By Example

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May 11, 2026- Some of what I have modeled for Hana has been physical-even crawling on my hands and knees, a little, so she can see what is involved, and reading words from left to right, pointing,as she follows each word, I also explain what I;m doing, step by step, no matter how simple the task.

She maintains focus, quite a bit more than one might expect a 4.5-month-old infant to keep attention. It seems to be a matter of storing information, either for use in a week or two, as with crawling or the sequence of letters, to recall and use as a toddler.

Funny thing about example: One never knows when little eyes and ears are picking up on what is being said or done. I had given up cursing long before Aram was born, as I just didn’t see any use for such talk, when other words met my needs just as well. He was quite assertive, in calling out what he thought was behaviour that was not in sync with words, especially in middle childhood.

I have a feeling that Hana will do the same. She already communicates quite well, with body language, eye contact and babbles that are fairly comprehensible as words. There is even a fair amount of intonation that give a sense of what she wants to convey.

Example is just the least one can do, to build character in those for whom one is responsible. It is crucial in child rearing-and just as much so, in positions of public responsibility. I had a high bar to maintain, and did, as a teacher, counselor and building principal-and even as a substitute teacher, in my last years of work. I didn’t always meet the expectations of the higher echelon or of the governing boards, but my standing with all but a few students, co-workers and parents was constantly stable.

Elected officials, likewise, would do a whole lot better to adhere to the highest standard of conduct. It’s been a while since that bar has been met, by all too many in public office. This has nothing to do with ideology. As we have seen, there are honest, trustworthy conservatives and progressives alike and there are the opposite, among both camps.

Bringing oneself to account each day seems to be the most effective counter to backsliding and it pays dividends, in terms of how one’s example is followed.

Hands and Knees

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May 9, 2026- Hana used her knees to move herself forward to day. She crawled forward without anyone serving as a backstop for her feet. This has been something she’s wanted to do for at least three weeks, and today, the connection clicked. She is not a quitter, and I told her I was proud of her.

Seeing the little girl keep at something, until it happened, brought me back to her father learning to ride a bicycle and, a few months later, how to swim. He was five. The earlier milestones he met all happened when I was at work: His first crawl, his first steps and his first unmimicked words. I will be around for Hana’s little victories.

Many times in life, both individually and as a community, setbacks are faced. I don’t know the cosmic reason for this. Maybe it is a matter of needing to revisit a situation and deepen one’s skill sets. Perhaps someone else involved in a process needs the same, and you are just along for the ride.Maybe those opposed to forward progress need to revisit the situation, in a position of power, and be shown, one more time, why their backward focus doesn’t work.

Regardless, getting through the situation, with the equivalent of the hands and knees working in synchronicity, is always essential. Whether the cooperation involves two people or a thousand, commitment, consultation and mutual understanding are the keys. Whether it entails the use of hand tools, power tools or electronics, making sure the devices are appropriate to the job, are in good working order, and that the instructions for their use and care are read, understood and followed, is imperative.

Every task comes back to the hands and knees.

False Equivalence

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May 8, 2026- I read a post, this evening, in which a grown woman complains that a 6-year-old, who has been diagnosed with autism, “conveniently” reins in her tantrums-when there are no flashing lights and sudden noises. My, my!

I am mildly autistic. Much of my more “inconvenient” behaviour has fallen away, over the past few decades. It’s been a while, since I was six year old -or thirteen-or twenty-five. Learning which foods aggravate my neural functioning, and avoiding them, has helped. Meditation and daily prayer also help focus my energies. Maturation, though, has been largely responsible, for changes in my behaviour.

I will say, though, that we still have a society which is poor at recognizing developmental differences between young children, adolescents, young adults and people of “middle age”. I spoke yesterday about magical thinking. People like the complainer in the above-mentioned post tend to indulge in wishful thinking. Too lazy, rigid or ignorant to recognize and accept differences in people, they stage public shaming rituals and look under rocks for reasons to excoriate those with disabilities.

