Non timeo defectum

I know what my first tattoo is going to be: Non timeo defectum - I do not fear failure

Many, many times, my students will be all set to begin an essay, look up at me and say, “How do I start it off?”  I tell them that I don’t care, they may begin however they would like.  Then, they will ask again.  “But, I don’t know how to start it off.”

I pondered this greatly.  As a writer, I know what it’s like to sit in front of a blank page.  But, this has never happened to me when I had an assignment and knew exactly what was supposed to go on that page.  This only happens when I feel the desire to write and, like a ship at sea, can sail in any direction but have no idea which way leads to adventure.  But, when I’m sitting with a pile of research and a clear direction mapped out by an instructor, starting an essay is the least of my worries.

Then it hits me.  They know what is riding on this essay and they are afraid that they’ll get it wrong. The reason students ask me this question is because they are afraid to entrust this paper to their own abilities.  That, somehow, those first few sentences will cause the whole project to crash and burn.

It’s not just large assignments, either.  Our daily QuickWrites are always opinion-based, and yet kids still say, “I don’t understand the question.”  That’s never the actual case.  I usually start a discussion at that point and lead up to, “how do you feel about that?”  100% of the time, the student has no problem sharing his/her opinion in the informal sphere of conversation.  I always love the look on their faces when, while they are in mid-rant about the subject I say, “Ok, now write that down.”

“What?  I can write that?”
“It’s how you feel, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.”
“Then, yeah, that’s your answer.”

There are two lessons here.

The first (and rather English-teacher-y) is that writing exists for the soul purpose of getting your meaning across in as clear a method as possible.  To this end, I like to combine “proper” writing with their own ideas so that, if and when they go to college, it won’t feel so completely foreign.

The second, and most important, is that there is no “wrong” answer.  If it’s yours, if it comes from your thoughts and imagination, then it’s the right answer. I’m teaching them to commit to their own opinions and take responsibility for their decisions.

Okay, I’m really not.  But I like to think that I’m planting the seed.

I’ve never understood what people mean when they use the word “success” as a general term.  There are as many different meanings to that word as there are motivational posters expressing how to achieve it. Still, it doesn’t stop people from believing that they have to hold to some ideal that is written in the stars.  Also, it doesn’t stop people from judging others with their own idea of the general consensus.  Hey, if my idea of success is measured by being able to support myself and play video games all day, then by what right can you use any other yardstick?

Having said that, I can tell you how I measure someone’s success.

Commitment.

When I was in the Navy, I was stationed at Ft. Devins.  While I was there, I was twenty two years old and still really wet behind the ears (but not with saltwater, yet).  One day, I had a problem.  I can’t remember what the problem was, but I know it was a big deal for me and not a big deal for anyone else.  It was one of those outside-the-box kinds of things that Navy personnel have a hard time dealing with strictly because no one knew the answer.  I accepted that I was in for a long haul of going up the chain of command, with one “You’ll have to talk to . . .” after another.

At the time, the only petty officer who was available was a 2nd class with whom I’d not had any dealings.  I don’t remember his name. I do remember that he was thin, black, and shaved his head.  I also remember his answer to my dilemma: “Go ahead and do that, and if anyone says anything about it, tell them to come to me.”  He had my undying respect from that point on.  He made the best decision with the information available and was willing to take whatever consequences came about.  He didn’t have to CHECK with anyone else.  He didn’t fear going beyond his boundaries.  He also didn’t fear any fallout because of his actions.  That, to me, was an adult committing to a course of action.

In my recent foray into the realm of stoicism, I found that this is exactly what makes a person invincible.  If you “accept the things you cannot change” and only deal with what’s within your range of choice, you do not have to fear the consequences.  If one makes a decision, based upon the available information, then one may take solace that he did his best at that particular place and time.  There will never be a reason to beat yourself up later.  As a matter of fact, past decisions are exactly the kind of thing that you can’t change, so why avoid them in the present?  I’m fairly certain the “choice” to avoid making a decision will have more detrimental effects than actually making one.  Not the least of which is that the decision is still there to be made, which leads me to my next point:

Paralysis.

We’ve all sat in a classroom or meeting in which we wonder what the hell the speaker is really saying.  I’ve done it too many times to count. Sitting there, looking around to the people who are nodding their heads or taking notes, not having a fucking clue as to what’s expected of me or really even the subject at hand.  Usually, I’ll try to follow along as best I can, but I’ve never been one to just suffer both ignorance and silence at the same time.  I raise my hand.  My fear, typically, is that I’m the only one in the room who feels this way and that I’m wasting everyone else’s time by asking the speaker to stop to let me back on the train.

Without fail, in both my masters program as well as hundreds of staff meetings, someone (usually many people) will come up to me later and say, “Thank you for asking that because I had no idea.”  When I find myself in that situation, it’s usually at least 50% of the other people in the room who feel the exact same way (typically more).

So, why was I the only one to say anything?  Why did an entire room of adults just sit and hope for understanding to come like a bolt from the heavens instead of taking charge of their own acquisition of knowledge?  Just like my students, they were afraid.  It takes a lot of guts to step out of the crowd and proclaim that you might be falling behind. That ever-looming, always-hovering judgement hangs like a dark cloud in our psyche like a giant 5th-grade teacher, wild-haired and vicious, ready smack us with the assessment of being WRONG.

I’ve learned to see this in others as well, both at my own level and above.  The more bureaucratic an institution, the more the higher-ups have to “check” with other higher-ups before embarking on a course of action.  Meanwhile, down in the trenches, people are afraid to take initiative out of fear that they’ll be held accountable.  A fear that rarely ever exists.  Hey, here’s an idea: BE held accountable.  It won’t hurt, usually.

I’ve also found it helpful to let people off the hook.  I was dealing with a union rep who was so uptight I could hear his ass squeak when he walked.  It wasn’t until I said that I would never hold him accountable for my own actions that he finally started to lighten up and, thankfully, FINALLY, talk straight with me.  I learned more in the next five minutes than I’d accumulated over months of phone calls.  All I had to do was say that I wouldn’t blame him if things went south.  Could you imagine how hard your job would be if you were forever under the threat of . . . actually, I’m sure a lot of you already know how that feels.  This is debilitating.  It takes away the one thing everyone needs to do their job:

Confidence.

Last night I had a dream that I was telling my principal that I don’t fear failure.  After I woke up, I pondered why a boss would want to hear that from their employee.  Would a supervisor really want people who don’t fear failure working for them?

Yes.  Absolutely.  Let’s say your name is Nancy.

