The "WORD"

I don't advocate violence for solving issues--no matter how big or small the issue might be.  At least that is what I think now, but there have been a few times when I resorted to violence.  In my life time I would say that I have had three fist fights--of which I like to think of myself as having a record of 2 and 1, and there may be those who disagree but my opponents are long gone and cannot dispute the facts as I remember them.  As I have written many times, the older I get the better I was.  In another ten years my record will probably be 3 and 0!  But the fact it has been many, many years since I believed in violence to settle an issue.

Of those three fights the first one was probably the most noble one.  The second one occurred when I got tired of a friend making fun of me and I walloped him with a couple of quick punches.  It surprised me when he fell down and started crying like a baby.  Since his father was my father's best friend I worried about what was going to happen to me when he told on me.  The third fight was basically the same sort of thing--I got tired of the class bully picking on me and told him to knock it off.  Which he was more than willing to do once we got off the bus.  We introverts need to remember to ask ourselves, "Did we say that out loud or was that just in our heads?"  It was out loud.

The fight was short.  I figured I had only one shot against the guy who was at least a foot taller than me and outweighed me by 50 pounds--I had to hit him in the mouth which we loaded with braces.  So that is what I did--punched him right in the mouth.  There was blood and everything.  There is a reason why they say one should leave sleeping dogs alone . . . needless to say the next couple of minutes were not pleasant.  I got whooped.  I hurt for a week.  But the nice thing was no one every picked on me again--no one wanted to mess with the crazy kid!

The first fight was when I was eight or nine years old.  We were in the neighbor's yard playing some sort of a game.  At that stage of the game I was not one of the most athletic kids--usually I was the one who got picked last.  Apparently I did something during the game that was good for our team, but really irritated the other team--especially one guy whose father worked with my father.   Whatever it did brought the kid's ire on me.  Instead of attacking me directly he began making fun of my brother--started calling him a "retard".

Well, the fact is my brother has Cerebral Palsy.  Cerebral Palsy has nothing to do with intellectual disability.  My brother was not "retarded".  Something snapped within me and I was all over the kid.  All the while I was punching him I was yelling, "He's not retarded!"  Needless to say it was a messy scene, but I think that the kid got the point.  Words do hurt . . . and they can hurt for a long, long time.

 Pretty much my whole life I have advocated for people with disabilities--partly because my brother had a disability, and partly because I really do not like the way that most people treat those who are different than others.  I have never liked using words to separate people--words like "retard".  These words are unacceptable in my life and in the house I share with my family and friends.  So are other words that put people down because of who God created them to be.  Those sorts of words are fighting words.

Imagine my surprise when I stumbled upon the discovery yesterday that it was the designated day to "Spread the word to end the word".  "Spread the Word to End the Word" is an ongoing effort by Special Olympics, Best Buddies and our supporters to raise the consciousness of society about the dehumanizing and hurtful effects of the word “retard(ed)” and encourage people to pledge to stop using the R-word. The campaign, created by youth, is intended to engage schools organizations and communities to rally and pledge their support at www.r-word.org and to promote the inclusion and acceptance of people with intellectual and developmental disabilities. The founders of the "Spread the Word to End the Word:--two college students named Soeren Palumbo (Notre Dame 2011) and Tim Shriver (Yale 2011)--state: "Respectful and inclusive language is essential to the movement for the dignity and humanity of people with intellectual disabilities.  However, much of society does not recognize the hurtful, dehumanizing and exclusive effects of the word 'retard(ed)'."

I couldn't agree more with the movement and its goal--the "R-word" has to go.  So do a lot of other words as they relate to age, sex, gender, ability/disability, culture, education, financial standing, and on and on the list could go--what someone once said were all the "ism" words. Life is tough enough without having the added burden of being excluded and prejudiced against--these words have got to go.  I gladly joined in yesterday to "spread the word".  