While I, out of common courtesy, have made a concerted effort to evolve my own behaviours in a positive direction, If I encounter a confrontation between a neurodivergent child and an adult, other than a parent*, who is passing judgement, I will stand up for the child. There are ways to calm and refocus an autistic or other neurodivergent person. Confrontation and “tough love” are certainly not among them.

Beside, saying that a 6-year-old should be held to the same standard as an adult is false equivalence and says more about the unmet needs of the complainer than it does about the child.

  • Parents of neurodivergent children are most often supportive of their child and seek non-escaltatory solutions to situations that arise, involving their child.

Magical Thinking

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May 7, 2026- Hana pushes herself to reach certain places on her crawling mat, but was showing a bit of frustration at being limited to the same route, day after day. It was time for another segment, so down went the multi-modal quilt, with its alphabet, colour bar, shapes and illustrations of animals and objects. This doubled the area that she has to navigate, and she took to it right away.

My granddaughter had been acting as if she should be able to go through walls or pieces of furniture, getting frustrated at this also, so Papa has the task of gently encouraging her to turn, when confronted with a barrier. I even showed her that my almighty self can’t go through a wall, which she found amusing, while getting the point.

Many of the old stories I am reading her now, European fairy tales, present magical solutions to harrowing scenes. I choose to focus more on the character-building elements that are embedded in the tales, rather than the amazing feats of derring do. It only touches a slight level of her consciousness, of course, but I can recall, from my own toddlerhood, having a sense that I had heard stories that pointed the way to correctness, even earlier in my life. So, we go down this path together, She will retain what sticks in her mind and re-learn the rest later.

Much magical thinking comes from being used to having certain things happen almost instantaneously- like fast food being prepared and served in minutes, or AI popping up with answers to questions, in mere seconds. Another friend, examining the matter, points out that experiencing something, even several times, does not mean that it will be integrated with one’s psyche or behavioural repertoire. “I spent a week in Sweden” hardly qualifies me to claim any more than cursory knowledge of the country and its people. “I changed the spark plugs in my Ford LTD, back in 1975”, does not make me anywhere near a skilled auto mechanic. It is integration, not encountering, that determines the level of any change one wishes to see in life.

There is also a larger process at work, sometimes called “the arc of history” and in other forums, “the Major Plan of God”. We on the ground can only understand a smidgen of it, but here’s the thing: Just as a motor vehicle can go either forward or in reverse, it moves most efficiently forward. Reverse is meant only for short distances, like backing out of a parking space, or going a few yards back to where a loved one is waiting to communicate a last-minute thought. Going backwards in society can only be temporary, mostly to correct errors made in moving ahead too quickly. It cannot be done with a view towards reinstating the “Golden Days of Yesteryear”.

I will have more to say about this in an upcoming post.

Obsessions

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April 10, 2026- As I sit at the computer, reading some articles and writing my own, I watch one or two squirrels traversing the neighbour’s roof and nearby trees, living the full life of exercise, play and acorn gathering that make up the life of a tree squirrel. I also listen for my granddaughter, napping downstairs in her bassinet. She will call out or coo, when she wakes up, knowing that I will shortly come downstairs and tend to her needs.

In neither the rodent, nor the innocent child, is there an excessive focus on anything other than surviving and thriving. Once a person reaches the age of reason, however, unmet needs can turn into obsessions, almost exclusive foci on one or two persons or concepts, even to the extent of neglecting one’s daily duties or responsibilities.

A friend has written an article about “derangement syndrome”. I have yet to read the piece, but I can say, ahead of the game, that such terms indicate obsession, not only by the person who hates, but also by the one who is receiving the vitriol-if that person encourages the attention. It is well-understood, by child psychologists and parents, that a neglected child, one deprived of attention over an extended period, will construct his or her own universe, in which he or she is the center.

We all do this, to a modest extent, as no parent, however dedicated and loving, can shower attention on a child 24/7. For the well-adjusted person, however, there are limits to self-absorption: A spouse, a friend, a sibling, a child or an organization will have needs that the individual, of own volition, will choose to help meet.

For the deprived individual, however, everything in the constructed universe becomes transactional, with him or her as the end recipient. The longer and stronger the deprivation, the deeper the delusion, the louder the demands for attention, and the more creative the transactions. This has been borne out, throughout history, across nations and cultures.