Anyone who has been in a supervisory position learns what it’s like to be invaluable.  Every retail manager hears: “Nancy to the front, please.  Nancy to the front.”  Every teacher hears, “Ms Nancy! Ms Nancy! Ms Nancy!”  You get called so much, so often, and many times by people who refuse to think for themselves that you begin to hate the sound of your own name.

I was once directing a show where a particular actor had two different wigs, one red and one white.  Before a dress rehearsal, she came out on the stage and asked, “Which wig do you want me to wear?”

I answered, “The white one, I don’t like the red one.”

“The white one isn’t here, the costumer took it home to work on it.”

I think you see where I’m going with this.  This isn’t even about confidence anymore.  This is about not thinking for yourself.  What did she think was going to happen?  That I’d stop a dress rehearsal to scream at her for wearing the wrong wig?  She’d worked with me enough to know that it wasn’t going to happen.  This was just a shortcut to taking responsibility, however small.

If you own a pizza place, do you want to be called at home before a manager gives a costumer free breadsticks?  If you run a coffee shop, will you really get pissed if your employee accidentally orders six gallons of milk instead of five?  If you’re the manager of a retail store, would you rather have someone put up a display wrong or leave it in the box?  Do you want employees who sweep the floor when it’s needed or waits for you to tell them when the lightbulbs need to be replaced?

Now, imagine you’re a principal.  Every student, teacher, vice-principal, cafeteria worker, parent, contractor, vendor, and local clergy need your attention, permission, advice, policy, and, most importantly, time.  What wouldn’t you give for a lieutenant who has the fortitude to not only make decisions but to also take responsibility for his actions?

In our overly-legislative society, it may be preferable to keep tight control on anything that may get you sued, but I’m not one to live in fear.  If you’ve cultivated an atmosphere of dread, where any move could be legally disastrous, you’re not going to keep employees.  You’re also going to worry yourself into an early grave because you’ve made it so that EVERY decision is yours, including the consequences.  I’d rather live a more peaceful existence.  Which brings me to my next point:

Freedom.

I have to admit, I really used to envy the pot-smokers.  The few I’ve worked with always appeared to be laid-back and easy-going.  Nothing got them down.  Back then, I also swore that I’d never hire one if I ever owned a business.  There comes a time when you should hurry the hell up and get diligent.  During those times, I wouldn’t hold on to an employee who would just, “deal with it later, man.”  Now I know that there are as many different types of potheads as there are people who drink, some to excess and exclusion of all other things and those whom you can barely tell.

Anywho, I worked with a teacher who pretty-much made it clear that weed was his thing.  Once, our department head cornered a couple of us and said, “You tell [the teacher] I need to see him YESTERDAY and to get his ass into my office before he leaves TODAY.”  She wasn’t one to talk like that unless it was extremely important, usually to protect the teacher from doing harm to his/her own career.  Well, we passed along the message.

His response: “Yeah, I’ll just talk to her tomorrow.”

It was always like that with him.  He would load up his desk with piles (we’re talking PILES) of papers, then eat his lunch at one of our desks because there was no room at his.  Then, he’d leave his lunch trash at that desk when he left.  When we threatened him with physical harm, he took it in stride.  “I’m sorry, man.”

You have to respect that as a sort of strength.  No matter who came at him nor how strongly, it just rolled off his back.  It was like he kept everything within a broader perspective.  If it wasn’t going to change his life a year from now, it wasn’t going to ruin his day, today.  It was like watching Buddha get high.  He was a force of nature.  It did as much good to get angry with him as it did the weather.  Suddenly, we were dealing with him differently.  We were telling him how much it meant to us to have a space to call our own and how disappointing it was to walk in to a dirty desk.  We reasoned with him.  Think about that: his indifference to our anger actually made us act more civilized.  He had all the power.

Imagine having that kind of attitude: only dealing with what’s in front of you at the moment, knowing (without consciously deciding) that what people think of you is none of your business.  More specifically, it is out of your control and you only deal with things that are within your control. It grants the freedom to DO, in the moment, anxiety-free.

Not being afraid of failure offers the same type of freedom.  Once one has accepted responsibility, he or she will make the wisest decisions of which one is capable.  Success or failure from that point is really just seeing how the dice fall.  Which leads me to:

Acceptance.

If you do a search for quotes about either failure or success, you will get pages of them that all say the same thing: failure is something you have to accept as a bi-product of striving.  Failure shows that you tried.  The acceptance, then, has to come both before and after failure.  I have to accept the possibility of failure before I fail.  If I only waited until I was sure of success before I tried anything, I would never move.  If everyone waited for assurances, there would never be any job interviews, no sales pitches, no art, no music, no creation of any kind.

And yet, I’ve been in job interviews (as the interviewer) where I swear the person across the desk pissed themselves before they walked through the door.  I once watched a girl freeze, literally go catatonic, with a big grin on her face the moment when she suspected she had blown the interview.  Then, she walked right into a glass wall on her way out.  Here’s a person who could have relaxed, possibly, if she’d only concentrated on the choices at hand.  It may have helped if she’d accepted that she had no control over anything but herself, that simply doing her best from moment to moment was all that was within her control.  If she did not fear failure, she would have come across as much more confident despite whether or not the interview went her way.  In short: she should have smoked a joint.

Happiness.

You don’t have to be either religious or an alcoholic to see the wisdom in The Serenity Prayer:
“Lord grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
The courage to change the things I can,
And the wisdom to know the difference.”

That last part is arguably the most important.  Too often I watch people screw themselves into the ground by trying to control the uncontrollable.  Usually, this is done with anger.  I maintain that NOBODY becomes angry until they are trying to control what is out of their control. You can meditate on that at your leisure, but this is usually after-the-fact when the milk is spilt.  I’m all for a good venting, and sometimes breaking things is a good outlet for emotion, but it’s not good to kid yourself that the past can be changed by force of will nor that the future is malleable beyond your own actions.

This blog has been focusing on the second line.  Courage to change things = no fear of failure.  I’d rather surround myself with people who have the confidence to take charge than those too weak to move.  When philosophers focus on the “pursuit of happiness,” it usually leads to the “happiness of pursuit.” Stagnation brings Depression.  Worrying about the future is Anxiety.  Doing brings joy.  This is all-but a consensus. Whenever I’ve been happiest, I’ve been active.  I’ll be a lot more active if I’m not afraid of the outcome.

This is my formula, let me know if you agree:

Focus on only those things that are within my realm of choice.
Make choices based upon the best available information, then act.
Accept the consequences beforehand, good or bad, knowing that I did my best.
Should negative consequences arrive, there is no shame, as my past-self had hoped for a positive outcome.
Should the consequences be positive, take pride in success.
Learn from the outcome, either way.
Focus on the next thing, which is only that which is within my realm of choice.