As nice as it is to call attention to this issue on one special day a year, it is not enough.  It has to be an everyday part of all of our lives.  It is necessary for us to become conscious of our "words" as we speak them and our "actions" as we live them.  Violence doesn't only come in the form of physical harm, but it also comes in the form of the words that we speak and the actions or inaction we take.  A bruise will eventually go away, a spiritual bruise never leaves.  

I have, for years, have witnessed the cruelty of the world towards those who are different.  I have seen it first hand when it came to my brother and to my own sons.  The "R-word" hurts . . . it hurts for a lifetime. I hope that you would join me in spreading the word to end all  words that are used to hurt and separate.  Join the crusade by signing up at:

 

Real change only begins when it begins within ourselves first and spreads out to include others.  This is your invitation to be a part of change to make the world a better place.  If it does not begin with ourselves how can we ever expect anyone else to change.  Spread the word to end the word(s).  Not only yesterday, today, or tomorrow but every day.

Know Thyself

"γνῶθι σεαυτόν"

So goes the old, old, old Greek aphorism--roughly translated it means "know thyself".  As I have gotten older I am not so sure I have gotten to know myself better, but I do know I sure have asked a heck of a lot more questions--especially when it comes to the changes in my body as I have gotten older.  I am sure that they are not specific questions that only pertain to me and my body, but that they are universal questions that have spewed from the lips of countless others over the generations.  Questions like why have I accumulated hair on parts of my body where I do not want hair?  I've often wondered why my rose dripped when it was cold outside and everything else in sight that drips is frozen.  You know the sorts of questions I am talking about.  I am sure other inquiring minds, like mine, want to know!

 Lets begin with hair.  In my late teens I started to lose my hair and have endure a ton of abuse from family and friends over the years about my baldness.  For the most part it does not bother me--after all, God only made so many perfect heads and on the rest God placed hair.  From my late teens onward I have always worn caps--usually baseball caps--as it beats to have sunburn on top of the ol' noggin.  Because of this it is a rare picture that one sees me in without a cap.  Say what you will . . . but it has raised a few questions about where the hair all went.  My theory is that it moved from the head to other parts of my body--parts like my back, ears, nose, and rear end!  The following picture illustrates my point--but I swear none of the pictures are of me.  None are wearing a cap!

As solid as I thought my theory was, it was wrong.  According to an article by Catherine Price in the March 4th issue of Parade Magazine she answers the question: Why do men get more hair in some places and less in others as they get older?  She writes that this is the "George Costanza effect" and that it is a common sign of aging.  Basically it is caused by dihydrotestosterone (or DHT), a sex hormone to which some men are genetically predisposed to become sensitive.  When that sensitivity develops, the hormone often causes the hair to shrink and follicles elsewhere, like on the back or in the ears or nasal passages, to be come stimulated.  Who would thought that the hair in my ears, nose, and back had anything to do with sex!  All I know is it has changed my life--I no longer go shirtless, and yes, I have received countless words of appreciation for that from others.  I pluck my ears for now, but watch out if I ever learn to braid hair!  And trim the errant hairs that stray from the nose--I figure it beats growing a moustache.  I think I liked my theory better . . . it is not as gross.

Ms. Price also answered the question as to why my nose drips when it is a minus 20 degrees below zero outside and every other liquid within a hundred miles is frozen solid.  She explains that the nose helps perform a kind of climate control by heating and humidifying the air that is inhaled so that it better matches the moist, warm conditions inside of the lungs.  Glands in the nose produce secretions that add moisture, and blood vessels in your nose dilate to warm the incoming air, acting like miniature radiators.  When breathing in super-frigid air, the phenomena is amplified.  Apparently the colder it gets the more it drips.  I just figured that my my skull cracked and I was losing a little brain juice, as if I have plenty to spare in my old age!  But now I know and it isn't pretty.  Luckily I don't have errant nose hairs that slow the process down!

