15-year-old son with a drivers permit

I often read the Zits cartoon strip by cartoonists, Jerry Scott and Jim Borgman, for a laugh and for understanding our teenagers.  This cartoon strip chronicles the ups and downs of Jeremy, a typical teenager, and his exasperated and sometimes pleasantly surprised parents.  The cartoonists apparently are parents of teenagers because they often nail it (two samples are included – parents of teenagers, you judge for yourself).  I remember one comic strip in particular in which they illustrated the anxiety of Jeremy’s parents when they began the ‘exciting and exhilarating’ task of teaching him how to drive.  I was quite anxious myself yesterday.  My 15-year-old son in the driver’s seat; and yours truly in the passenger seat.  We drove less than a mile and I realized that the boy has a heavy foot.  How do I know that?  Because I was desperately and frantically pressing my imaginary brake pedal on the passenger side to no avail.  Yet, this is a good reminder of how I probably caused great angst for my grandparents when they taught me how to drive.  What goes around comes around.

behold His creation

Several years ago, I remember hearing Dr. Cal DeWitt, professor of environmental studies with the Nelson Institute at the University of Wisconsin, say once that he had his students lay down in a forest and behold God’s creation: leaves descending to the ground.  I often think of this statement during Fall seasons in St. Louis.   Fall season in St. Louis is indeed a treat to the eyes.  We are treated to a rich and colorful array of vivid yellow, green, golden yellow, brown, red orange, burnt orange, candy apple and dark red leaves that glisten like a new Christmas toy against a bright sun lit baby blue sky.  The pictures included in this post help tell the story but these pictures are only images of the real thing.  Nevertheless, what a display of beauty! Each day is a new treat to God’s artistry! 

young african american men

My activity on Tuesdays is fairly routine. I teach one course on Tuesday, do some administrative office work and then attend a class at the University of Missouri-St. Louis (UMSL) that evening.  And what I see while driving to my early evening UMSL class is fairly routine too.  I often see young African American men sauntering down the streets with low wearing pants, caps cocked to the side or worn backwards.  Here’s my struggle – it’s not the attire but what the  “attire” communicates.  Their attire communicates a certain mood; their attire communicates a resignation (this is the way it is so why care?); their attire communicates apathy; their attire communicates seemingly a hopelessness; their attire communicates cynicism and their attire communicates a lack of urgency.  I often agonize over “what can I do”?  Don’t they know that opportunities exist for them?  Will this cycle of disengaged young African-American men ever be broken?   Barack Obama is our first African American President; yet, I see very little change – overt and covert forms of racism still exists and apathy among young African American males still exists.   However, I am not all knowing nor am I all seeing.  So, I earnestly hope there are incremental changes taking place someone in St. Louis city and across the many urban contexts across the United States.

men: not feminine to cry!

I like going to Great Clips because I engage with my “stylist” in thoughtful conversation among other things.  Yesterday, I asked  how her Gender Class was going?  She said, “It’s going very well.”  She went on to say, “It is interesting how men have been conditioned by our society.”  I added, “Yes, our families of origin have also contributed to our conditioning.”  Then she said, “Men have been conditioned not to cry because they are accused of being feminine.  Or men are encouraged not to get in touch with their feminine side.”   I then said, “We need to change this idea that men who cry are getting in touch with their feminine side.  Rather, it is human to cry.  Just like it is human to experience joy or any other emotion.  All humans were born with tear ducts to shed you guessed it,  tears.”  So, it’s not being feminine when men cry; rather, it is human to cry regardless on one’s gender.

patience

Okay, I went to my oral surgeon today.  A little history is in order.  Two weeks ago, I went to the same oral surgeon and had to wait nearly an hour before my name was called to follow the assistant to the examining room.   So, this time, I arrived about 10 minutes early to better my chances of getting in right away.  I still had to wait 30 minutes or so to have my name called to follow the assistant to the examining room.  After the surgeon came into the room to give me some instructions on wearing a splint, he said, “Thanks for being patience.”  Crap!  I thought to myself.  I am the least patient guy in this office.  My patience or lack thereof was tried again.  On my way home,   I arrive at this 3 mile stretch that is only two lanes and you guessed it; the traffic inches along at a snail’s pace.  There are no accidents.  There are no animals in the road.  What’s going on?  I see school busses but they are moving.  I was getting more and more impatient with the motorist in front of me; he or she allowed everyone to make a left turn even when he or she had the right of way.  I almost hit my horn but I restrained myself.  Needless to say, I need to grow in patience.

beyond ‘firsts’

America elected Obama, the first African-American president several months ago.  Sotomayor, the first Hispanic supreme court justice was confirmed by the Senate.  I was the first African-American to manage a not-for-profit organization at a local seminary.  I know of a young man who was the first African-American to earn a PhD from a major midwest university.  Madeleine Albright was the first woman to serve as the United States Secretary of State.  It is certainly true that America has a rich and colorful diversity of races, religions, cultures and ethnicities.  And all Americans should celebrate this treasure.  Yet, my hope is that we can get beyond ‘firsts’; that is, wouldn’t it be wonderful that all sectors of our society, all branches of our government, all our neighborhoods, all our classrooms be more indicative of our rich and colorful diversity of races, religions, cultures and ethnicities so that we can refrain from saying, “he or she is the first”?