So, why get a tattoo?  To remind myself that I’ve failed and I’ve lived through it.  To know that not all of my decisions were great ones, but they were mine to make.  Finally, as a challenge to those with weak wills: I’ll commit to a course of action and stand by it.  Will you?

 “As soon as you trust yourself, you will know how to live.”
 - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Faust: First Part

A comic geek's review of Age of Ultron (No Spoilers!!!)

People always say, “The book was better than the movie.”

They say it because, usually, the movie in their head is much better than the one playing on the screen.  They say it because, due to time constraints, budget, or lack of special effects, they have to cut some part of the story.  The movie industry leaves out background and explanations.  They leave out prequels and change continuity.  All of this is by necessity in order to cram days of reading pleasure into two hours of viewing and still have it make some kind of sense.

It has to be a tough job, specifically when they are making a movie that has a large fanbase.  In the Information Age, any movie that is panned by the book’s loyal hordes is eviscerated on opening night through Twitter and Facebook.  Moral: not pleasing the geeks can cost.

The opposite is also true: any book that pleases the fanbase or even creates new fans in the process is lauded by those same hordes and suddenly we’re talking sequels, merchandising, and new covers of that book shining on the shelves of Barnes & Noble.  This makes getting it right a necessity.

Now imagine you’re a director, and you’re not just trying to adapt ONE book, but over a thousand.  Imagine you’re attempting to cram SIXTY YEARS of books into a movie with a fan base that spans all age groups, all races, all demographics.  You’d better be damn sure you get it right.

The Avengers, Age of Ultron, gets it right.

I heard some people talking about the movie (making sure they didn’t give any spoilers) and said that it was “good” but it wasn’t as good as the first one.  I agree.  To them, it wasn’t as good as the first one.  Reason: the movie wasn’t FOR them.  It was for me and everyone like me.  It was for people who, when they sit down to read The Avengers, are catching up with old friends.  It was for people who didn’t need a bunch of character development, since we already know who we’re dealing with.  We don’t need explanations and backstory, it has already been established.

If you didn’t see any of the Marvel movies and Age of Ultron was your first, you probably felt a little left behind.  Don’t worry, you’ll catch up.  As a matter of fact, you just experienced exactly what it felt like to pick up a copy of Power Man and Iron Fist in the middle of a storyline in 1979.  You don’t know who these guys are or what they can do, but the mystery is part of the fun.  You figured it out.  This was always the way with a new comic, since the industry didn’t pander to first-timers, you caught up by experience.

This was the same reason why comic geeks loved The Incredibles.  No origin.  No dealing-with-newfound-power.  Here’s the heroes, here’s their personalities, here we go.  Previously, comicbook movies were made with small budgets and the hero was only in costume only a few minutes throughout the entire film.  The story was about the alter-ego: the reporter, the photographer, the millionaire trying to balance his love life with being a vigilante. The Marvel movies waste very little time with all that and Age of Ultron is no exception.

For the first time ever, movies are doing what the comics have done for decades.  We don’t need a re-introduction, we don’t need an explanation.  The characters were established a while back, so let’s get to it!  This is true for the TV shows, too, with Agent Carter, Daredevil, and Agents of Shield all alluding to the events in the movies.  This has allowed the tapestry of the fictional world to expand to a size rivaling the original Marvel Comic Universe.  This is Geek Heaven for someone who already has a firm foundational understanding of that universe.

As far as the book being better than the movie, it’s completely understandable that things have to be changed.  The fan base cannot reasonably expect the movie to stay true to the continuity of the comic.  We wouldn’t want that, anyway, or we’d already know everything that is going to happen and how it would play out.  Still, they’ve done a phenomenal job.  All of the important things about the character are there including subtle nuances of personality.  Obscure characters I never thought would go mainstream have done just that.  It’s like watching your best friend from junior high win an Oscar.

I spoke to the guy at the comicbook store and asked him, “We’ve had the Golden Age of comics, the Silver Age, and the Modern Age.  What will this Age be called?”  He replied that only history will be able to answer that.  I’ll call the time in which the movie industry was making movies just for me.

Hopefully, you all can enjoy them as well.

Excelsior!

The 9 reasons why I'm a liberal.

Oh, no he didn't.  He did NOT just say that.  Yeah, I did.  Let's get started.

1. Everyone has received an “entitlement” at one time or another.

You think you’re the exception?  For the first 12 - 16 years of your life, you were a taker.  You produced nothing other than loud noises and weird smells.  But before you say, “nobody ever gave me anything” just keep in mind that you’re wrong. You were born with advantages that you most-likely feel were your birthright, be it a safe place to live or simply a passed-down work ethic.  You didn’t build every road you’ve ever driven upon.  You didn’t build the hospital in which you were born.  You didn’t choose the country you were born into.  Did you have parents?  Did they have land? A home? Steady jobs?  What makes you think you’re “entitled” to any of that?  You didn’t work for it, you just got lucky.  Face it, you are one lucky son of a gun.  Lots of people paved the way for you and you’ve been given a lot.  Who are you to deny something from those who were born with so much less than you?  Okay, maybe your parents were better people.  Or, maybe, if you’re like me, you just had a mom who worked her ass off and taught you to do the same.  Lucky you.  Lucky me, for that matter.  I’m not saying that I’m guilty for all the advantages I got, like a family that grew their own potatoes, which didn’t much feel like an advantage when I was digging them up on hot summer days.  I’m saying that I’m thankful enough that I won’t begrudge the little bit of tax money it takes to help out those who didn’t get the same advantages that I got.  The potatoes are on me.

2.  Gay marriage has nothing to do with you unless you're gay and getting married.

No one chooses to be gay.  Life would be SO much easier if it were as simple as changing one’s mind.  It’s not.  If you don’t believe this, then when did you choose to be straight?  As far a gay marriage, how, exactly, is anyone’s life changed by someone else being happy?  You don’t have to go to the wedding, which will save you money on a gift.  Wait, God told you it was wrong?  Well, if it’s so wrong, why is he telling YOU?  Shouldn’t he be telling that happy couple that their happiness isn’t really happiness at all but some sort of aberration?  Kinda seems like the wrong way to go about it, don’t ya think?

3.  Nobody should have to choose between their health and their finances.

I’ve spent most of my life without health insurance.  I used to laugh when I told someone I was sick and they’d ask, “what did the doctor say?”  “Doctor?  Who the hell can afford a doctor? I’m not spending a week’s pay just to have him tell me to drink plenty of fluids and then give me an out-of-pocket prescription that MIGHT help.”  I thank my lucky stars that the worst thing that ever went wrong with me could be cured by NyQuil and a bath. If I had ever had a major surgery, I’d probably still owe on it.  Because of this, I don’t think anyone should look at their bank account to see if they should go to the doctor or, worse, wait to see if their kids get better on their own.  Now that I’ve enjoyed the benefit of pain killers and anti-anxiety drugs, I think everyone should be given the opportunity.

