A Child Is A Child

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November 19, 2021- I have friends and family, on both sides of the Chasm, when it comes to discussions of race. Just so we’re clear, I am dead set against ANY policy or action that limits or prevents a person from following his/her life plan-so long as that plan does not itself involve limiting or preventing another person from following theirs.

It started, in a sense, with Emmett Till. When he was killed, I was four. An older cousin saw the news on TV and commented: “That is just plain SICK!” I asked what was sick and he told me that a kid, not much older than he, was killed by some crazy people in a place called Mississippi. I knew that name, because the older girls in the neighbourhood spelled it out while jumping rope. It bothered me, from that time on, that adults would kill a child.

As time went on, I witnessed and experienced all types of adult behaviour towards children-mostly good, but some very wicked things as well. I was, thankfully, never beaten or abused-but I knew plenty of boys and girls who were.

Growing up in a mostly White town, I saw and heard people of all ages-including some of my mates, express hostility towards people of other racial groups. In fairness, they were just as caustic towards people of other European ethnicities. I never felt such animosity towards anyone, but as the saying goes, “You stand in chalk, you inhale the dust.” It took time in the Army and frank discussions with people of other backgrounds, in which I chose to listen more than talk, for me to truly understand their experiences.

It is the duty of adults to teach teens in the ways of maturity. Maturity, as my father explained to me, means not rushing furiously into a situation, unprepared and likely overmatched. Now, we see what happens when the reverse is true. Kyle Rittenhouse went into battle, in his own mind, against an imagined foe that he barely understood, and of whose diversity he was completely ignorant. Someone in his life owed him a hand of restraint- not a violent hand, but a firm one.

Like many people in adolescence, he seemed to think he was capable of rising to the occasion and fending off those who had trouble in mind. Ironically, it was not the thugs on the periphery of the social justice movement whom he faced down, that awful night. It was three grown men, who likely fancied themselves allies of that movement, coming at him, a boy of 17.

I question how he was able to bring an AR15 with him, when the minimum age for BUYING such a weapon is 18. Yet, there it was, in his hands, after who knows how much training and practice he had been given in its use. Even people in the military, who are, with rare exceptions, 18 and over, have to have a minimum of eight weeks of training in the handling, use and maintenance of firearms, especially automatic weapons. Kyle should not have been there alone. Adults should have been with him, and then as a force of restraint.

There is, additionally, the research into the maturation of the human brain. The brain is not completely formed until the age of 25, if then. I look back on myself, in my teens and twenties, and sometimes shudder that I am still alive- my parents’ best efforts to raise me aside.

We are, however, in a crisis of adulthood when, once again, people at the street level are left trying to explain to the wider society why People of Colour are frustrated and angry-while not exactly hearing the voices of reason from those above them, in the halls of power. We are in a crisis of adulthood when a child is castigated in the court of public opinion, publicly coddled by a sitting judge and probably just as confused as he was on that awful night. We are in a crisis of adulthood when the voices of the nation’s leadership use vitriol, rather than step back, breathe deeply and foster healing. We are in a crisis of adulthood, when we just go back to the same sides, across the Chasm, that led us here in the first place.

A good-hearted, gentle family member remarked this evening that she just wants to see love for everyone. She is a conservative Christian. I am a gadfly, who leans progressive, in most matters. My sentiments, though, are the same.

A child is a child; raise him (her)!

Musings On A Day of Rest

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November 18, 2021- As I was leaving the clinic yesterday, the nurse responsible for wrapping the stitched area with gauze and bandages had done a seamless, excellent job. She gave me instructions for carefully showering, not exercising or doing anything strenuous and leaving the covering on for at least 48 hours.

As I had more or less cleared my calendar of work, for today and tomorrow, this set of instructions seemed fortuitous. Although I tend to march to my own drummer, when it comes to following a regimen prescribed by a health professional, there is no question of adherence. It’s just nicer to be around, and fully functioning, for a while longer.

