we all were in many ways like that poor man. Like all of the lost souls who roam our streets and barely manage to survive. We’ve all slipped through our own share of cracks at some point.
VETERAN PLEASE HELP GOD BLESS? We’ve all sacrificed, given all we’ve had, only to not get the same returned back to us.
HIV+ NEED MEDICINE? We are all hurting in our own way. Some are afflicted with physical ailments. Others have their ailments on the inside. Many of us have both.
HUNGRY FAR FROM HOME PLEASE GIVE? Within each of us is a hunger, whether to love or be loved, that can only be filled by a God who at this moment is readying a faraway place for us to call home.
And let’s not forget the last. DESPERATE AND TIRED. How many times have we all felt that way?
The difference between us and them have much less to do with our level of comfort and much more to do with our level of honesty.
Because we all carry a sign that tells the story of our lives, pared down to reveal only the essentials. They choose to show the world in a bid for help. We don’t. And for that, they are better.
***
This post is part of the One Word at a Time Blog Carnival: Madness, hosted by Peter Pollock. For most posts on this topic, please visit PeterPollock.com
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Happy Birthday, Dr. Seuss!
March 1, 2012
Theodor and Henrietta Geisel welcomed their son into the world on March 2, 1904 . They gave the boy his father’s name, though he wasn’t a junior—young Theodor’s middle name was Seuss.
Geisel went on to attend Dartmouth College and graduated in 1925. He was returning from a trip abroad in 1937 when the rhythm of the ship’s engines inspired what would become his first book, And to Think That I Saw it on Mulberry Street. That book was rejected nearly thirty times before it found a publisher, and Theodor Geisel became Dr. Seuss.
Few writers will ever achieve the enduring popularity of Dr. Seuss, fewer still will come to hold such a prominent place in the childhoods of so many people. I was raised on the Grinch and the Cat in the Hat. So were my kids. And to this day I’ll pull a worn copy of one of his books from my shelf and read it. Wisdom comes from many places, and it often pours forth from the minds of those who write for children.
In honor of Dr. Seuss’s 108th birthday, I’ll leave you with some of my favorite quotes from his books. They’ve inspired, they’ve healed, and they’ve gotten me through.
“Today you are You, that is truer than true. There is no one alive who is Youer than You.”
“You’ll miss the best things if you keep your eyes shut.”
“It’s opener, out there, in the wide, open air.”
“Will you succeed? Yes you will indeed! Ninety-eight and three-quarters percent guaranteed.”
“Step with care and great tact. And remember that Life’s a Great Balancing Act.”
“From there to here, and here to there, funny things are everywhere.”
“Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It’s not.”
“Today I shall behave, as if this is the day I will be remembered.”
“It is better to know how to learn than to know.”
“Everything stinks till it’s finished.”
“Why fit in when you were born to stand out?”
“Think and wonder, wonder and think.”
“The more that you read, the more things you will know. The more that you learn, the more places you’ll go.”
“A person’s a person, no matter how small.”
And one more, my all-time favorite: “Don’t cry because it’s over. Smile because it happened.”
What’s your favorite Dr. Seuss quote?
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Filed under: education, encouragement, writing
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Internet validation
February 27, 2012
image courtesy of photobucket.com
I consider it a point of pride to say I’m not a YouTube guy. And though a lot of what I’m trying to do for a living involves a computer and the internet, I’ll be honest and say I’m a fan of neither. Give me a letter rather than an email and a fountain pen instead of a keyboard. I understand letters and fountain pens a lot better.
But folks like me are in the minority these days. I know people who spend hours on Facebook and Twitter and Pinterest and whatever else is the Internet’s version of the flavor of the week. I’d throw YouTube on that list, too. From what I understand, YouTube’s the place to be.
Especially if you’re a kid.
And just as certain internet sites become fads, certain aspects of those sites become fads as well. From what I understand, the newest and greatest is the “Am I pretty or ugly?” videos posted by adolescent girls. Like this one:
So far about four million people have watched that young lady. Four million. And of those four million, almost a hundred thousand kind souls have saw fit to voice their opinion.
