The empty space…..

It had been a long morning, as our team set up the canopy, tables, barbecue and decorations for Dinuba, California’s Annual 24-hour Relay for Life event, sponsored by the American Cancer Society.  Our Relay event’s theme this year was color, with a particular color having been tied to varying forms of Cancers.  Our team wanted to play off of a theme of the recently-ended Winter Olympics, so we, of course, chose Olympic “Gold,” which in turn was used to emphasize childhood Cancers.  Given that we were a school team, it was quite appropriate for us.

By the time we had set up our canopy, draped snow-white sheets replete with fake ski slope trees, planted skiis and poles, erected half-size Christmas trees and placed white tinsel everywhere, we were tired.  Then came the tables, barbecue grill, boxes of provisions for our team members, lawn chairs and more, and soon our feet were very sore.

All was completed just in the nick of time, as we were alerted to the 9 a.m. opening ceremonies by the flicker-whine of a nearby microphone.  Along with all of the other teams, we turned our gazes to the small stage at the closest end of a football field that would become our temporary home, our volunteered gathering, our combined walk, our conjoined battle against a merciless foe.

This is not my first Relay for Life, but each time I hear the first speech tearfully thanking us for our participation, it happens.  I begin to become painfully aware of those standing around me, of who they’ve lost, of what some of them have gone through (and continue to go through each day.)  I forget my pains from the morning ministrations, knowing my burdens go away as soon as I flex my feet on the track surrounding the field, while those dealing with Cancer’s effects have no refuge.

With the completion of the opening ceremonies, everyone walked onto the track and began the official first lap, pulled together from all over town to this spot, moving forward alongside each other with a common goal.  You can’t help but smile at the children, so full of energy, bounding ahead of their teams, carefree in mind and spirit, many unknowingly harnessing their energies to pull others through painful times…

Throughout the day we all took our turns walking, passing our team numbers off and thanking each other for the chance to seek shelter under the canopy, to open a soda and rummage for an overly-grilled hot dog.  What would otherwise be a monotonous day was often broken up by fun-filled themed laps.  We were ready, pulling out boxes of crazy hats, western clothing, Disney costumes, super-hero capes, purple and gold outfits, red, white and blue items.  We raced cardboard cars (ours was a bob-sled, in keeping with our Olympic theme.)

We take Relay for Life seriously, my fiancée Nadira and I.  It’s not just because we know people who have suffered through Cancer, or have lost someone to it.  It has hit home for us, too, as it has for so many.   At the school Nadira teaches at, the students had an enormous “Penny War,” raising over $3,000 in two weeks, an astounding figure for a school of only 450 students.

Later in the afternoon, men and women quietly began hanging up strings of lights around the football field, in preparation for the Luminaria.  It’s impossible to miss the groups working through the corner of our eyes as we continued our now-slower paths around the track.   As soon as the lights were strung, box upon box of decorated white bags began to appear, lights pulled through them and stapled firmly in place, decorations facing the walkers.

Every year, more and more little white bags appear around the field, adorned with the names of those lost to Cancer, those still fighting a form of the disease, and those who have won the fight.   Many of the Luminaria are personalized, colored by the loving hands of children, crayon marks doing their best to draw some sort of re-connection, some form of aid and comfort, some measure of victory.  It is the sight of the Luminaria that remain with me throughout the year, pushing me to volunteer again and again.

When dusk arrived, the kleig lights were turned off for the official Luminaria lap, a lap where we are all to walk completely in silence, reflecting on the day, on our purpose.  And that’s when I saw it, truly saw it for the first time that day — the far end of the field, where no bags are hung, a wide open space between the rows and rows of lit-up names on the left and right.  And I got hit with it like a ton of bricks…

I miss him terribly.  My Dad was a friend to me, the architect of my sense of humor.  He was wonderful to me, quick witted and hard-working, always taking care of things around our home and lives, even though his little aluminum boat and fishing rod (and the fish in nearby lakes) were calling to him.  I lost him to Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma in ’98, just months after having been told of his condition.  I soon found myself left in my own wide open space too, the name of my father all around, lit up in multi-colored memories.

On that field, on that very night, I looked around me, at the walkers silently stealing glances at the bags.  I felt the combined weight of loss, pain, triumph and thanks on that field, moving in a semi-circle of Hope, spelled out on the stands and in our faces, in the prayers that rose from the very soles of our shoes.

I realized that we all had to do this, to spend this day walking, to do what little we could to raise funds toward research.  Because if we didn’t, slowly and surely that empty space at the end of the field will get taken up as well by those little white bags with names and crayon marks.

Relay for Life has me, year after year, because I need to see them, those little white bags.  I need to know that wide, open area still exists, and is not filled in, not yet at least.  It is an annual reminder to myself that my time with my father was a blessing, to be cherished.  That the people reflected on those colorful little bags were all blessings.  And that the empty spaces in our lives can be a blessing, too…

How many men are out there right now, wondering if this is the year, if they are with Ms. Right, if she would even say yes if they dared ask?  How many men are still assembling their courage, and waiting for that sign that it’s time…..

I am laying down the gauntlet, my male friends.  I am shouting from the rooftops for you to take that next step in life and commit.  I am holding up a sign, neon red, blinking and loud.  The sign says NOW.  Who will join me this Sunday, and start a wonderful new chapter in life?

This is my challenge.  This Valentine’s Day, I am proposing to my very lovely fiancée.  I want 1,000 men who have come to the realization that they are in committed relationships, who have wondered if this is the year, to decide. I would like 1,000 men to join me, and decide to propose to their beautiful, charming, enchanting, wonderful girlfriends, too.

Let’s all start that new life at the same time.  Together we will make this journey, lending support to each other when necessary, as only men can.  Are 1,000 bold and daring men ready to do this?

If you are teetering on the decision and want that sign, to know if your woman is the ONE, then here are 10 things you can consider.  But hurry, because you don’t have much time left before Sunday!