being taken

I was on my way to lunch today and met a person off the interstate.  You all have seen persons like this before.  She was a homeless person (I presume) and holding a sign that read “I am broke…”  I typically drive by people like this while trying not to make eye contact.  However, this day was different.  While stopped at the red light, I inconspicuously pulled out my wallet and pulled out some money (the amount is immaterial to the story).  When the light turned green I slowly drove the car near her to give her time to get the bill from my hand.  I asked myself, “what was different this time?”  Why did you give this stranger some money?  First, I answered – I got this unction to give her some money; I simply felt ‘moved’ to give her something.  Second, I answered – if she is brave enough to expose and humiliate herself like this, then she must be genuine.  However, I said to myself, “she is simply taking you for a ride, you are so gullible.”  Well, I thought, I get taken everyday.  I often buy a cup of coffee that is overpriced.  I know I get taken when I buy a new car.  And we just returned from a family vacation where I know I was taken.  I thought I would rather err on the side of helping a real human being that I can actually see with my own eyes.  If I was naive and taken, so what!  (This story was not told to earn me any bragging points.)

larry wayne reed

Larry was the younger brother to my wife, Rita.  Larry died on Sunday, July 5, 2009 at the age of 47 due to complications with lymphoma and the subsequent cancer treatment.  His wake was on Monday, July 13 and the funeral was July 14 in Topeka, KS.  At the wake, I carefully observed his oldest son (12 years old).  Several times he approached the casket; sometimes alone, sometimes with a relative.  On one occasion, I saw him approach the casket and he tenderly touched the face of his dad, his dad’s thick moustache and his dad’s hands.  He was so mature to lose his daddy at such a young age.  I am unsure what made me cry more – weeping with my wife (she loved her brother, Larry), hearing the wonderful stories about Larry from fellow army personnel, weeping for Larry (because he was the true ‘underdog’ in the family) or weeping over seeing Larry’s oldest son tenderly and gently touch and meticulously study him.   Larry’s oldest son was also a bit witty because one time he mentioned to Rita, “my daddy is having coffee with Grandma Shirley in heaven” (Shirley, the mother to Larry and Rita and two other brothers, died in January 2002).  Shirley and Larry both loved coffee!

patience and impatience

My family and I flew from Los Angeles to St. Louis yesterday (July 10); the last leg of our return flight from vacation.  My kids and I sat in 23D, 23E, 23F.  (My wife because of her frequent flier miles got a better seat and was unable to sit with us; she sat in row 12).  However, immediately behind us was a family – mother, father and two kids.  One of the kids was adorable – she sang nursery rhymes, played with a toy that was apparently interactive and excitedly pointed out ’stars’ (they were really the city lights below; it was nearly 10 pm when we arrived in St. Louis).  The other kid was a baby and was apparently quite miserable and colicky because she (or he?) cried…in irregular increments.  This mother demonstrated amazing patience because when the baby cried, the baby cried loudly.  This mother would eventually do something (nursed, fed, coddled, rocked, etc.) to settle the baby down.  After moments of peaceful silence, the crying would commence again.  And the tight quarters made the baby crying all the more piercing.   While the mother (and father) demonstrated fantastic patience, other passengers glanced over or back to this row (including my kids).  You might say that they demonstrated impatience.  Parents who fly with little kids get a bum rap.  I guess I can show a little more patience with this family because I have been there and done that!

icon michael jackson

Like most adults my age, I grew up watching and singing along with the Jackson Five.  I have followed the Jacksons you might say up close and from afar.  Following Michael and the Jackson family has been fairly easy as a family this visible can barely breathe or hide from the public eye.  Unfortunately (and fortunately?), the Jacksons have been constant fodder for the paparazzi and for Americans’ voyeuristic cravings.  Despite the mystery that clouds the life and death of Michael, his children, his plastic surgeries, his bleached skin and his net worth, he was the consummate performer hands down!  I have yet to see anyone dance, spin, glide and moon walklike Michael Jackson.  Yet, I am just blown away or surprised by so many things.  One, I am surprised that so many people are surprised that Michael died.  This reminds of a talk I heard on Americans’ obsession with sequestering death.  Someone said, there are two certain things in life, “paying taxes and dying.”  Yet, we avoid talking about death.   It is not morbid or odd to talk about death;  I think it is a healthy thing to do.  Maybe people are surprised that Michael died at age of 50?  However, not only will we all die but no one knows when he or she will breathe his or her last breath.    I learn many things when someone dies ‘unexpectedly.’  One lesson I have learned is this: life is so finite and fragile and unpredictable so live each day like it is your last one.  Second, I am pleasantly surprised by the outpouring of honor paid to Michael.  Clearly there seems to be some good here as Michael’s death, like many deaths and other tragedies, often brings people together.   In this case, a global community mourns together over a phenomenal person and showman.  While this ‘unity’ maybe short lived, it gives me hope in knowing that we can still find good in humanity and that good often emerges from sad events.