So, I sat inside most of the day, moving around enough so that I stayed relevant. There was the simple task of putting the trash barrels back. There was light food preparation. There was making sure the temperature on my water heater was raised (so that showers are no longer tepid). Most every other activity was mental: Planning Thanksgiving and the days around it, with my little family; sending out notifications for activities this weekend; watching a commemorative video about ‘Abdu’l-Baha, as the Centenary of His passing approaches (November 27).

Life is ever a trade-off. Tomorrow, at 4 p.m., the bandages will be carefully removed, and I will look to be the walking wounded for a week or two. That’s okay. The seasoned doctors and the nurses who tend, very carefully, to the varied needs of their patients deserve nothing but respect and appreciation, the kind that comes from following instructions; the kind that comes from not second-guessing and casting aspersions on their motivation. It’s all just another variation on the conviction that every person, from a student to a retired volunteer, who lives and works honestly, will have my support and encouragement.

Tomorrow will see a bit more activity, but this day was a good one-and productively healing.

Exhausted

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November 15, 2021- The young woman looked at the police officer who had come to her assistance, and said, flat-out, “I am just…so…tired. There is no end.”

I am not exhausted, though there have been times….. Dan Rather posted a provocative essay, entitled “It’s Okay To Be Exhausted”, in yesterday’s edition of the Blogsite “Steady”. He listed all the things that this modern world has thrown at us, which lead to so many being at the point of zero returns. Part of the issue is the ubiquity of information. No matter where one lives in the world, he or she can be, and often is, bombarded with the plights of those less fortunate-often with urgent pleas for help (preferably financial), on the double. This, on top of politics, social (in)justice, false equivalence, restrictions on travel, restrictions on parental involvement in the schools, ham-handed governance (from both ends of the spectrum, and all points in between), climate change, pro-choice, pro-life, Black Lives Matter, Blue Lives Matter, All Lives Matter, vitriol, supply chain issues, inflation, Paul Gosar’s anime, AOC’s pickle jar, Michael Flynn’s Theocracy, income inequality, double taxation of estates. I almost miss the days of “Where’s the Beef?” Wow, I didn’t even mention the pandemic.

What matters to me the most is the well-being of those around me-either physically in the community, by my side when on the road, and children/teens-anywhere I happen to be. What seems to matter the most, to those with whom I talk, is being heard and respected. None of us really need to be told how to raise our children. None of us really need to be told to look out for our sickly loved ones. None of us really need to be told that we’re doomed unless we follow _______________ (fill in the blanks).

What matters most is love-the only source of energy that can restore the exhausted ones who are all around. It is not a product of ideology, of lifestyle choices or of political affiliation. It is not demonstrated by giving all one has, willy-nilly, and making oneself a ward of someone else. It is bestowed on us at birth, and hopefully nurtured by family, community and one’s affiliates-near and far.

“Love gives life to the lifeless”-‘Abdu’l-Baha

The Forge

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November 14, 2021- The gentleman recounted how, when he was due to return to his home, after serving his country for four years, his family sent word that people were lying in wait for him, at several transportation depots-including the local airport. He wisely found an alternative way to get back, and was never harmed. My personal feeling is that there is a special place in the hereafter, for those who kill or maim the very ones who have helped keep them safe. It will not likely end very well for such souls.

We each have to undergo a fair amount of trial and tribulation, in this physical life. That we are, essentially, souls allows for a modicum of personal growth, within the physical frame. One can make a grievous error in judgment, and recover-if realizing the consequences of the mistake-and making full restitution for it. There are also those who do nearly everything right, in this life, and have a few blind spots that need to be rectified.

Both cases necessitate the forge-the tests and difficulties that help make us better people. The gentleman mentioned, at the onset of this post, has lived an arduous life-yet has, by all accounts, proven the paragon of decency, humility and resolve. Hearing him speak, this afternoon, only corroborates this. He has walked through the forge, run through the forge and been stuck in the forge. Each time, he came out stronger and shinier.

The forge started in his mother’s home-and his initial comment resonates with me: He would rather face a hundred neighbourhood toughs, than face his mother’s wrath. Yes, indeed! The home fire is that which creates an indomitable, yet forthright and genuinely loving servant of humanity. He credited his mother for setting the stage of his fruitful life-and I credit my mother the same.