Signs you should propose to her:

1. Do you support each other even during difficult times? How was it when the money ran out and there were a lot of days left in the calendar before the next paycheck?  Did you talk each other through it, explaining that you both know the two of you will pull through together?
2. Do you look past today’s appearance? When you are looking less than your best game, does she accept your difficulty in figuring your ensembles out without the benefit of matching Garanimals tags?  Is she still arm-candy for you even when she is in sweats and sneakers, make up free and with a fresh pimple on her forehead?
3. Do you both have a strong sense of self-worth and ability? Are you both independently capable of figuring out how to support yourselves as free adults in the World?  Have you both lived on your own long enough to know you always can?
4. Do you both agree on finances? Do you trust each other’s decision-making abilities when it comes to money?  Can either of you make decisions about what to buy on a moderate scale without having to constantly confer with the other party, and do you uphold each other’s spending limits?
5. How do you feel in each other’s presence? Do you feel like a bigger man in her eyes than you know, deep-down, you really are?  Does she make you want to be a better man simply because you know she has every confidence in your abilities?
6. How do both of you get along with people of the same sex? Trust me, if other women seem to have overwhelming issues with your girlfriend, maybe it’s because they found a rotten apple in the barrel long before you did.   Women who have healthy relationships with peers likely have developed more balanced viewpoints of things in the World around them, including you.
7. Would you consider your mate “high maintenance?” I hate to use this term, because there is no simple definition for “high maintenance,” as it is all in the eye of the beholder. Does she (or you) require the presence of ongoing items, services or relationships that break from what you are willing to support in an ongoing manner?  How about if you both were living only on your income – do you comfortably feel either of you would let go of inessential items for the survival of the family?
8. How do the two of you treat those come across your life? Do either of you jump to rudeness with store employees when you feel you did not get a good deal, or do the two of you channel your inner Mother Theresa?  Do you scream at traffic, or gently move over in the lane to allow others by?  Does she enjoy the company of children, or cringe when they appear on the scene?  If the two of you have mastered your inner Tazmanian Devil, you are on a better path to treating each other with the courtesy, dignity and respect you both deserve.
9. Are there ghosts of relationships past? Make sure you both have soundly put your previous relationships in the past and left them there!  And I mean phone calls, Facebook friending, and lunches too!
10. Do you trust your mate around the opposite sex? Trust in each other being able to tame the libido around attractive members of the opposite sex is essential.  Healthy office flirting to make the atmosphere fun is one thing, but do you both believe the other knows where the line is drawn?  Can you talk about the relationships you are forming in life without worry you will get the Stink-Eye from your partner?

I am ready for this next, wonderful step in my life.  I have been ready for a long, long time.   Feel free to leave me a comment and let me know you will join me too.  And please pass this post on to everyone you know, all the single men with wonderful girlfriends, who deserve to have a ring put on it!

Yesterday my fiancée and I ushered in the new year at her parents’ house, along a few of her sisters and their children (and grandchildren.)  We had a Wii providing ample entertainment in the kids’ room in the back of the house, and we heard over and over the cheer (and anger) of the boys celebrating and anguishing the victories.  In the living room, Telemundo and Galavision played New Year related shows in Spanish while we enjoyed tamales and molé, chocolate cake trifle and pumpkin rolls.

I’m not sure when the knitting needles came out, but one by one, they made an appearance, as my fiancee, her mother, her sister and finally my oldest daughter began to choose a string from previously hidden bags.  Needles clicked in quiet unison while grandchildren slept, sprawled on couch cushions, and loud boys were shooed to the back room.  Nadira’s father brought in carefully cut pieces of wood to keep the woodstove going, and because of his efforts in part, the house remained cozy all day.

I know, I know… Not exactly most people’s idea of a wild and crazy New Year’s Eve.  But it was our family day, and I enjoyed listening to the English and Spanish flowing through the house, the incredible smells of foods, and the love, everywhere, all around us. Most of all, I enjoyed watching the women knit and share stories, even if I couldn’t even follow, as my Spanish is horrendous.  Every so often, Nadira would translate what was being talked about, throwing me a bone or two so I could pretend I was keeping up.

Mika beamed as the women in the room applauded her efforts on a multi-colored striped scarf she was attempting, loose strings dangling from one side of it.  I felt such a sense of pride so see her interacting with this new family.  Despite repeated efforts to teach Mika an easier method to knit her scarves, she had stuck to her own special way of knitting the threads together, as it was the only way she was comfortable doing so.  The women had come to accept that this was Mika’s way…

Two years ago, after a lifetime of internal suffering and confusion, Mika had been formally diagnosed with Asperger’s Syndrome.  This particular form of Autism tends to build a wall of social isolation around those with it, making them socially awkward, indrawn and incredibly shy.  Every day is a struggle for Mika to reach out to others, and we have had our fair share of adventures working through the related issues.  During her youth, Mika had found comfort in the quiet act of knitting, allowing her to keep her nervous hands busy in the company of others.  It had been a few years since Mika had knitted, so it was nice to see her connecting with the women in my life through this means.

This year was a year of trials and jubilations, as many are.  In Nadira’s family, one of the sisters had gotten happily married, one had given birth, the very first great-grandchild entered the family, and the economy had hit hard on a number of fronts.  As the sisters and their families streamed in and out in an effort to visit in-laws too, as we sat around the grandparent’s dining room table for lunch and dinner with an improbable number of chairs pushed around it, I felt such a strong sense of family here.  Granted, my side of the family was going to meet later that night as well, but I felt a need this year to spend my first New Year’s with Nadira’s parents, to be here, fully.  Next year we will be inviting them to join in, as I know my mother will also enjoy especially the knitting. And the stories.

As is typical in such a large family, there are many things going on all around, and errands had to be run in support of the day’s events.  I left to pick up my youngest daughter, so she could celebrate with us. Nadira had to go and pick up a few items.  It was during this time, when both I and Nadira were running errands and gone from the house, that the real knitting occurred…

Nadira’s mother, a strongly and openly faithful woman, had invited everyone to retreat to the den, in order to say a prayer of thanks together as a family.  The children were told they could say what they had been thankful for, and what they hoped to achieve next year in their lives.  Knowing this might be stressful to Mika, she was told that she did not have to join in if it made her uncomfortable.  But Mika immediately followed them into the big room, and sat down, listening to each of the kids and adults state one after the other what they were thankful for, and what they hoped lay ahead.

Nadira’s parents are what you might call the salt of the Earth.  They came to this country with only the clothing on their bodies, living literally out of a relative’s old, empty tool shed for the Winter.  Nadira’s mother rolled newspapers and stuffed them into the many holes in the thin wooden walls to keep the winds out.  Nadira’s father hustled daily for any form of work he could get, carpentering, clearing debris, and like so many others who came before him, picking fruits and vegetables in the fields surrounding our towns.  Often, Nadira’s mother joined him in the hard work, as the children slept in the back of their ancient station wagon.

The last decade had to be one of pride for them all, as first Nadira’s parents then she and her sisters obtained their American citizenship.  The sisters all worked hard for and obtained college degrees and teaching certificates.  Nadira’s father went from manual labor in the fields to developing calluses on his large hands in a local packing house, in charge of creating the thousands of boxes used for the fruit, where he works to this day.  He has beautiful hands, telling tales of inner strength and character.

When the round of prayers came to Mika, she was again reminded that she did not have to say something if she was uncomfortable with it.  Before they could skip over her, however, she cleared her throat and began…

While I and Nadira were rushing around town, Mika told the people in the room a story of thankfulness and hope.  She thanked God for having a supportive father in her life, having seen me working so hard to help her through situations.  Everyone nodded in the room and smiled at this.  She stated that she was so thankful for all that she had been able to accomplish this year despite her limitations, and was really looking forward to her future, to what she now knew she could do with her life.  At this, Nadira’s sister, who has always been a very sensitive soul and was going through tough times, began to feel a few tears.