4. We should tax the rich.

And, yes, they need to pay a higher percentage.  Hey, the rich will be just fine.  None of them starved while Clinton was building up a surplus, did they?  More importantly, I don’t think anyone who is NOT rich should defend them.  That’s just wishful thinking.  You’re not going to be rich.  Ever.  And, hey, if I’m wrong, THEN you can bitch about it.  You won’t, because, as I’ve said, you’ll be just fine.

5.  Cannabis should be legal.

I’m not going to argue all the reasons, and, no, I don’t get high.  I’m only going to give three. #1 -filling prisons up does nobody any good.  Except prisons. #2 - Why not?  Is it because we can’t tax it?  Hey, we can all grow our own tobacco, but that doesn’t stop the multi-billion dollar cigarette industry, does it?  Are we afraid people will drive high?  Well, they already do. #3 - Alcohol is legal and that kills people.

6.  We should have complete separation of church and state.

Maybe this doesn’t fall into the “liberal” pigeon hole, per se, but I think it’s worth mentioning.  I don’t want anyone’s religion involved in the government of me, and I certainly don’t want the government deciding my religion.  ‘Nuff said.  If you don’t agree, imagine if we suddenly had an massive conversion in this country.  All the young people and three-quarters of the older people suddenly saw the light.  Sweeping governmental reforms were enacted in the name of the holy, the righteous, the power and the glory of the Flying Spaghetti Monster.  Then comes a knock on your door, and the Pastafarians are hauling you away to cover you with Alfredo for not observing a proper Saucrifice.  The moral: don’t assume YOUR religion will always be the one in charge.  Scoff if you like, but I have one word for you: Scientology.

7.  I am pro choice.

A woman has an abortion.  This is none of my business.  How is it anyone’s business other than the woman’s.  You disagree?  What if the poor parents have been told that their child is going to be born with several arms and more than the usual number of heads?  People get abortions for heath reasons, too, you know.  It’s not all about birth control.  And if it is, what’s the alternative?  Since you’re so involved, are you going to raise the child or pay for the welfare?  Should we bring back orphanages?  There are plenty of people willing to adopt, you say?  Do some research on the foster care system in the United States.  It will hurt.  I’m not saying women should have them willy-nilly, but it’s a woman’s decision and it should be decided by women.

8.  Militant gun nuts scare me.

If there’s one thing that pops me out of the liberal mold, it’s my stance on gun control.  It just doesn’t work.  It will never work.  I own several firearms, my dad was a competition shooter and my brother is an NRA instructor.  So what is a “gun nut?”  A gun nut is a guy who brags about how he will defend his home and his family with thousands of dollars of rampage he’s got squirreled away.  He keeps every one of them loaded “just in case.”  He uses words like “tactical” and “stopping power.”  Does he have the right to bear arms?  You betcha.  As a matter of fact, I will march to defend his right because, once the line is drawn, it wouldn’t take much for it to cross right over me.  What I won’t defend, is his right to shoot people.  The danger here is that having such an effective option blinds one to other options. After touting the advantages of hollowpoints and well-oiled slides, after quick drawing in the mirror until he sees a hero looking  back, is he really going to pass up the chance to put one into an “evil doer?”  Unless someone is threatening his life or the life of his family, he doesn’t have that right.  No, not even the guy breaking into his house.  Just my belief, but with the exception of the people living there, nothing and I mean nothing in your house is worth a human life.  Regardless of the life.  This also goes for the police.  Having said that, I WILL fire AT someone breaking into my house with the hopes that he’ll leave a brown trail the whole way out the door for the cops to follow.  If he gets away, I’m hoping he tells all his larcenous pals about the crazy guy with the gun and word will spread.

9. I believe that education is our most important tool to make our nation great and it should be second only to heathcare in funding.

I have to.  I’m a teacher.

The Commencement Address

Welcome family, friends, students, and faculty.

As we spend a day celebrating the accomplishments of these young people, I find myself musing: “What is an accomplishment?”

Is it something that you can point to with pride?  Or, rather, is it something that impresses others?  Does accomplishment live in the heart of the accomplished, or does it live in the heads of those who judge it?  When you hold it up for all to see, does everyone have to be duly impressed?  Or, is it something you need only hold close to yourself?  Is it beating your chest in pride, or bathing in the praise of others?

I submit that a true accomplishment cannot be belittled.  If you have achieved something of which to be proud, no one can take that pride away from you.  So, today, on the morning of your graduation, allow me to put it to the test.

Let’s see if I can diminish your accomplishment.

Firstly, I submit that High school is hard. For. Those. In. High. School.  We throw secondary education at students when they are least prepared to receive it.  Teenagers, by their very nature, are crazy people.  Many think that a teenaged brain is just a really new adult brain, fully functional, but with a lot fewer miles on it.  They are wrong.  Scientists have proven that the teen brain isn’t fully connected, yet.  The part that’s not connected is the exact part that makes “teenager” a pejorative.  It’s the part of the brain that forces one stop and think.  It’s that little voice inside that asks “is this a good idea?” before one makes a choice that lands in hot water.  In a teenager’s head, not only is that voice not easily accessible, it is drowned out.  They are full of raging hormones.  They are enslaved to the eternal popularity contest.  They are obsessed with being up-to-date on the latest, the greatest, the coolest, and the hottest. We take these young people, whose heads are full of static, who are going to make bad choices as victims of their age, and force them to make room in their already-overloaded brains for such  things as reading, biology, algebra, government, writing, and more reading.  These are not a priority for the American teenager.  Hell, they barely register on their top twenty worry list.

For teens, the future is something that happens to other people.  Right now, I have a text.  Right now, I just broke a nail.  Right now, that guy just said something nasty about the Ravens.  My phone won’t charge, my best friend is mad at me, there was a fight this morning and oh my god did you see it?  Right now, my shoe is dirty.  Why is Thompson bothering me?  Oh, yeah, my grade.  I’ll make that up, later, but not RIGHT NOW.

Because of this, I concur that High School is hard for those who attend high school, but that doesn't make high school an accomplishment, does it?  Let's explore.

The first question: Did you think High School was hard?

If the answer is "no," then you've accomplished nothing and we're done.  If it was easy, then what are we celebrating?  You not dying before your twelve years were up?  In that case, we can celebrate your survival until the end of this address, too.

Ok, so you found high school to be difficult.  Why?