Now, it’s time to tend to my granddaughter.

Atonement

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April 5, 2026- It was a blustery, snowy night, in February, 1978. Out of money, out of gas for my Ford LTD, I walked into the Sheriff’s Office, in Skowhegan, and asked the deputy to lock me in a cell for the night. I had broken no human laws, but still felt that a night in jail was what I deserved. He obliged-no charges, no fines, just a hard bunk, an old pillow and a blanket.

I had gone up to the Winter Carnival, in Quebec, with three young ladies along. They found their own accommodations, and I, my own. We met up on Sunday morning, after what had been a fairly pleasant 1 1/2 days. The ride back, through an increasingly heavy snow, was sent from Down Below. By the time we got to Skowhegan, in western Maine, the car was nearly out of gas, we were all just about out of money and the women were out of patience with me. They left, and were able to hitch a ride, or two, back to Orono, and their university dorms.

I chose to wait until morning, thus the jail cell. It’s the only time I have ever been the guest of a county sheriff, or of any law enforcement authority. At 7 a.m., the sheriff himself unlocked the cell and wished me well. I got the remaining food out of the cooler in the car, locked it again and hitched my own ride back to Bangor. I called my cousin in Orono and got him to take me tot he bank, then to Skowhegan, where I then gassed up the car and caravaned with him back to Bangor. (As it happened, Monday was bright and sunny, and I had been expected at work. A call from the pay phone outside the sheriff’s office cleared that up.)

I thought, long and hard, that night, about the man I’d become: Unmoored, in a no-win job situation, and with little to show for my twenty-seven years. I shortly afterward entered a Master’s program, at the University of Maine. I would not take more than three courses, in the time I had left, but it was a jump forward and I showed myself that there was hope for the future. In June, 1980, my Master’s program re-started, at Northern Arizona University, and I made good.

A footnote: Cleaning out my LTD, on Monday afternoon after the debacle, I found the wallet of one of the ladies, and drove it up to her dorm in Orono. She wasn’t in, which was just as well, so I left it with her roommate, who had heard all the grisly details and was understandably frosty. I only hope the lives of those three women have gone much better, since that night.

Re-assessing and renaming

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March 19,2026- I propose, as some others already have, renaming the commemorative, unofficial holiday known as Cesar Chaves Day, National Farmworkers Day. Juneteenth is, rightfully, a Federal holiday; so should there be a day to honour all farmworkers. How many of us chowhounds would willingly pick potatoes and carrots all day long? How many would work the fields picking melons and strawberries? Even emptying trees of citrus fruit, apple, peaches and pears is backbreaking work!

A social justice movement is far more than the one or two who are its public face. I prefer to call the January holiday that has been focused on Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., Civil Rights Day. As much admiration and respect as I have for Dr. King, he himself would have been the first to say he was not a perfect individual. He had his lusts and pitfalls, though he has never been accused of such atrocities as those or which his contemporary, Cesar Chavez, has been posthumously charged.

The revelations documented in the New York Times illustrate the folly of adulation. Small children idolize their parents and grandparents. As they get older, they learn of their elders’ imperfections. Hopefully, they continue to love those elders, but they will know that they are not amidst living saints.Along those lines, we were wise, as a nation, to recast George Washington’s Birthday as Presidents Day- honouring at least those whose terms in office added luster to the nation’s history and offering a fair assessment of those whose terms did not.

Cesar Chavez apparently gave in to the worst elements of the culture in which he was raised, compounded by the bright lights and hero’s welcomes he received. It will be a step forward, for any future leaders, to transcend the impulse of feeling that there are lesser human beings, who owe them favours for what they have achieved.

There are no lesser human beings.

Warrior

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March 11, 2026- “Nobody’s Girl”, by Virginia Roberts Giuffre is a brutal read; arguably the Auschwitz-Birkenau of books. I am little more than halfway through the late author’s account of her life before, during and after her association with Jeffrey Epstein and Ghislaine Maxwell. Her life up until meeting her husband, Robbie, was a classic case of “assumed deserving of deprivation” combined with identification with aggressors. Epstein heard her tale of abuse by a family member and family friend, and incorporated his own misogynist credo into several years of what amounted to sexual slavery.