Many in the room were astonished, as Mika stepped out of her condition and continued, much longer than anyone had thought she would.  ”I want to say that I am thankful to God for being a part, for the first time in my life, of a real family, who all care about me so much.”  At this point, Nadira’s mother, a woman who has witnessed such hardship and pain, who has lived much of her adult life in two worlds apart from each other, began to feel the tears, too.  She saw that no matter how hard her life had been, no matter how many walls she had to climb over in dealing with life each and every day, here was a young woman working hard to overcome a mental disability, a permanent edifice working to block her whole life.  Nadira’s niece, who had just moved out of her apartment and back in with her mother to finish college while raising a one-year-old, cried as she saw that even her problems could be overcome.

One by one, Mika’s impromptu words of thankfulness at the help and acceptance she had been receiving from the people in that very room flowed outward and around them all.  Soft, carefully chosen words threaded their hearts in unison into a beautiful, soft, warm garment of family, knitted together in Mika’s own special way.  As she finished by expressing hope for her future and praying openly that God give her the strength to overcome the many challenges she knew were ahead for her, everyone had been brought to tears.  Everyone cried together in that room as one, as a united family, unashamed in that rare mixture of happy, cathartic anguish.  The one that they had expected to remain silent had spoken for all of them.

When Nadira returned, people were still wiping their eyes, and leaving the den to return to the living room.  It was first of two times Nadira cried that day, the first when she was told what Mika had said about Nadira having stepped into the role of mother so patiently and helpfully, and again when she saw me unable to hold back my emotions as her sister, mother and father told me when I returned.

I thank God for yesterday, and for Mika having said just what we all needed to hear, after a long, hard, wonderful, love and pain-filled year.  And for knitting us all together beautifully, in one single afternoon, in Mika’s own special way…

In ancient Turkey, in a region known then as Phrygia, they found themselves suddenly without a king. Their royal leader had passed away, leaving no heirs and no relatives to speak of. An oracle stated that the next person to drive an ox-cart into the city through the main gates was destined to become their next king. That man was Gordias, a poor peasant, who was astonished at the news. Bewildered and unsure as to what he should do, he released his ox but tied up the cart to the main gate with a knot made of Cornel bark. This knot was said to be so intricate that nobody could figure out how to untie it. The oracles stated that whosoever could undo the knot would become a great ruler, overseeing all of Asia….

This is the time of year when we begin thinking of what we have accomplished thus far, and what we want to do over the next 365 days. For the greatest procrastinators amongst us, it is a day full of regrets, as our glances sweep back over the gulf of time we once had this year. We glance furtively at the Gordian Knots still before us, trying to figure out a way to cut through them…

I’ve been thinking a lot about forgiveness today, thanks to a few discussions I’ve been involved with recently. As a Jew, I am more than gently pushed to provide blanket forgiveness for all transgressions of the preceding year during the High Holy Days. But as an American, I also have our standard 12-month calendar to impress on me that I must, yet again, revisit the tying up of loose endings or face the consequences.

With all of the discussions lately regarding New Year’s resolutions, I thought perhaps I should resolve to do something each and every year to see if I can dissolve the tensions I may’ve created or were a part of during the previous 12 months. I’ve decided that with the end of each December, I should take the time to consider my life, ask for forgiveness of others, and to give it freely where needed.

In Aramaic the word “forgive” can be interpreted to mean “to untie the knot.” It’s a good way of thinking about it. Whenever I am undergoing stress at work or in life, my body is all tied up in knots. During stressful times, there are tons of knots in the muscles of my back and neck. My stomach fills with acidic, knotty tension when I am in an argument with others. My tongue gets all tied up when I realize I have done someone wrong, and realize that I must seek forgiveness from them.

So how does one go about the process of forgiveness? I mean, I only have a few days to work on this, although the process of truly forgiving others could be worked out over the whole of next year…

From WikiHow, I found a variety of things to consider when seeking forgiveness. I’ll list them here, with my own twist…

1. You are only hurting yourself. Think about it. If you are angry with someone else, seething inside over a slight or wrong, are they hurting from your anger? Do they writhe at their desk in agony every time you furrow your brow or the acid churns anew in your stomach as you recount the offense? Nope. You have to come to realize that the anger you have at someone else does nothing to harm them. In fact, while you stew in your juices, the person who slighted you has likely moved on with their own life, quite oblivious to your now over-boiling feelings.
2. Find the silver lining. Yes, you have gone through trying times because of what was done to you. But take some time to also realize how much stronger you are for having gotten through them. Examine carefully to see if there are any good good experiences or practices that might have come to your life from this. Were you more careful with your money, and saved a bundle? Did you pull closer to other people in your life? Sometimes you can find some wonderful silver linings in your life while walking angry pathways. Just don’t stay on them too long!
3. Open your eyes to the angels. take a moment to recount all of the positive, wonderful, giving people who helped you through the most trying times last year. Would you have gotten to know these personal angels as well as you had if it were not for the need to talk and share your angst, to vent and receive their supportive words?
4. Tell the person in the mirror it is okay. You MUST learn to forgive yourself for feeling angry at others, for feeling helpless to resolve the issue or see it coming. You have to forgive yourself for being open enough for others to step on your heart. You HAVE to do this, in order to realize it is okay, so that you can get to the place you were before you were hurt, in order to try again…
5. Remove the acid from the vessel. It’s high time you realized that when you fail to forgive others, you are not moving on from the hurt; rather you are carrying the hurt within you, displacing feelings of kindness and love. Emotionally many of us are limited, fragile vessels. Don’t let that acid build up within you and wear you down. The act of forgiveness causes a release within us, separating us further from the negativity, and healing the vessel within.
6. Shut up already. I know telling others what happened to you is a bit cathartic. I know that others after having heard a bit of the gossip around the office will likely ask you for more details. As enticing as it may seem to go over the juicy details again, stop telling the story to others. Stop being the victim, and take responsibility for what you can do about how you feel in the future.
7. Tell the other story. After you have made the decision to stop recounting your personal tale of woe, take some time to actually put yourself in the shoes of the person who slighted or offended you. Remember that the person you are thinking about is someone’s wife, sister, brother, husband, son or daughter, or friend. Thank about how you might tell “their side” of the story. Are their extenuating circumstances in their life you didn’t take into account? If you don’t know, ask yourself why you don’t know much about your antagonizer… You just might figure out places where you may’ve gone wrong in your response or approach to that person…
8. Derail your mind. It’s time to stop thinking about your hurts, and begin to think about your blessings. Many sage Rabbis have passed down the philosophy of replacing evil with good simply by retraining your mind and through new practices overlaying the old. Kick your angry thoughts off track by beginning to replace your feelings with silent blessings sent out to everyone around you. I know this may feel weird to do, to send a blessing to those around you who seem to want to do you harm, but over time your good notions will cause you to, little by little, stop focusing on the slights and offenses. Increasingly you will see those around you as just people, as fallible and fragile as you, as capable of accidentally offending others as you are…
9. Draw in perspective. People who are outwardly focused on the needs of others tend to feel wronged far less often, are happier, and live longer lives. The more introspective we are during our day, the more focused we are on ourselves, the easier it is to get hurt. Embrace the world around you as much as you can, and get involved in it. This will help you maintain a far broader perspective on life. When you see what is going on in the lives of the people at your workplace, in your family or church, in your community or the World in general, it brings into perspective the little hurts we encounter in our own lives.