Do you have a learning disability OTHER than being a teenager?  If so, then I could see how high school could be an accomplishment for you.  If you struggled with class work and achieved despite your impairment then I commend you.

Did you make challenges for yourself?  Did you go above and beyond what was asked to take charge of your own education?  Were you a high achiever because that’s what was expected of you and that’s what you expected of yourself?  If the answer is ‘yes,’ then you already know more than I could ever teach you.  You already have what it takes to succeed and the will to make it happen.  Congratulations.

If you’re not a go-getter, and you don’t have another difficulty, then why did you find high school so hard?  Was it because you had to PUT UP with everything that was set in front of you?  Did you find it taxing to show up, every day?  Were you (gasp) bored?  Did you have to scramble at the last minute of every marking period to get your “make-up work” because of all the assignments you blew off or ignored?  Here’s the hardest question: Did it take you longer than four years?

If this is the reality, then it’s not congratulations that are in order, here.  Condolences are more appropriate, because life is about to kick you in the teeth.  You will no longer have anyone hounding you to do better, be better.  You will no longer have someone seeking you out to make sure you get what you need to succeed.  No one tells you what you need to know and you usually find out way too late.  You are about to be amazed at the rage you feel as you jump up and down and scream at the sky about how it’s just so damned unfair.  When you’re all done with that tantrum, you’ll look around to realize that no one is listening.  Except you.

Things are about to get bad, and then they are going to be worse.  Unlike your high school career, where you simply had to put up with it and it took care of itself, life has a way of holding you accountable.  Ignoring it doesn’t work in the long run, and the long run is all that counts.  You won’t be able to reason with it.  You won’t be able to beg for leniency.  Your promises of doing better next time hold no water and there’s no one to take your promises seriously in any case.  Except you.

I’m about to tell you something you don’t want to hear: no one, and I mean nobody, cares about your high school diploma.  It’s a box you check on an application, a gateway to college.  That’s it.  Whatever it means to you, it means less to everyone else.  It’s worth solely depends upon how you feel about it.  Nobody else cares.  Except you.

Accomplishments, true accomplishments, don’t just help you get a better job, they help remind you of what you are capable.  In the future, as you hold up that magic leather-bound document, is it going to give you strength?  Are you going to take it as a harbinger that you can handle what life throws at you?  Or, instead, is it an piece of paper someone gave you, handed you?  Was it earned, or was it awarded?  Is it something or nothing?

So, did I belittle your accomplishment?  You decide.  You also decide if things are going to be different from now on.  As of this moment, ALL of the decisions are yours, right now.  The future depends on what you do, right now.  The past is gone and the future is heading at you at a full run like a freight train, RIGHT NOW.

Just like high school, life is what you make of it.  You decide if you’re going to ride the train or be crushed.

Right now.

Update on the dog thing.

I was charming, understanding, and firm.

They saw things my way, and we left with a better appreciation of each other's needs.  I gave the guy my phone number and told him to call me whenever the dogs are acting up and I'll put a stop to it or I'll hold accountable whoever is home if I'm away.

They were satisfied.

I have yet to receive a call.

This is from the, "I'm gonna get 'em" category.

We have been getting letters about our dogs barking from the HOA, who confirmed, when I called, that it's our next-door neighbors who are complaining.  Yeah, our dogs bark, they're six months old.  Yeah, we're doing everything we can.  Well, now we're being threatened with $150 fine and another $100 for every week we do not "fix the problem."  The letter says that the dogs are barking "constantly."

Ok, you wanted a fight, you got one.  There's a hearing on the 3rd.

I made up questionnaires that asks questions like "have you ever heard our dogs barking?" then goes on to nail down the time of day, the frequency, how long, etc.  I even put a comments section in it just in case I didn't cover everything.

I took this to the neighbors.  So far, the two people who live two doors down, on the other side of the neighbors who are complaining, said that they have NEVER heard our dogs barking. They are two sisters, one who runs a daycare while her husband is overseas with the Army and the other who works third shift.  I'm fairly certain that if our dogs were barking "constantly" they would have had something so say about it.

But, I learned something else while I was there.  It appears that the same neighbors who are complaining that our dogs are barking were also responsible for getting letters sent to these people for parking too close to the lines.

Hmmm.

Today, I went across the lot to the guy whose house sits directly in front of my own.  He is always outside smoking.  When asked, he, too, said that he has NEVER heard our dogs barking.  When I first started questioning him, he became visibly agitated.  The man is Filipino and has a very thick accent.  At first, I thought it was because he didn't want to get involved.   It turns out it wasn't me.  He cut me off and asked who it was who was complaining.  When I told him, he said, "Excuse my language, but I don't like that mutherfucker, either."

Some time ago, this guy had lots and lots of exotic flowers planted around his property.  Then he got a letter.  It appeared that he had flowers beyond his property line.  The ONLY other thing on that side is the parking lot.  No other house, nobody else's yard, just the parking lot.  He had to pull out all of his plants.

I see a pattern.

Lastly, I called up the neighbor who lives on the other side, as she is out of town.  She said that she hears the dogs "sporadically," throughout the day on the weekends.  She's only home after 8PM most weeknights, and she said she will sometime hear them, then.

Ok, this was not unexpected.  I never said the dogs didn't bark.  But, they don't bark "constantly."  I know what constant barking sounds like and our dogs don't do it. Furthermore, you could be the biggest dog-lover in the world, and a constantly-barking dog will drive you up a tree.  Well, this isn't what is happening, as proven by the neighbors I've interviewed.

The other weapon in my arsenal is Stefan, who recently testified FOR the HOA against a guy who was claiming racism on the pool staff.  Well, if Stefan is trustworthy enough to vouch for you, he must be trustworthy enough to vouch for me, right?

Lastly, I HOPE they bring up the smell.  We got a letter saying that there was an odor coming from our property that was clearly dog waste. It turns out it was a contaminated sump pump, as testified by the plumber that our landlord called in to investigate.  So much for jumping to conclusions, huh?

I also plan to tell them that I got the dogs on recommendation from my therapist, and that the letters have only caused me to increase my anxiety medication.  I'll list everything we've done to reduce barking, including bark collars that didn't work, muzzles that are considered cruel, and paying the neighborhood kids to run the hell out of them so that they sack out and shut up.

Lastly, I'll tell them that, since they are still puppies, that the situation will only get better.

When I get done putting my spin on this, they'll wish they'd left us alone.

If they don't, then I'll bring all this other shit up when I take it to court.  I'll line up neighbors who will vouch for the fact that these two are just a big pain in the ass. 

On walking the dogs, and being a parent/great uncle/adult.