Some offer advice, like this one:
At the moment I would say you are a cute girl with potential. If you want to move toward the more attractive look, then do away with the silly hats and things like that. Dress the part of who you think you want to be. Look up the mathmatical ratio for beauty and have yuor entire body measured. The closer to teh ratio you are the more beautiful you are. Don’t get FAT. eventually men will be attracted to your sexuality. Develope this and you will move from sort of cute to hot.
Others are more kind:
you are not ugly trust me and im only 12 you are not ugly if people say u r ugly that means they are ugly on the inside and out you are a beautiful person and you will be even more
beautiful when you are older if people call u ugly dont be alarmed by that just trust your heart and trut what is is trying to tell you!!!!stand up to them! say you are not ugly and that just walk away thanks… and remember listen to ur heart and trust what you believe ur beautiful 
Many resemble this comment:
yes you are ugly kill yourself
And then of course, being the internet, there are several who go like this:
MY GOD SHES HOT. ID WRECK THAT
I could say a lot about something like this. I could talk about how destructive the internet can be. Or how mean people are. Or how the comment section of a YouTube video is a damning indictment of the American educational system.
But I just want to talk about the girl.
That so much of a young person’s opinion of him or herself is based upon outward appearance is a given. It’s always been that way. And let me tell you, that sort of thing isn’t confined to females alone. Guys look in the mirror, too. And more often than not, what’s shining back at them isn’t what we consider good.
What is amazing to me (amazing and also so, so sad) is that these people are now taking to the internet for validation. It’s Look at me and Pay attention to me and Love me. We live in a Reality TV world, where one’s value and worth is increasingly measured by the number of page views and comments and followers and “friends” we receive.
And for that, I pity that poor girl. I pity us all.
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Filed under: children, self worth, technology
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Toeing the line
February 23, 2012
The picture to your right was taken in October 1938 in the city of Eger, in what is now the Czech Republic. Germany had just invaded. Stormtroopers were marching in. I want you to particularly notice the third woman from the left.
Hitler, of course, didn’t do all of this alone. Germany was still in shambles a decade after the first World War. The Treaty of Versailles had forced the country to admit sole responsibility for causing the entire conflict. Traditional German territory was lost. A War Guilt clause was enacted, forcing Germany to repay millions of dollars in damages. Military restrictions were enabled. I would imagine it was a hard time to call oneself German. Hard to look at yourself in the mirror and call yourself a man or a woman.
So when a failed painter came along promising a strong government, full employment, civic order, and a reclamation of national pride, people flocked. When the Nazi propaganda poured forth, they cheered. And when Hitler eliminated all opposition and declared himself dictator, they pledged their allegiance.
Even now, almost seventy years after the fall of Nazi Germany, better minds than mine struggle to understand how an entire country could be brainwashed by such evil. I won’t try to add my opinion to that discussion other than to say that I suppose the fear of Hitler held just as much sway in the minds of the German people as his fiery words. Many bought into the notion of an Aryan paradise, to be sure. But many others didn’t and simply thought the prudent thing was to keep their heads down and do as they were told.
Which brings us to this picture:
It was taken in 1936 during a celebration of a ship launching in Hamburg, Germany. Hitler had been Chancellor of Germany for three years and already abolished democracy. German factories were rearming the country after a disastrous World War I. In three years, that country would invade Poland and plunge the world into the deadliest war in human history. Over fifty million people would perish.
The man circled was named August Landmesser. I don’t know much about him other than the fact that he’d already been sentenced to two years of hard labor. His crime? Marrying a Jew. You would think getting into that much trouble would change your attitude and convince you to toe the line. Not so. Because there was August, standing in a sea of Germans on that day in 1936, folding his arms in front of him while everyone else Hiel Hitlered.
I don’t know what became of August Landmesser. I like to think he outlived the evil that befell his land and lived to a happy old age with his wife. Maybe that’s exactly what happened. Maybe not. But regardless, August was my kind of guy.