In the year 333 B.C., a young and impatient Alexander the Great entered into the very same gates that Gordias entered, and came across the centuries-old cart tied up to the gate, blocking his large contingent’s passage through. He jumped from horse, and took a look at the gargantuan and complicated Gordian Knot before him. The locals told him the ancient story of how countless individuals had tried to untie the knot to no avail, and of the prophecy regarding the one who came across a solution.

Alexander pulled out his sword, and with one strong swing of his arm, cut the knot in two. As the pieces fell, the townspeople were both shocked and dumbfounded. While some may’ve felt that this solution did not suffice, others likely slapped their foreheads and wondered “Why the heck didn’t I think of that?” Either way, the ancient prophecy was fulfilled, and Alexander went on to become one of history’s greatest (and most tragic) warriors and leaders.

If you work hard at the nine steps above, you are well on your way to forgiving yourself and others. Feel free, when the time is right, to ask for forgiveness from those around you. Your shocked coworkers, friends and family will look up to you for taking the time to try and make things right again, and many will soon seek to forgive you. You will be well on your way to untying that knot yourself…

Written in commemoration of Tick Tock Day.

I am a thief of glances.  I’ll admit it.  I love to make eye contact with people when I am out and about.  It doesn’t matter if I am in the car, at the store, or at work.  If someone is near me and we are facing each other, I look at their face, seeking their eyes.  Should our glances meet, I look away quietly, with what can only be described as a smug sense of satisfaction at having made yet another personal connection.

Not everyone likes my glances; I have made a few people uncomfortable when they notice me looking, as though I have invaded their personal space, as if they saw something there they shouldn’t have seen, or have not allowed themselves to see.  It’s not sexual in nature, those stolen glances.  To me there is something about making eye contact that reminds me that I am not alone in the world – that we are all interconnected, equals, seeking something from each other.

After my very first day of Kindergarten 38 years ago, three little girls followed me as I walked home.  They surreptitiously walked a bit behind me, so I wasn’t really aware they were shadowing me until after I got home.  As a happy-go-lucky 4 1/2 year old, I wouldn’t have noticed them even if they had stomped behind me the whole way.  Their arrival was announced with the repeated ringing of the doorbell, which my father then answered in curiosity.

“Steven kissed me.” Said one of the girls.  ”Me too,” said another.  The accusations continued until all three girls had made my father aware that I had stolen a kiss from each of them that very day.  Apparently, it was wrong to kiss all of the girls I liked.  It’s not like this had been mentioned to me previously; after all, when attending family functions I was encouraged to give all of my aunties a kiss…  I suppose I was just really happy to suddenly be surrounded by girls, and my fervor got away from me…  Either way, my unabashedly wanton ways were out in the open now, after only my first day of school.

After some quiet laughter and a solemn promise to set me straight, my father shut the door and came to my room, where I hid, having heard the angry remonstrations from the girls on the front porch.  ”Don’t kiss any more girls at school,” my father told me, feigning anger in the hopes that I would realize the error of my way.  But a stolen glance at my father as he began to walk away revealed an odd sense of pride behind those steady eyes.

When I was fourteen, my parents divorced, and I moved from a large, open farmhouse we had been renting in Italy to a small apartment above a convenience store.  Along with the requisite foods, cleaning supplies, liquors and personal hygiene items, the owner of the store had a variety of imported toys and candies.  Every penny of my weekly allowance was spent at the store on either Legos or something sweet.

Every day, twice a day as was customary in Italy, the store owner closed shop to enjoy a meal with his family.  One day while playing outside at lunchtime during Summer vacation, a great temptation was revealed to me.  I noticed that the side door to the shop was left open, likely to keep the store from getting too hot inside, while the owner was away at lunch.

I looked around to ensure nobody was watching on that lazy afternoon, then crept over the low balcony, into the store, realizing with wonderment that I was alone, unwatched, with a great deal of time on my side.   My heart raced, pounding in my chest, my eyes darting to and fro for any sign of movement in the low light of drawn shades.  My face was flush, my hands wet with cold sweat, my stomach full of butterflies, as my glance moved toward the Legos and candy….

Over the next few weeks, my Lego collection slowly grew to a collection any young man would envy.  I was careful to hide my new largess from my mother, who would surely have skinned me alive for having carted away box after box without payment.  I built prolific creations, then quickly took them apart again, so as to not arouse attention.  But it was the chocolate eggs that kept bringing me back…

Each Swiss egg was about 4 inches wide, with three layers of chocolate – one white layer sandwiched between two layers of creamy milk chocolate.   Although the chocolate was perfection, what tugged my tortured my soul over and over through that open door (despite alarm bells in my mind to stop,) was what was inside each and every egg, behind that smooth, chocolaty skin.

Miniature books.  Tiny card decks. Forty piece miniature model planes, cars or ships.  Coins.  Metal soldiers.  To this day, I want to find the person who determined what went into these eggs and personally thank them for their ingenuity, for their obvious open pathway into the mind of a young boy still recovering from his life having been turned upside down.  I gleefully built each model, played with each toy soldier, squirreled away (and to this day still have) the miniature cards.  The chocolate, to me, was the sweetest I had ever tasted, rich with the flavors of plunder.

I suppose my need to steal glances and those chocolate eggs are linked, huh?  I mean, when we as adults are out and about in public, we are not so happy-go-lucky as we were in grade school.  We are quiet, unassuming, our expressions largely held in check.  When I make eye contact with strangers, I wonder if I am trying to see that which is hidden under the surface, what surprises lurk within, under the smooth skin.  Who are forty-piece models, each part intricate and fragile, held together beautifully on display?  Who are the many-chaptered books with fine print, difficult to understand but worth the read?  Who are the cold metal coins, aging gracefully but easily pocketed away? Who are the fun decks of cards, shuffling through life one game after another?  And who are the metal soldiers, whose eyes decry a hard life led, moving forward in that daily battle?

My father, were he still alive today, would likely tell me I should keep my eyes to myself, that living my own life is enough, to not have to try and figure out the lives of others as well.  But I’d also like to think that even as he told me this, he would smile a bit, proud in the knowledge that he raised a fine thief of glances, kisses and chocolates.

Written in commemoration of National Chocolate Day.