“Jenna”, as she called herself, was the sort of girl that, even in my own awkward episodes of standing up for abused children and teens, would have been safe in my care. I might have coddled her and called her “beautiful”, to excess., but I would not have cared who came after her. There would have been no harm, and every power figure who tried to deliver her back to her abuser(s) would have been loudly and publicly called out. That happened once or twice in my career, and otherwise good friends had to be put on notice that the child came first.

Jenna ended up being her own warrior. Her husband helped some, but only she knew the depths of what had been done to her, since the age of seven. She had to withstand a torrent of gaslighting, on which those in positions of power and those who are themselves in denial tend to fall back, especially when a long and fairly successful gig is up. Virginia Roberts Giuffre ended up committing suicide, or so we are told. I am not finished reading the book yet, so I will defer judgement as to whether the case is actually as it has been constructed by those in authority.

It just is a bit too much of a cookie cutter ending, to the case of a person who had finally found a fulfilling life in a loving family of her own choosing.


Fifteen Years

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March 5, 2026- It was a mild, crisp Saturday morning, when I got the call that I had been expecting, since having woken to a heavy presence in the bedroom that Penny and I had shared for nearly twenty-nine years. I was told that I didn’t have long to get to the Hospice, if I wanted to “exercise the option” of being with her when she passed. I had not taken the spare room that the Hospice provided to those who were expecting a loved one’s imminent passing. because we lived thirty minutes away and a gentleman from Nashville was present, waiting for his mother’s demise.-

This was a case of trusting the Universe to arrange everything nicely. As it happened, the entrance ramp that would have gotten Aram and me there on time, was blocked. The detour added an extra ten minutes to our drive and we arrived, on a still morning, to be greeted by a slow spiral of leaves and dust, swirling near the door. Three minutes had gone by since Penny’s departure, so quiet that the nurse, who had checked her ten minutes earlier, was taken aback. Still warm to the touch, eyes still open, I know that my beloved would have preferred to wait, but it was not to be.

My task, in the years that have gone by, has been to make a concerted effort to live a far better life. It took a few more years, after that day, to vanquish my demons and accomplish most of what we had planned to do together. Here I sit in a comfortable open office, in our family’s home, looking at our infant granddaughter, via a monitor. She is asleep in her crib, with plenty of room, on a soft but firm pad. Helping to raise her will be my lasting gift to the wife who sacrificed everything to help me turn my life around.

It’s been a long process, but I really think I’m there, at long last.

Centrifuge

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March 2, 2026- Humanity seems like it is in a vessel that is spinning and separating people according to various qualities or elements. Those who took chemistry or physics in high school or college know full well that I am referring to a centrifuge. They can imagine, correctly, that the feeling is uncomfortable at best and shattering at worst.

Neoliberals argue that this “us against them” process is simply the way of the world- “just the way it is”, as the President of the United States said yesterday. Their whole premise is that the other side started it, and besides, the other side is “seeking to divide us against each other”-a centrifuge operating inside a centrifuge.

Depending on the historical record cited, this is indeed how it’s largely been for the past 6,000-10,000 years. It has been a slugfest, fueled by testosterone, territorialism and a scarcity mentality (zero sum game). “If you have power, I don’t”, however, no longer works well in a world that is more connected than that of Nebuchadnezzar, Alexander the Great, Julius Caesar, Chingiz Khan or Napoleon Bonaparte. Hitler, cited by the ignorant who look wistfully at a past they barely comprehend, was in fact a poster child for the limits imposed by impulsivity coupled with simplistic blame-casting. His centrifuge tossed virtually everyone to the edges, leaving a sour cream of faux perfection to try and hold his fading Reich together.

The substrate of money plays a heavy role in the present exercise. Notice how those taking action against some countries, but not against others, seem to be acting mostly against those whose countries are rich in resources, and therefore a potential source of ever more revenue.

The centrifuge needs to be turned off. We are in a world that needs justice, far more than it needs to fuel ambition.