Let talk nails--finger and toe nails.  I wish my nails looked as good as the ones in the picture above, but they don't.  Nothing close.  Mine could probably be used for one of those before and after posters for a good/bad pedicure.  Despite how ugly my nails might look I do take care of them by trimming them as needed.  Like a lot of people I always wondered why I was always trimming my finger nails so often while the toe nails crept along at a snail's pace and were only trimmed occasionally.  Again, Ms. Price answers the question--and, by the way, it is not the obvious answer of one grows faster than the other.  According to her sources it is because the hands are more active than the feet and it is the body's attempt to repair whichever parts are undergoing the most "trauma"--from activities like banging on the keyboard of the computer.  I guess I could learn to keyboard with my toes, but that sounds yucky.

Thank goodness for Q-Tips!  If it were not for Q-Tips a lot of us older folks wouldn't be able to hear.  But have you ever wondered about ear wax--what it is and why we need it?  Price writes that it is made up of moisturizing oils, infection-fighting enzymes, and dead skin.  Not quite the stuff of candles!  Basically it is useless, but a normal function of the body.  Experts say that we should just leave it alone and let it run its course.  Using Q-Tips is a no-no--like packing a canon.  Instead, to clean the ears one should just gently tug on the lobes while showering allowing the water to wash the was away.  It dawned on me if I let my ear hair grow I could use the ear wax to comb it back--a duck tail for the ears!  Fashionable somewhere I bet.

I always knew that the human body was a fascinating mystery.  After reading the article in Parade Magazine and learning more about the answers to these mysteries, I think it is best to leave those questions unanswered and as mysteries.  I am sure most of you agree.  In the meantime I guess I will accept the fact that hair will grow where I don't want it, my nose will drip, my nails will continue to grow, and ear wax will be produced.  It is all a natural part of getting older.  So in the meantime I will keep clothes on my body, wear caps, wear gloves and shoes, and use nose and ear plugs so that I do not expose the rest of the world to these wondrous sights.  Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder and I don't think I want to know myself that well.

So Many Colors--Why Do We Only See One?

But the little boy said...
There are so many colors in the rainbow
So many colors in the morning sun
So many colors in the flower and I see every one

In Harry Chapin's song, Flowers are Red, he tells the story of a little boy's first day of school.  The little guy is so excited that he begins to color a picture using all of his crayons.  He puts colors all over the paper.  When the teacher sees what the child is doing she asks him what he is coloring--to which he answers, "Flowers!"  The teacher then proceeds to tell the little guy that it is not time for coloring, and besides, "flowers are red and leaves are green--that's the way that is has always been."  But the little boy says otherwise.  The teacher calls him sassy and reiterates that "flowers are red, leaves are green".  Nope, says the little guy.  The teacher places him the corner and tells him he can stay there until he changes his mind because "flowers are red and leaves are green."

A corner is no place for a little kid especially when everyone in the classroom is getting to experience all the excitement of the first day of school.  It eventually wears the little guy down until he sadly admits to the teacher that "flowers are red, green leaves are green--there's no need to see flowers any other way than the way they always have been seen."  The kid ends up towing the line and buying into the teacher's power trip.  

Eventually the kid's family moves to another town and school.  The teacher in the little guy's new school tells the children that painting should be fun--use all the colors!  But the little guy draws the flowers red, the leaves green in neat little rows.  When asked why he his drawing that way he responds to the teacher:  "Flowers are red, green leaves are green--there's no need to see flowers any other way than the way they always have been seen."

Recently it was pointed out to me by someone close to me that I was a privilege person--especially here in the United States--because I was male and white.  Simply put, this person stated that the culture of the United States pretty much revolved around this group as it had all the power and influence--they call the shots and run everything.  She was right . . . we white people, especially us males, have all the power.  We are the majority--we are the rich--and that equates to power to dictate to our culture what is valuable and important.  There are not a whole lot of colors in our world view--"flowers are red, leaves are green and that is the way that it has always been."