Twins

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November 6, 2021- The presence of multiples in my life-doubles, triples, quadruples, and so on, tends invariably to enrich experiences. My twin sisters-in-law have been a prime example, and but for the care provided for Penny’s mother, in her last years, those years would have been a lot drearier. They still are close with one another, long after her passing in 2018, and I hope to visit them, and other family and friends, in March of next year.

The greatest influence in my life, over the past forty years, has been the collective Teachings of Baha’u’llah-and of His Herald, al-Bab. As long-time readers of this blog may remember, the birthdays of both Messengers of God have been celebrated over two consecutive days, in either October or November, according to lunar reckoning (Badi calendar), for nearly seven years. Prior to that, we Baha’is followed the observances according to each Messenger’s birthday by solar reckoning (Gregorian calendar), to wit: October 20, for al-Bab and November 12, for Baha’u’llah. Lovely gatherings, both virtual and in-person are being held this weekend, with today in honour of al-Bab and tomorrow, in honour of Baha’u’llah. That these celebrations dovetail with the Hindu Festival of Light, or Diwali, is an added bounty.

The greatest blessing upon the Universe and all of us who dwell in it, is light-whether it be in its natural physical form, in the form generated by electricity, in the illumination provided by truth or the healing energy of love. Light propels life along a strengthening and progressive path. Its twin, equally beneficial, in light’s wake, is heat-in its proper measure. The correct amount of heat sustains life, maintains health and, in terms of the heat of truth-generates understanding and enlightenment.

Thus, we have examples of two being better than one, as are bonded couples, pairs of siblings and dyadic teams. More essentially, where would we be without the Double Helix?

Penny Said….

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October 22, 2021- I looked up a student, from long ago, and she had some searing things to say, on her social media page. All of it is true-and is unfortunate. We ignore these messages, to our peril. She was one of Penny’s favourite people, and I link her messages to what my dearly beloved wife told me, when we first met, forty-one years ago in December.

Penny said, “Hit me, just once, and we’re done.” I wouldn’t have hit her, anyway, but the message stayed in my heart.

Penny said, “Cheat on me, just once, and I’m gone.” I wouldn’t have cheated on her, anyway, but the message took.

Penny said, “Go and get those girls, and bring them home to their parents.” She did not have to say it twice. I got in my car, found the girls and brought them home, where they belonged. No Native child disappeared on my watch.

“N” said, “Treat all children like they are your children.” This was in reference to the hundreds, nay thousands, of Native women and girls, gone missing and unaccounted.

“N” said, “Where is the concern for all my missing sisters?” It is a continental disgrace, the epidemic loss of sheer human talent that is in a state of limbo, or loss, or suspended animation-maybe just left to rot, by others who took their own lack of self-worth out on women, girls-and male humans, cutting their lives short, then just walking back into the community, as if nothing has ever happened.

The case of Gabby Petito has brought renewed attention to the missing Indigenous women-and countless other people of colour whose fate is unknown. Ms. Petito’s family has it right: Every missing person, every abused soul, deserves the same energy and attention that has been directed towards justice for their daughter and cousin. Her likely abductor is himself dead. Other perpetrators are living in shame.

What of a young man, whom I knew as a boy, and who has been missing for over a year? What of the three dozen or so Dineh teenaged girls, whose posters one may see in any trading post, convenience store, post office or truck stop on the Navajo and Hopi Nations, or in any border community? What of Latinas, missing from even the smallest barrios, across Arizona and New Mexico?

I know that every child matters. That is precisely why it’s imperative to listen, when a fierce woman like N, or J, or T-or my ferocious late wife, comes forward, puts up a straight-ahead message: “PAY SOME *#@!! ATTENTION!” I would have paid attention, anyway-but the work still lies ahead.

If you see, or hear, something, say something. Better yet, DO SOMETHING!

Why We Struggle

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October 1, 2021- “We gathered together to ask the Lord’s blessing”, certainly, and to reflect on what was done right, as well as areas for growth, with respect to next year’s event.

The occasion was the Hope Fest appreciation dinner, held at the aptly-named Lindo Mexico Restaurant, on Prescott’s near north side.