There is not a person in my house who has not said, at one point or another, “I hate those damned dogs."  My mantra has become, “Relax, they won’t stay puppies forever.”  It’s true, and both dogs have gone through some serious changes since we got them about three months ago.
At first, it was pure novelty.  “Oh, how cute!”  “Oops, get the paper towels!”
Then, the novelty wore off.  “Christ!  Won’t they EVER shut up?!”  “Again?!  You were JUST outside!”
The dogs have destroyed a pair of glasses, a bottle of allergy medicine, the legs on both the coffee table and the kitchen table, a box of ramen, a bag of potatoes, and Natasja’s homework.
“Relax, they won’t be puppies forever.”
Tonight, with the help of a couple very inexpensive retractable leashes, I took the dogs for a walk.  I say walk, but they ran, tugged, sniffed, fought, tried to eat weird crap, fought some more, and ate weeds.  My shoulders are tired from the tugging and my feet hurt, but I wore those dogs out.  We came back in, and they both went right for the cage.  Mission accomplished.
I’ve seen enough natural progression in their development to know that, in the future, they’ll be easy-going, laid back, and well-trained.  We’re not there yet.  Not by a long shot.  But, the wild energy they exhibit and the strange situations they put me in make it worth the time.  I had to jump the leashes several times, got my arms criss-crossed, and had to un-hogtie both of them.  There will come a time when I’ll take them out and they’ll sniff, pee, sniff some more, and head back in.  They won’t stay puppies forever.  It will be easier on me, but I won’t have nearly as many stories to tell when I come back.
At age forty-five, it’s really easy for me to look at things at a distance.  I met Erica’s kids when they were all teens.  It hasn’t always been easy.  Being a stepfather is a weird situation.  Nothing can be assumed.  I had to find my own relationship with each of them, and they had to figure out what to think of me.  We’re very different, but I do believe we’ve come to the place where we all feel secure.  It’s a kind of acceptance that comes from being family.  As they each grow into the person they want to be, there’s been plenty of head-butting.  I don’t always handle it the right way.  Who knows if I ever have?
I’ve heard Erica say countless times: “I don’t know what to do with that child.”
And I say, “They won’t stay puppies forever.”
Within the next three years, the nest will be empty.  With school years popping past like slats on a picket fence, I know that I’ll be looking back pretty soon, wondering if I did my best.  I’d like to think so, but I’m not perfect.  (Erica will tell exactly how if you ask.)  But, when things get tough, and tempers are flaring, I have to remember, they’re going to move on, grow up, and keep getting better.  I’m counting on it.  I can safely say that they’ve never disappointed me.  I mean that.
Last night, although I wasn’t there to share in the joy, I became a Great Uncle.  If there is one thing that proves life will march on whether you’re a part of it or not, it’s a baby.  A baby is a little steam roller that will flatten any preconceived notion of what you thought your life would be.  Hell, I’m on the outside and I’ve noticed that, just from watching all my pals become parents.  I’ve seen frustration, anger, exasperation and pure unadulterated joy.
Any parent reading this can tell you stories that were anything BUT funny at the time, but they can’t help but laugh at, today.  I’ve noticed a lot of part-time dads like to think of themselves as heroes, swooping in to save the day when things get tough.  Maybe some do.  But real heroes, like my friends who are parents, are there every day.  They may not always be available.  They may not always get there in time.  They may not make all dreams come true.  But, they show up.  They try. They do their best.  All of those small victories, clawed out day by day, add up to a life well-lived.  And, Lord, they have stories to tell.  They bare their scars proudly.
I’m sure Connor will give Ashley many sleepless nights in the years to come.  She’ll know terror, despair, and disappointment.  She’ll hear herself saying the same damned things her mother did.  She’ll also get to experience some things of which I've never had the pleasure: first steps, first words, first day of school, first love, first everything.  She’ll get to watch a life take shape, guided by her hands.  It’s the best and worst full-time job.  There will come a time when she’ll be at her wit’s end.  But, she’s a Thompson.  She’ll show up.  Every day.  She’ll make mistakes, all parents do.
The best advice I can give: Enjoy the ride. They don’t stay puppies forever.

The Navy taught me not to be co-dependent.

In the Navy, I learned a Mantra.

It was a simple one, but it’s really helped me out through the years.

        When you’re in boot camp, your overseers are called Company Commanders or CC’S for short.  One day, we had a senior chief come to us to train us in the proper way to commit suicide.  It wasn’t some black ops info in case we were captured by the enemy, it was the most brilliant use of reverse-psychology I’ve ever seen before or since.

You see, there’s always some guy who realizes what he’s gotten himself into a little too late.  He’s already signed the papers, he’s already sworn in twice.  Once you raise your hand, swear the oath, and sign that contract, there’s no going back.  Senior chief was there to inform us that even suicide, or, more specifically, a failed attempt at suicide, wasn’t going to do anyone any good, and that if we REALLY wanted to die, he was going to tell us the proper way. He told us many ways, actually.  He even told us how many minutes we were expected to live after cutting here, and here, and here, and there.  If you failed at suicide, he outlined in detail how you would be punished, what you would be put through, and where you would eventually end up.  “Down in the psych ward with those guys smearing shit on the walls.”  I’m not sure how accurate that last bit was, but it really drove home the fact that a failed suicide was just the beginning of your problems.

But, the one thing he kept saying throughout his talk was, “Fuck you.  Nobody gives a fuck about your dumb ass, anyway.”  Meaning: your life is your own.  If you don’t value it, nobody here will, either.

We heard it again and again.  “You want to die?  Fuckin’ great.  Nobody gives a fuck about your dumb ass, anyway.”

You’re probably trying to guess just how this could be beneficial.  How can such a callous attitude be useful towards someone who obviously needs help and possibly sympathy?  Well, that’s just the point.  No where is it written, in law or otherwise, that you are responsible for the choices of another person.  It’s not your fault that someone is angry.  It’s not your job to “fix” individuals.  You don’t have to feel sorry for people when they’ve done the damage to themselves.

Mind you, it’s not my first response.  It’s actually pretty far down the list.  But, there comes a time when you’ve done all you can and have to convince yourself that it’s just not your responsibility, anymore.  A person needs to hold himself accountable for himself.  It allows me to say, “I’m not going to do it for you” or “I’ll be here when you’re ready to listen.”  It takes me to the other side, to the place where I am not invested.

If you don’t value your life, no one will value it for you.  If you don’t value your education, nobody will cram it down your throat.  If you won’t get your ass out of bed, nobody is going to pull you to work.  If you are unwilling to help yourself, you have no right to ask me for help.

Sometimes I get caught up.  Another person’s goal becomes my goal, and I know they can do it.  I’m certain that they really can succeed if they’d just do more, be more, have a better attitude and just stop . . . “Fuck you.  Nobody gives a shit about your dumb ass, anyway.”