The time was 10:50 29 years ago, when he was taken from us amidst a hail of bullets, in much the same manner he entered the World…

At the height of World War II in Liverpool, during yet another German air raid, John Winston Lennon’s newborn cries were covered by the indiscriminate onslaught of bullets and bombs.  As Julia and Alfred Lennon held him, young John Winston Lennon’s aunt Mary ran through back alleys to reach the hospital, following the light provided by the explosions in the dark night.  Taking John’s little hands and covering them with her own, Mary made a silent promise to ensure John was always looked after, always cared for.

Not long after John was born, his father joined the merchant marines to help with the War effort, but wound up going AWOL.  Julie did her best to help her little family survive despite spotty checks arriving from Alfred  in the mail.  Aunt Mary helped as best she could.  A year later, in 1944, Alfred looked up his wife but found that she had moved on, pregnant by another man.

John’s aunt Mary, who had years earlier dodged bullets and bombs to get to him, was tired of what she saw as neglect of her young nephew.  Mary petitioned for and received custodianship of John.  Shortly thereafter Alfred arrived again, and during a failed attempt to take John with him to New Zealand, forced John to choose between himself and Aunt Mary.  John was incredibly torn, choosing his father, then Mary, in tears and distraught.  Alfred left his son’s life that day, not to be seen again for over 20 years.

Julia never gave up on her son, although she did not fight her sister in raising him.  She wanted John to be raised in a good, steady environment, and knew Maria and her husband George could provide it.  Julia visited infrequently, teaching John the banjo, and playing Elvis Presley records with him.  This was their biggest bond, the music they shared, the quiet times in each other’s company just listening.  The World was at peace.

Julia bought John his first guitar in 1957, and kept it at her place, because Maria did not support John’s wish to become a musician.  After Julia Lennon’s untimely death from a car accident one year later, Maria consoled John and helped him get into the Liverpool College of Art.  College was not for John, who spent his evenings with friends listening to a variety of bands in Liverpool and surrounding communities.  He dropped out his last year of college and pursued his first love, a career in music, a return to the place he shared with his mother…

John took guitar lessons but soon thereafter dropped them, finding them too constrictive to his creativity.  He began a band named The Quarrymen, meeting Paul McCartney during their second concert.  Despite his father’s statements that John “Will get you into trouble,” Paul maintained a belief in John’s ability, wisdom and heart.   From there they met George Harrison, (who convinced them he was needed for the band after playing for them on the top deck of a bus,) and eventually a young Ringo Starr.  They went through a number of name changes and settled on The Beatles.

John’s music career with fraught with controversy, often from thoughts he shared that were divergent from society’s norm.  He commented often against organized religion, jingoistic foreign policies, civil rights abuses, and always war.  These comments, of course, caused a backlash wherever he went…

• Because he did not care whether his friends were gay or straight, John was derided as a Homosexual during a time when gays and lesbians were undergoing political persecution.
• Because he was open to all possible political thought in solving the many crises he saw, he was labelled a Marxist, Trotskyist, Communist and Socialist when McCarthy was holding court to imprison those with “Anti-American sentiment.”
• Because John wanted to celebrate his open, physical love with Yoko Ono, he was called a sexual exhibitionist and deviant by a Society trying to squelch open sexual expression.
• Because he questioned organized religion’s ability and desire to create a better world, he was called an Atheist, and many a religious family limited their children’s exposure to his music.
• Because he was anti-war as a means to resolve problems between peoples, his FBI files grew considerably as he was watched ever more closely.

It would seem that John was trying to be everything that the greater Authority did not want him to be, exactly when they did not want it.

Tired of growing up in a divisive World, and seeing the terrible effects of war everywhere as he toured, John began to believe that our circumstances could be changed simply by changing our minds.  He began to write songs expressing a desire for nations to cease the quarreling, and to move toward greater peace and harmony.  The album Imagine was released in 1971, and the title song soon thereafter became an anti-war anthem.  The song Happy Xmas (War is Over) was released in December of the same year.  The album’s many topics included upholding women’s rights, pushing for better race relations, and asking for peace in Ireland.

From the moment John Lennon was brought into the World, someone reached out across the dark void of human madness to hold him, to protect him.  When his mother died, again someone stepped up to support him.  Despite his anger and confusion at the greater World around him, John always had supporters.  In each waking moment, he wanted his music to push us all to find each other in the darkness too, to reach out and hold each other.  Before he was taken from us, John Winston Ono Lennon worked diligently and creatively to persuade us all to find the hands of those weaker than us, and to hold them close in protection.

10:50 p.m.  There is a certain rhyme to the days of our life, isn’t there?  A deeper meaning that can be found (or created) even from the moment we are taken away from the World.  When John was taken from us, the face of the clock in the lobby of the Dakota apartment building symbolized John’s message.  The big hand covered the little hand, a symbol of protection and love. A contract between the youngest (and weakest) of us, and those that arrived beforehand and made their own place in the World.

When asked, Yoko Ono stated that there would be no funeral for John.  Some were angered by this choice, and some said that Yoko likely did not want there to be a public spectacle made over John’s life.  I would prefer to think that Yoko refused to say farewell to her love, to allow John’s presence to disappear from the World, so that he would live forever in our hearts and minds.  To this day, Yoko expresses her love for John as a living entity, commemorating and celebrating his message of peace and unity.  Recently she invited the public to join her in re-enacting the famous bed-in anti-war protest that she and John held in 1969 at the Hilton Hotel in Amsterdam and again in Montreal.  It was during the latter bed-in that they recorded “Give Peace a Chance.”

Bless you, John.  Thanks for your message.  With the loving help of Yoko, may we remember you each and every year, commemoriating both your birth and loss by working diligently toward the day when no child comes into the world knowing the sound of war.  May our lives become together rhyming lyrics, and may we never awaken from the poetry of that song…

You can follow Yoko Ono on Twitter.  She tweets messages of love, will follow you back, and from time to time does respond…

1. Impairments – problems in body function or structure
2. Activity Limitations – difficulty encountered by an individual in executing a task or action
3. Participation Restrictions – problems experienced by an individual in involvement in life’s situations

ILO Video featuring actress Marlee Matlin, shown this day, 1997

Out of the estimated 500 million disabled persons in the world, over 350 million of them live where they are not provided any assistance with overcoming theirdisability.  Many disabled persons deal with continued and pervasive cultural and social barriers to their participating in a full life. For women in these countries, the problem is magnified, due to the lack of access to health care, education or training.

In impoverished nations, children with disabilities are often neglected at home, and rejected by peers during the critical years of personality and self-image growth.  Many disabled men and women are denied an equal opportunity to earn a living, as scraping-by employers are unwilling to spend the money needed to provided accommodations.  The elderly are rapidly becoming the largest percentage of disabled peoples, at a time when international healthcare systems are pinching pennies.