A number of incidents and procedural anecdotes were discussed,and after a fashion, the conversation turned to the very purpose of challenges and suffering in this life. It came down to two elements: As powerful as the Creator is, for insuperable force to be brought to bear, on all given problems faced by us, would teach us nothing. The second point is that, by the sufferings of the great Spiritual Teachers, we learn that our own struggles can be both overcome and be the source of spiritual growth.

These past few weeks have certainly reminded me of this, as well as being a check on whether I was getting attached to my possessions. While they have served me well, so far the answer has been “No”.

On Go Our Paths

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September 30, 2021- Around 4 p.m., as I was multitasking, some water spilled on my computer table and found its way to the device. The laptop is now in Tech ER. Geek Doc, being a master of reality, gave me all the sympathy I deserved: None. He wants two days, with few guarantees.

Coming as it has,on the occasion of the anniversary of Penny’s birth, I can hear her voice: ” Well, I guess you know what not to do next time!” She and I knew when to comfort each other, when to get after one another and when to do a bit of both.

Now, we are each on parallel paths. Hers is pure spirit, and thus subject completely to divine will. Mine is yet paint-by-numbers. Still, anything I do that’s worthwhile is the result of careful contemplation. Anything I do that’s messed up is the result of not giving it due consideration.

I will be back behind the keyboard, soon, and yes, no more multitasking. I had been getting a lot better, in that respect. Change, though, is a process, the result of events, some seismic, some just blips.

The Power of She

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September 29, 2021- Today is my sister’s birthday; tomorrow marks the anniversary of my late wife’s birth. Earlier this month, there occurred the birthdays of our mother and of two very powerful young women, whose full mark has yet to be made, but which will certainly be indelible.

From where does the first lesson about power derive? Boy and girl alike sense that power, in the loving embrace, soothing voice, warm smile and, quite often, the nourishment provided by mother.

The first lessons come from the mind and heart of the most dedicated teacher a child could ever want.

The first reassurance after each of life’s blows, whether they be glancing or crushing, comes from the spirit which gave life in the first place.

This love, this solid rock, stays with a child, long after adulthood has been reached. It is this which sustains throughout fire, flood and famine.

So, in all the world, as much as man or boy look to initiate, procreate and dominate, nothing of substance happens, save for the power of she.

Acknowledging Changes

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September 26, 2021- Today is another of the birthdays of women who mean the world to me, and which just happen to be clustered in the month of September. I don’t see her all that often, unless it is to support one of her laudable efforts on behalf of our community, as well as of our planet. She is one of dozens of special souls to whom my message is “Do you, and we’ll connect our efforts at the right time”.

The changes that we want to see in the world are those that will benefit everyone who draws breath, and those who will in years, decades, centuries to come. Those changes, of course, start with the ones that are taking place now. Decisions being made far from here, for example, will ripple downward and sideways-especially with regard to the economy. Some of those decisions are being made in a skewed manner, and without consideration to their deeper ramifications. Part of this is due to the fact that the lives of those making the decisions will not be greatly affected by the choices made, at least initially. The decision-makers “have theirs”, so it is no big deal to them, if the ordinary people of the nation have to go without. I refer, as an example, to the blase’ attitude being shown towards the National Debt ceiling.

I have lived a full life, up to now, and can make do with whatever the powers-that-be decide I should. I do, however, take exception to the idea that my son and daughter-in-law, my nieces and nephews, my younger friends, their children (including those yet to be born) and the generations yet to come should suffer because Senator ____________, Representative _____________ and the President are largely concerned with poll numbers and re-election.

I had a vision, early this morning, of my granddaughter (who isn’t even, as yet, conceived)- of how vibrant and talented a person she would be. That image will stay with me for a long time, and will be a good part of the basis for any and all decisions I make, going forward, about the course of my remaining life on Earth. I will also consider the potential needs of her yet unborn sibling(s), of my grandnieces and nephews, of other children close to me (the Sandovals, Schaellings, the kids in my neighbourhood, in the area schools and in the world over). I will consider any child(ren) my yet unmarried young friends might someday have, as well.

All of them matter far more than the re-elections of the elite, especially of those my age and older. Changes are coming, and they will be in the interests of the rising generations.