I won’t feel sorry when you hit the wall.  I won’t feel responsible when your time runs out.  I won’t take ownership of your failure.  I’ve done enough.  I’ve done more than enough.  It’s time for you to do something.

And if not?  Fuckin’ great.  Nobody gives a fuck about your dumb ass, anyway. 

Irregular Forever!

A few words on why the original Irregulars were much cooler than the kids today.

The first question to answer is, “Who the hell are/were the Irregulars?”  It was me who actually coined the term.  I thought it would be neat to name our gaming group in the ‘80's and drew inspiration from Sherlock Homes’ Baker Street Irregulars, a bunch of street kids who occasionally did jobs for the World’s Greatest Detective.  Originally, there were five of us, but we kept adding “members” throughout our teens and into our 20's.  Membership was not voted upon, there were no initiations.  If you thought what we did was cool, you were one of us.  Anywho, what began as the Stewartstown Irregulars was quickly shortened to “The Irregulars.”  The name stuck.  More importantly, it fit.  None of the guys in our troop were normal, mainstream or (to our sorrow) popular.  There were about six of us, originally.  We were all white, lower middle class, and honorable.

Why were we so cool? Well, we weren’t.  That’s what made us so cool.  Confused?  Well, think about all the comedians, actors, writers, musicians, and successful artists out there.  How many were popular?  How many had plenty of friends and were captain of the football team?  How many had girls calling and crying and making fools of themselves for them?  Am I hinting that being an outcast builds character?  No.  I’m coming write out and fucking saying it.  All the beautiful people grew up to own shit, run shit, and be shit, but I’m going to go so far as to say that they never really DID shit. These are the people who go to Ireland to SAY they’ve been to Ireland.  These are the people who throw parties and invite the office.  Not that there is anything wrong with that, but I think there could be if you don’t have any actual FRIENDS to invite as well.

To this day, even the friends I hang with from other states (and in some cases from other countries) tell me the same story.  They were last when picking teams, they were picked on for being smart, and they were never, ever, the homecoming king.  Throughout my life, I’ve watched all of the “plastic” people continue to be plastic while I’ve consistently gravitated toward the people with character, the “irregulars” of our society.

So, why were we cool?  It’s because we didn’t know how to be.  We were just being ourselves, not knowing that we would one day look back and long for the days when we were poor and happy, ugly and cheerful, country and carefree.  Because of this.  We did stuff.

We built our own cars.
Before you go lumping us into the redneck grease-monkey click, well, we were.  But, it wasn’t out of love of the automobile.  Well, it was.  But it wasn’t JUST that.  We patched together cars, vans, and muscle machines out of necessity.  We had minimum-wage jobs and had to save up for parts after which there was no money left over for labor.  We swapped engines and transmissions, welded and bonded, busted knuckles and cursed like sailors.  We could tell you stories of electrocutions, near-death experiences, and how it felt to spend and entire Saturday fixing a problem that was still there Sunday morning. We didn’t think it was “cool” at the time.  Hell, it was a big pain in the ass.  But, in a world that gave us no power over our own destiny, we took our dreams on the road.  We launched cars over hills, played weird songs through the horn, and put more than a few cars in the ditch.  We slept on the hood, got drunk out in the middle of a field, and made love in the backseat (not with each other).

Why that makes us cooler than today’s kids:
You can’t build a car like you used to.  They’re much too hard to understand.  Nowadays, kids think swapping the taillights and slapping on a chrome tip equals “customization.”  Putting in a stereo and spending God-awful amount for rims makes your car “cool.”  The engine and transmission are untouchable for the average kid, so it’s all talk about “chips” and shit.  Going to a junk yard for parts is out of the question.  So, other than the cosmetic crap, “fixing” a car means taking it to a guy and paying that labor we were trying so hard to avoid back-in-the-day.  The kids still give it a good try, though.  But, they’re just never going to have the experience of coming together to break two cars down to make one that runs over the course of an evening. Most importantly, for today’s youth, working on a car is done for acceptance, to “look good” in front of their peers (notice I didn’t say friends).  For us, it was about having transportation to work or putting four wheels worth of freedom on the road.

We were products of our own imagination.
If I were to mention, say, the comic book Saga to you, would you know what I was talking about?  Speedball?  Jack of Hearts? Iron Fist? No?  If so, then I’ll still count you among the elite who still actually read the comics instead of watch them on TV and the movies.  Think of the average 14-year-old, today.  If you add up all of the video games, movies, TV series, general tasty sci-fi stuff available, it’s almost as if one would have to specialize within his own specialty of geekdom.  “Oh, I’m not into Star Trek, I’m a Doctor Who guy.” As a matter of fact, there is SO much sci-fi and fantasy out there, today, that being a “geek” has gone mainstream.  Could you imagine getting kids to sit down to a game of D&D, when they could just as easily pop online for a WoW raid?  Why think? Why do math?

There was a time when X-men and The Avengers were both one of those things only a select few knew about (For proof, I can name about 25 avengers, including the short-lived West Coast branch.) There was a time when we would pile into the car for a trip to the comic store and spend the rest of the afternoon, get this, READING.  We knew we weren’t the only ones. We were wide-spread, and we were legion, but we weren’t organized and we damned-sure didn’t have clubs or cosplay. We were just a pocket of geeks.  We played tabletop D&D, Car Wars, and Rifts.  We talked about it non-stop.  It wasn’t just a passtime, it was a hobby.

How much has it changed?  THERE WERE NO GIRLS.  The elusive “gamer chick” was like a unicorn. Once we ran into a girl who played D&D down at the beach.  None of us knew how to act.

Computers were new, exciting, and practically useless.
Today, the iPhone has more processing power than the bank of computers NASA used to put a man on the moon. I was never into computers like some other pals of mine, but I remember respecting the brain power it took to write code, flow charts, and programs. One of my truly “geek” friends actually programed his calculator to roll random 20-sided numbers.  Note, this was BEFORE math coprocessors.  The games were intricate and slow.  The home consoles gave us blisters on our thumbs.  I remember putting about 60 hours into a game and was nowhere CLOSE to finishing it at a time when buying a game meant buying a stack of 6-inch floppies and staring at 8-bit stick figures.

How does this make us cooler than today’s kids?  Because we were made fun of for it.  Sitting around playing video games or learning programming was for the nerds and the virgins.  Getting drunk, high, and committing vandalism was the cool way to go.  We chose to do intellectual things (and, yes, the games WERE intellectual) and use our imagination while the “cool” kids wanted to stomp us for being different.  Nowadays, knowing about computers MAKES you the cool kid. Again, just like with the cars, having the newest gadget is a way to show off.  The kids with the flip phones are ridiculed.  I guess not much has changed as far as D&D goes, though.  So, kudos to those geeks, I guess.