Forms of disability

• Physical – orthopedic, neuromuscular, cardiovascular and pulmonary disorders. May be congentical or as a result of injury or disease.
• Sensory - related to inability to sense one’s surroundings completely, including disabilities related sight, sound, smell, touch and hearing.
• Intellectual - having a significantly below average score on an intellectual quotient (IQ) test, have a lessened ability to socialize with others, or care for oneself.
• Psychiatric - having a mental illness that keeps one from learning, communicating or socializing.  Includes anxiety, mood or schizophrenic disorders.
• Psychosocial - mental illness caused or influenced by life experiences, as well as having cognitive and behavioral processes that were “maladjusted.”
• Chronic Disease-related – disabilities that exist because of an illness keeping a person bedridden, weak, or unable to function in society.

Interacting with a disabled person

Individuals requiring wheelchairs:

• If a conversation with someone in a wheelchair goes on for more than a minute or two, you may want to sit down if possible, in order to talk in a physical position denoting equals.
• A wheelchair is part of someone’s personal space.  Don’t lean on it like an armrest, unless your relationship welcomes this behavior by the owner of the chair.
• People in wheelchairs are not “confined” to them.  They use them for enhanced mobility or to conserve limited energy.  Some wheelchair users can transfer to other chairs, cars, buses, etc.  They may use canes, braces or walkers to do so.

Hearing Impaired individuals:

• Remember with deaf and hard of hearing individuals to give time for them to meet your gaze when communicating.  If you point around, they will likely follow your hands.
• Only 25-30% of spoken English is lip-readable, so make sure you enunciate with your mouth.
• If ASL is used to communicate, remember that they are using a different language to communicate, and the inability to manually express a somewhat commonly spoken word is no more a sign of lower intelligence than trying to get an Italian speaker to understand the word “BMX.”  Sometimes further explanation is needed…
• If you are talking to someone who is deaf or has a speech impediment, do not be afraid to ask them to repeat what they say if you misunderstand.

Vision Impaired individuals

• Only a very small minority of people are completely blind. If someone tells you they are legally blind, it means they have between 0-10% normal vision in both eyes, or 20% or less peripheral vision in both eyes.  They see less at 20 feet than you can at 200 feet.
• Announce your presence when entering or leaving a room that has a vision impaired person, and use a normal voice.
• This is such an obvious one, but still bears repeating. You do NOT have to raise your voice when speaking to someone with a vision impairment.
• When giving directions, be specific: straight, left, right, etc.
• If a guide or working dog is used, do not interact with the animal unless you gain permission first.  These animals are working, and should not be distracted.

Speech Impaired individuals

• Encourage the individual to express themselves, but never pressure them to speak if they are uncomfortable.
• Be patient and provide extra time.
• Don’t be afraid to ask the individual to write down what they are trying to say.
• Encourage job-swapping of duties with a coworker with this disability (answering the phone for document retrieval.)

Psychiatric or Psychosocially Impaired persons

• Many people with these forms of disorders deal with a lot of negative, exclusionary responses from others.  Try to mentally “walk in their shoes” before determining how you will act around them.
• Give individuals extra time to perform tasks with you, and be patient with them.
• If behavioral issues in the workplace require you to talk with the boss about a psychosocially disabled co-worker, be ready to accept accommodations in your workplace as the answer, rather than a reprimand.
• Be understanding if they are tired, restless, nauseated or nervous due to medications prescribed them for their disorder.  Often doctors are trying out something new, or determining the proper dosages, and periods of transition time are difficult and sometimes frightening.

In General…

It is okay to talk about running or walking, jumping or swimming, or any other activity you do that a disabled person cannot.  It’s okay to say “look” to someone with vision impairment, or “hear” to someone who is deaf.  They use those words too…

Acknowledge that the physical disability exists; don’t ignore it, as you are ignoring a part of the disabled person’s very existence.

Be accepting at your workplace and around town to the accommodations made for those with physical disabilities.  They are necessary to allow our fellow citizens the same level of access as those without the same limitations.

Avoid using derogatory, limiting, and/or old-fashioned terminology such as:  handicapped, insane, cripple, deaf mute, deformed, gimp, invalid, paralytic, lame, spastic, retarded, afflicted, withered, stricken, wheelchair-bound or confined to a wheelchair.

Examine how you talk about individuals who do not have a disability.  Do you say words such as “able-bodied” or “normal?”  Think about how that must sound around someone who may not fit the description of who you apply those terms to.

The WHO states that defining the term disabled is very complex because it reflects interactions between our body’s features and the features of the society we live in.   In other words, as the norms of society change, what we define as a disability also changes to reflect.  With the rapid advance and ever-increasing complexity of technology all around us, will we one day also have individuals society considers technologically disabled?  We already have a sub-set of people who need assistance in using the ATM slider in grocery stores, or help with filling out online applications.

If you wish to help or learn more about organizations that work hard to provide help to disabled persons all around the world, a great place to start is here…

Between duty assignments, my parents would fly or drive us back to California’s conservative Central San Joaquin Valley, where we would all try to reconnect again.  There were plenty of awkward hugs and furtive glances to share, as my cousins and I became reacquainted, eventually playing and loving each others’ company again, while the grandparents, uncles and aunts sat at the table and caught up, often in hushed whispers or bellowed laughter.

There were a few times when our parents had to make arrangements for our next duty assignment, and left my older brother and I with the grandparents for a few days.  I have memories of feeling like a stranger lying in my grandparents’ spare bedroom, and resenting it, filled with jealousy for the cousins who knew the carpet, the paintings, the chairs and kitchen table intimately.  I have fond memories of my Grandfather Pete’s big, beaming, sun-carved face, smiling across the table at me early in the morning as he put bread in his glass of milk.  My Grandparents had moved to California during the Great Depression, and lived very simple lives.

A field hand all of his life, Grandfather Pete’s hands were layered with yellow, scratchy calluses, his fingers criss-crossed with long-healed and newly opened cracks.  I loved to watch his hands as he ate his breakfast with me.  Grandfather Pete told story after story, as my Grandmother Adelaide stood laughing at the stove, frying bacon, one eye closed against the line of smoke coming from the Marlboro Red dangling from her lower lip.

It was during one of these layovers, at around the age of 8 or 9, that I met uncle Pete (named after my grandfather.)  He was 16 at the time, and already causing fits with his parents, as he was proving to be quite a bit different from his 3 brothers.  He was not interested in sports, never made a girlfriend from the many young women who enjoyed his company so much, and seemed moody and indrawn often.  My faint memory of Uncle Pete was of a brooding, lonely young man, a dark question mark in my extended family’s life.  I knew Pete was dealing with a big inner struggle, but I lacked the time to pierce the shell.  Pete would remain a stranger to me.

We soon left for Italy for five long, wonderful years.  I never saw Uncle Pete in person again, but stories did from time to time waft over from my parents as they read aloud revelations received through long letters from Grandmother.  When Pete Jr. was 18, he revealed to the family that he was gay, that he was in love with another young man, and begged for their acceptance.  Sadly, this was denied him, and he bitterly moved away, to a variety of locales, eventually making his way to San Francisco, where he was embraced and came to know friends, lovers and a new family.  From time to time, Pete wrote letters, but they were unwelcome.