He refused to bow down to fear. He held strong against public pressure. I would imagine some of the men around him in that picture bought into the evil Hitler was peddling. I would imagine some didn’t but saluted anyway. Not August.
August stood strong. Not by fighting and not by protesting, but for simply folding his arms. And for that, he has my undying admiration.
Faith has been in the news a lot lately, whether it’s the faith of a Presidential candidate or an NFL quarterback or a New York Knicks point guard. And because faith is in the news, it’s gotten mocked elsewhere. There is a swelling tide of resentment now that people should tone down the religion talk, that our differing notions of God are the cause of much of what’s wrong with the world.
That we should all tone it down. Keep our heads down. Do as we’re told.
Toe the line.
I say let them talk. Let them talk all they want. Because I for one do not want to be remembered as the unknown woman in that first picture.
I want to be remembered as August, who stood strong with arms folded.
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Filed under: Christianity, Politics, courage, justice
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Looking back
February 20, 2012
He’s been at this for years, he says. And there’s no end in sight. It’s tough work, hard work, but ultimately very rewarding. He’s slowly gathering the pieces to the puzzle of his past, trying to answer the very riddle that we all at some time ponder:
Where do I come from?
He told me that as a child he found an old family Bible in his grandmother’s house. Inside were the names of her parents and grandparents, and theirs, and theirs, stretching back almost two hundred years. The writing was faded and the pages were yellowed, but he was captivated. Like rolling down the window of a speeding car to take one look back before the next curve.
Sadly, there were just the names. No locations or dates. And as his grandmother was elderly, she could unfortunately offer little help in the way of more information.
That Bible now sits on his bookshelf. A keepsake and a reminder, one that says this is where it started.
He’s Googled and Yahooed. He’s written letters to both our government and foreign ones. He’s corresponded with researchers and genealogists. And he’s uncovered much.
So far as he can tell, he can trace his family back to medieval Italy. Rome, to be exact. His ancestors were quite wealthy. Landowners and artists and poets. And even statesmen. Powerful people. Important people.
He likes this. He’s proud of his ancestors and their position in life. He may be a simple plumber, but he comes from good stock.
Me, I’m a little fuzzy on the history of the Coffey name. My particular branch came to this country in the mid-1600s, mingled with some Cherokee blood, and settled in the Shenandoah Valley. Before that they were mostly Irish and Dutch. Fishermen, from what I can tell, and farmers.
I could dig deeper of course, and someday maybe will. But the truth is that I’m not concerned about the more affluent members of my family tree. I don’t care about landowners and statesmen.
I want to know what cannot be known. I want to know about those fishermen and farmers. The Nobodies.
The ones who carried on my family’s name despite the poverty and the gruel and the taxes paid to oppressive kings. The ones who had to endure sickness rather than be treated for it. The common ones who lived a common existence and dared sail a perilous expanse of water to start over and live better.
I think of them often. And I often wonder if they thought of me.
Did they pause with their hand on the plow or the net to ponder if their name would still be uttered in this world a hundred generations later? Or did their gaze only go so far as the next row of crops or the next wave over the bow?
Was I as fuzzy and mysterious to them as they are to me?
I spend a lot of time convincing myself that only now matters. Only here. This. But as I continue on through my life, I’m finding that a little difficult to accept. Now isn’t the be all and end all. It is the only moment we truly possess, but not the only moment that truly matters. Because I am the result of many moments and many decisions that mattered to people with whom I share a common bond. And those who come after me, my children and their children and theirs, will be the results of my own moments and decisions.
It is, without a doubt, a heavy burden we bear. We, you and I, stand upon the cusp of history. Thousands of years of ancestors have led to us, and perhaps thousands of years more depend upon us.
Not to be powerful and important.
But merely to endure.
Author of Snow Day and Paper Angels (November 2011), both by FaithWords. But don't let that fool you. I'm just as confused as anyone.
And that is fine with me, because the great thing about wandering around in the fog is that you never know what you might run into.
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