We wore what we wanted to.
High school kids always have to be on top of the latest trends, spending way-to-much on clothes you are going to hate when showing your kids the photo album of the good-old-days.  This has never changed.  The Irregulars, however, never went in for fashion.  Ok, I’ll admit there was a period of time when I jumped feet-first into acid-washed jeans and big heavy-metal hair.  But, in my own defense, it was BECAUSE I had stopped hanging out with the Irregulars for a time.  They made fun of me. It hurt.  Anywho, when your parents are poor you either pay for stuff yourself or you wear what Grandma bought for you at Hills Department store.  I still think I have a pair of Husky’s around here, somewhere. They were indestructible.  It was lack of options that kept us out of the fashion trends, I have to admit.  I just can’t see today’s kids NOT wearing their pants down past the crack of their asses.  We used to abuse kids who did that.  Ask me someday about “Butt-hole Bob” and the tater-tot incident.

I’m going to cut this short before I start splitting hairs. Suffice to say that, in a world where we didn’t have much, we had more than we could possibly need.  We made our own fun, made our own rules, and made due with what we had.  We didn’t know that MOST of what we did was going to become “cool” one day.  That’s what made it so special, then.

Looking back, that’s what makes it so special now.  And, if you knew me back then and WEREN’T one of us, well, I guess you just weren’t cool enough.  I really hope that the outcasts of today will be able to find the same kind of pride tomorrow.

Here’s to the Irregulars.  Then, now, and those yet to come.

Easy choices.

The milk is spilled.

Everyone has choices in life, at least those of us who attempt to move forward.  On any given day, at any given moment, you may take a path that either leads to regret or thankfulness.  Most choices are simple, and being regretful over Chinese vs Mexican or thankful over blue tie vs sweater vest are the kind of sand-in-the shorts things that we typically fret about.  On those occasions in which we are faced with big decisions, I, for one, can become paralyzed.

One of the most stressful moment in my life was just a few months ago, receiving a call from Baltimore City, with a job offering big money and big benefits.  At the time I had not one but TWO jobs that I really loved and was making almost-enough money. I did what I had to do not for my own comfort but what was best for me and the family.  

The choice wasn’t pleasant, but it was easy.

When I was faced with the decision to either turn off my paternal grandmother’s breathing machine or let her go on suffering toward an eventual death . . . again, I did what I had to do.

The choice wasn’t pleasant, but it was easy.

The teachers at Sandy Hook made a decision that (I’d like to believe) anyone would make in the same circumstances.  A choice of either attempt to protect the children or save yourself?  I’m not even going to talk about it.  You know what you would do and we all know what they did.

The choice wasn’t pleasant, but it was easy.

When people talk about “hard choices,” they are usually talking about other people’s sacrifices.  When politicians are talking about “hard choices,” they are most certainly using it as an apology for those about to get the shaft.  Some choices are hard, not because of comparisons of the two sides but because we fear that we may be wrong, that the decision will lead to being worse off than we were before.  Then, especially with politicians, they can be shouted down for their “failed policies.”  So, everything we get is wishy-washy, watered down, and hyped up and we are polarized into camps either “Forever For” or “Forever Against.”

Well, now that yet more lives have been taken, now that little kids have been gunned down, if you were faced with the choice of preventing a death of a first grader or holding on to your own long-sustained notions about gun policy, healthcare, or our right-to-know, are you going to make it a “hard choice?”  Or will it be easy?

There is NO easy fix.  There is no law that can stop a bullet.  But, are we going to be willing to open our minds as quickly as we open our hearts to the victims?

My brother just posted that if the president could guarantee his safety, then he would hand over all of his guns.  Believe it or not, this is good ground upon which to start.  It's a sentiment with which many can identify.  After all, if crazies like the one in Sandy Hook are around the corner, how DO we guarantee safety?  Now, before I get blasted for being anti-gun, I’m just setting the stage, here.  Ya think that maybe, just maybe, not everybody needs access to assault rifles?  If it would have saved a life, would you consider it?  Do you think that maybe free healthcare or at least a better system for the mentally ill could reduce or prevent the next mass-murder?  Consider it.  Would you rather prevent the next attack or not?

Another person posted that there have been 31 school shooting since Columbine, but we haven't had a change in gun policy.  Well, you on the liberal side, do you think that, perhaps, ARMING some of our more well-adapted citizens could be an option?  The police are armed, aren’t they?  Why can’t we give training to a larger percentage of our population along with the DUTY to protect others? Say, one-in-twenty?  If we did, then out of twenty teachers, one of them could have put the guy down.  This goes the same for Virginia Tech, and same with 9/11.  Sounds like madness?  Good, you’re listening.

Can we, as a nation who HAS to know and has to get the up-to-the-minute report, accept that the media is using scare tactics to get us to tune in?  I just read (and it could be bullshit) that the mother who had the guns had them because “she was afraid what would happen in the economy.”  If this is true, then it wasn’t guns that caused this, it was the fear that convinced her she needed them to protect herself, a fear propagated to keep you afraid and voting one way. Dare I suggest that our government should regulate the press?  Dare I suggest that fear-mongering isn't journalism and should be punished as a capital offense?

Instead of staying in our foxholes, shooting anyone who disagrees, how about being open to real answers that have been proven to work?  How about real compromise that makes us all safer?  Would you be willing to give something up, or are you going to hold on to your politics despite reason?  Are you going to defend the shooters right to have guns?  Are you going to look at any kind of prevention as an infringement?  Are you going to concede that licenses to carry could actually prevent this kind of thing?  And, yes, I mean in schools as well. I work in a school system in which I know of at least one instance where a student was armed and another instance where an armed robbery happened after I watched the intruder walk by me.  There is no secure building when you have students willing to open a door from the inside. How about making sure that the mentally ill are treated with the same kind of crisis urgency as someone who is bleeding to death?  Even if they are not violent (most aren’t), we are still talking about a human life, a victim that didn’t ask to be diseased.

My point is that until and unless we stop cradling our Us vs Them mentality, until we come together to produce real solutions for these problems and YES with the sacrifice of some of our heavily-defended concepts of what liberty is, what it can be, and what it should be, then it won’t be long before we are clucking our tongues and shaking our heads once more.  I'd rather stand on that "slippery slope" and try like hell to keep us from sliding farther into madness.  So, climb out from behind your fortresses of righteousness and lets all meet on the ground of concession.  Yield, dammit!

The decision won’t be pleasant, but it SHOULD be easy.