Many years ago, after spending time in the military myself, having had children and had settled into my own life, I wanted to come to terms with my loss of strong bonds with extended family. I wondered about my cousins and uncles, and especially Uncle Pete.  Pete had remained a question mark to me, and AIDS had been doing its evil in cutting down so many gay men.  I labored for hours in Internet searches, trying to find any snippet of news stories that could possibly include Pete.  Perhaps a raise at a company, speaking out at a City Hall meeting, a whimsical photo in the paper, or even a Civil Union announcement. Anything.  I am a diligent researcher, and unfortunately met with success.  My Uncle Pete had passed away years before.

It was presumptuous to believe AIDS took Pete from our lives.  He could’ve died of Cancer or Heart Disease like his father and mother before him.  But I knew it was AIDS, in my heart of hearts.  I just knew, and didn’t know why.  It took me years to move past the anger over Pete never having received the acceptance and love we all so dearly need in life.  I love my uncles, and do believe a few of them would finally accept Pete if he were alive today…

Today is National AIDS Awareness Day, and I have seen so many wonderful red avatars on Twitter in memory of those lives lost to this terrible malady.  A thought crossed my mind earlier today, that it would be nice to go to the AIDS Quilt project and see if it were possible for Twitter and FaceBook users to download a photo of a quilt square for use as a social media avatar.  I visited the AIDS Quilt website, and discovered a search mechanism you could use to search by name for people in a square.  People could look up someone who had shared their name, and use that as an avatar – how very meaningful and a tender reminder of life’s fleeting connections!

First, I thought I would search for Steve and see how many men sharing my name had lives commemorated on the quilt.  There were so many….  These were men like myself: loving someone, working each and every day beside the rest of us, caring and kind men, just regular guys brought down before achieving all they could in their life.  How many had been denied acceptance and love too, like my Uncle Pete?

My Uncle Pete.  Peter James Woods.  My fingers hovered over the keyboard, as I stared at the search box.  Dare I?  I slowly typed in his name, looked it over no less than 3 times, and clicked on the Search button…

I finally had my answer, to how my Uncle Pete had died, and as my eyes scanned the rest of the quilt square, I saw all of the men beside him commemorated, loved, missed.  These men were strangers to Pete just as I was, yet he and they were stitched forever in one terrible, shared experience.

Uncle Pete had been loved.  Here was the evidence.  Pete had been lost to those that cared about him the most, accepted him for who he was.  They saw the man outside of the shell.  I would like to think that my Uncle Pete had come to know a loving family, and during his too-short life had come to forgive our family for not accepting him.

I miss you, Pete.  I love you, and always will.

I thought I’d start out with a propaganda film from the 1950′s regarding Homosexuality, just to put you in the mood…

The video was created in 1961 by filmmaker Sid Davis, and was funded by both the Inglewood Police Department and his Inglewood Unified School District. In those days, it was acceptable for government monies to help propagate the myth that Homosexuality was a “sickness of the mind,” or that gay men were pedophiles. Although as a rule we’ve stopped using government funds to share such idiocy, the myths still exist in the minds of people we come across daily, and the ideals resulting from such falsehoods still slip out of the mouths of many.

Three days ago, I blocked a person on Twitter, an action that I reserve for spam-bots, britney-bots, someone trying to sell me something, people who are rude or obnoxious, and your garden-variety bigots. This particular person fell under the last of those categories, and I had no qualms whatsoever as the block happened in a knee-jerk manner.

The last tweet I will ever see from the guy read something like this, “Here’s my daily sound-off on the Muslims. They have no business being in America. Round em up and ship em off.” (I changed it a bit so nobody would find the guy using Twitter Search and slam him too badly…)

I don’t miss the guy, and he was completely lost to memory until I saw what day it was today – International Day of Tolerance. So the question arose in me – Was I, too, being intolerant? Should I have continued to follow the guy, despite his demonstrated hatred of those he obviously knew little about?

The Importance of Tolerance

The next time you’re walking down a crowded street, take a moment to think about the incredible variety of backgrounds surrounding you. The man walking by you enjoying his latté may have come from grandparents who were chased from their homeland by people hating their faith. The woman juggling the cell phone while folding and tucking the newly purchased newspaper may have heard hushed stories from her father about dear friends or relatives being killed simply because of their race.

We are the culmination of the co-mingled hopes and dreams of our ancestors, the centuries of hard work and strife as each generation before ours was pushed forward, cajoled and upbraided, supported and loved. We are also the product of the intolerance our ancestors suffered, as well as the intolerance they may have shown to others. The wounds are still there, if you look closely enough, listen carefully enough. You can still easily find the stereotyping, the racial jokes, the homophobic commentary, and the fear and anger it incites in those that are ultimately its victims, the pain and hardship that stereotyped individuals have had to endure.

With each passing generation, the anger dims a bit, as tolerance spreads further, rippling outward from those that are exemplars of it. There also remain those that abhor tolerance, angry vacuums of bigotry, using all available means to suck in those that are unprepared to face the variety of existence around them. It is our role to face these black holes of hatred head-on, to become immune to their poisons, so that others do not lose their entire lives to it.

Raised to See the Difference?

We have grown up in a world that sees the differences, categorizing each other since early childhood. The playgrounds and hallways of our youth held the jocks, the populars, the socials, the nerds, the loners, the rockers, the goths, the emos, the eggheads, the geeks and endless other categories of those that were different. Some of us wended and weaved among these groups, picking and choosing friends as we found fellowship in the varied ranks of many. Many of us did not, choosing one group or another to temporarily identify with.

Tolerance must be learned, must be shared and supported as a life-skill. Without it, our children will not be able to wend and weave their way through life, will find it difficult to reach across those artificial boundaries, and will be stunted in their ability to connect to a wider World filled with different people being rapidly woven together through social media and technology. Without the ability to tolerate, people get paid by us to make movies to frighten our children with lies. And worse.

The Teaching of Tolerance

“The highest result of education is tolerance.” ~ Helen Keller

The teaching of tolerance begins at home, with how we behave and what we say around our family, especially our children. Even the smallest allowance for stereotyping or discrimination cracks the door ajar for more, like dirty little flies scurrying into our home.

Avoid stereotyping -It is assumed that if you are reading this post, you know that people of all races are equally as intelligent, as funny, as quiet, as athletic, as studious, as hardworking. Avoid the urge to lump in others who may share a physical trait, sexual orientation, or religious faith, no matter how many similarities you believe you have found in your experience. Young children reside in what must seem to be a very complicated world, and many will readily grasp at these oversimplifications. It’s a nasty little short-cut that bypasses true learning about the people around them, and should be avoided at all costs.