This was brought home for me with the Academy Awards this past Sunday.  Off the top of my head I can only remember two presenters who were of another race other than white--Jennifer Lopez and Chris Rock.  I might be wrong about this, but that is basically the only two I remember.  Lopez was not presenting because she was of the Latin race, but because she was pretty and apparently had a dress malfunction.  Rock, well he delivered a fairly biting monologue pointing out the disparity in the Academy for minorities and film opportunities before giving out the award for the best animation.  

At the time I didn't think much about it until I saw a little blurb in this week's Time magazine.  Apparently the Los Angeles Times conducted a study to explain who actually determines the winners of the Oscars.  The study was done on the Academy's 5,765 person voting roster.  What did they discover?  They discovered the following:

94% White

77% Male

86% 50 or Older

Yep, there are so many colors in the rainbow, but we can only see one.  Take a gander at the movies that won--pretty much white bread flavor.  Who has the power and control?

In the Billings Gazette this morning was a banner headline for a story about Chief U.S. District Judge Richard Cebull apologizing for forwarding a racist email about President Barack Obama from his office to a couple of friends.  The judge was eating goat and proclaiming that he was not a racist despite the fact that the joke was racist to the core.  "There is no doubt it's racist. It wasn't forwarded for that purpose," Cebull said.  "If anything, it was political."  I guess it is okay to be racist if it is political--is that what he is saying?  

This is what Cebull fowarded: 

"Normally I don't send or forward a lot of these, but even by my standards, it was a bit touching.  I want all my friends to feel what I felt when I read this.  Hope it touches your heart like it did mine.

"A little boy said to his mother, 'Mommy, how come I'm black and you're white?'  His mother replied, 'Don't even to there Barack!  From what I can remember about that party, you're lucky you don't bark!'"

Ouch!  For not being a racist that was pretty harsh--pretty nasty--disrespectful and downright inappropriate for someone who is suppose to be representing all the people of our nation.  I just wonder how it touched his heart that it made him want to share it with others.  To say the least he is now caught in a whirlwind of backlash from all over--there will be an investigation upon his conduct--letters of apology have been written by him including to the President of the United States who happened to be the crux of the joke.  The man is backtracking, taking responsibility, and still proclaiming that he is not a racist.  This man sees more than one color, but the other colors that he sees are not valued at all--they are the source of ridicule and hatred.  

Well, the judge is wrong.  All of us have our prejudices of things, people, and places that we do not care for or like.  We all do.  The problem is that most of the time we are unaware of them because they are so unconscious to us that we are not even aware that we are spouting them off.  We also get away with it because  . . . well, because we are the ones in power and control.  Ours is a pretty lily white culture we live in.  But the truth is we have all made the same mistake as the judge, we have let our little prejudices out and masked them as "politics" or "humor" despite that they are damning to those who are the butt of the statement.  We all carry our own prejudices--even those of us who call ourselves followers of Jesus.  How much diversity is in your sanctuary on Sunday morning?  Remember that is the most segregated time in our country--Sunday morning when people head off to church.  How many colors do we see?  Usually one.

Awareness--consciousness--is the key to this problem.  We are to become aware of this issue in our lives and world if we are to ever change it and truly embrace the diversity of God's creation--of God's family.  There are more colors than any of us could ever imagine--look in the super-duper box of Crayola Crayons if you don't believe me.  So why do we only see one when it comes to our journey through this world?  I was taught that all of the human race--each individual--was created in the image of God.  If that is true--how can any of us hate someone else because they are a different color than we are?  Or a different gender than we are?  Or a different educational or financial level?  Or of different physical or mental abilities?  God calls us to love one another as we would love God.

  Well, I guess that is the end of my rant.  None of us is probably any closer to the solution of the problem, but maybe I have sparked something within your heart that might make you want to consider how you can make a difference--even if it is where you are.  This is only the beginning of this issue--the surface has only been scratched.  There are so many colors in a rainbow--so why do we only see one?