Avoid derogatory terms - If you have used derogatory terms in the past, stop. And not just around your children, either. Never denigrate others, no matter what they have done to offend or hurt you. If you must vent, avoid the use of degrading terms related to race, sexual preference or religious background. If you tell jokes or “funny” stories with those terms, you are simply hurting your children’s ability to tolerate differences they come across in others later in life. Examine the use of terms such as “That’s so gay,” and you will see how it poisons the atmosphere for others.

Be the example – Start at home and begin to learn how to tolerate the differences in opinion your spouse and children have with you. Listening is key in this. The former head of the United Nations Kofi Annan, one of the most powerful negotiators in modern times, is noted for his ability to listen at the bargaining table. Ask simple and meaningful questions to learn how other’s think, and they in turn will be more open to your thoughts. Speak respectfully, even in the heat of an argument. And try to keep your opinions to yourself when it comes to how your teens’ friends dress.

From Tolerance to Acceptance

The word tolerance has the connotation of “putting up with” someone, rather than accepting them. When we merely put up with working in the presence of an openly gay person, we are practicing the 2nd definition of tolerance, allowing for a so-called variation or deviation from what we believe to be the personal standard or societal norm. But if you discovered your coworkers merely put up with your presence in the office, how would it affect you? Where we define the area to draw our acceptable standards from is one way to move toward acceptance.

You can choose to restrict the definition of acceptable behavior to that found within your own home, where everybody comes from shared values, experiences, race and faith. Anyone outside this tight circle would be a variation, a deviation of some sort. But move your vision to the neighborhood, and what is acceptable expands with the borderline. Now we have to include in what is “normal” the Gays and Lesbians, Muslims and Jews, Blacks, Hispanics and Whites that reside within this wider circle. So many new capitalized words! So many interesting people!

When you move the sweep of the circle to encompass our entire nation, the variations are almost impossible to behold, and the border defining what is the standard blurs. If this is from where you draw your definition of standard or norm, then you must now see the Bisexuals, Transgenders, people of mixed-race, all variety of faiths and intra-faith sects, agnostics and atheists, and so forth. Gets pretty hard now, doesn’t it, to place someone as a variation or deviation from the standard, huh?

Of course, many of us expand of our circle of acceptance only to the boundaries of our chosen faith and/or morality, and I understand this concept. I cannot fault you for doing so, and do appreciate the extent to which some of us live closer to those boundaries, for it is at those moral walls that we hear the voices of the Outsiders. Perhaps from time to time we can peek around and say hello…

Teaching Ourselves Acceptance

So how do we draw such a big circle, and move ourselves from tolerance to acceptance?

Learn about other faiths – From Churches and Synagogues to Mosques and Temples, go out and learn about others’ faiths by participating in events there, and meeting their adherents. Scan your local newspaper’s faith section for cultural fairs, open houses and open worship nights. Say hello, try some interesting foods, ask a bunch of questions, mispronounce things, pick up some literature, and enjoy the similarities found in our common desire toward morally desirable behavior. Look for interfaith alliance groups and lend your voice, too.

Show support for people of all sexual orientations – There’s plenty of space in Gay Pride parades for straight people to help hold up those big, beautiful banners. Ask your local chapter of PFLAG (Parents, Family and Friends of Gays and Lesbians) if they need any help with fundraising or activities. Attend candlelight vigils in support of equal marriage rights, and share a cup of coffee with those seeking legal acceptance of life-long love and commitment. Read and learn about the difficulties encountered in the lives of transgenders. Don’t worry, they’ll like you, too…

Become a community advocate against Racism – Donate time and/or money to help organizations that combat Racism in your community. Make a few phone calls and ask if you can help flip pancakes for fundraisers, or attend speeches by civil rights leaders who come to town. Take some time off from work to march with others whenever you can. Shake hands and meet people in attendance, and begin networking with them. Write to your local paper and exhort others to join in rallies against Racism and bigotry.

Creating a Global Standard

But what of an even grander sweep of vision, encompassing the incredible richness of human life on our whole planet? Can you draw your circle of friends this wide? In this view, we gaze upon all of humanity, and all ethnic, religious and sexual differences disappear. We are left viewing the breadth of “human” existence. From this standpoint, our backgrounds, orientations and preferences are no longer limited to what is valued in just our family, our neighborhood, our region or nation. We become a part of the human PhotoShop colorwheel, blending into the person next to us, interconnected and part of a loving rainbow.

In a global existence, it is much easier to move from tolerance of others to acceptance of all. From this place, how far is it to move into the warm embrace of those around us? We are all equals, with so much to learn from each other. We talk and share openly, visit each other’s places of worship in respect and admiration, breaking a variety of breads in fellowship at each other’s tables. A much greater compassion is learned from connecting with each other, and soon, those that discriminate and differentiate become the variation from the standard.

The Global Standard and Social Media

Social media is teaching us to look across borders, finding fellowship in the wonderful people of all races, all backgrounds, all preferences. We sign up, log on, and are soon swimming in what seems to be, at first, a sea of difference. As we talk and share, view pictures of loved ones and celebrations, listen to music on instruments we cannot pronounce, receive recipes for foods we previously did not know existed, the armor of our stereotypes begin to fail us. With the veil of distance removed, we go from seeing the differences to the similarities we all hold, and reveling in our new-found together-ness.

So was I being too harsh on the guy who was bashing all Muslims? Should I have left him in my stream as a sign of tolerance? I don’t think so, and here’s why. Tolerance has its limits. We should never tolerate words that harm or threaten to harm another. Race-baiting, religious intolerance, and hatred run counter to the desired goal of greater tolerance and acceptance. I choose not to provide a forum for poisonous behavior, to lend even a speck of legitimacy by having him listed in my followers. I don’t have time for haters, because I am spending all of my time in the company of wonderful people here seeking to know me, as I come to know them…

The story of Husayn Ali

Takur, near Tehran, Iran, where Husayn Ali was born

Husayn Ali was born on November 12, 1817 in Tehran, Iran, to the home of an aristocrat, a government minister, who could trace his own ancestry deep into ancient Iranian nobility. Raised in wealth, Husayn did not receive a regular public education, instead learning to ride horses, write calligraphy, handle a sword, and the recitation of romantic poetry.

In Husayn’s culture it was believed that precocious children likely would not survive into adulthood, so his family was quite concerned over him. He more than made up for his outspokenness in intelligence and wisdom beyond his years. Despite his inexperience, even learned Muslims could be found consulting with him regarding intricate religious matters; not because Husayn knew the answer already, but because he had a mind for figuring these complex issues out.

The puppet show

We are only puppets, our strings are being pulled by unknown forces. ~ George Buchner

What strings pull us around our lives?

Husayn once wrote that as a child, he was brought to watch a puppet show, one of the popular forms of public entertainment at the time. As often happened, the puppeteer had crafted this performance to make a public statement, the story being about the political motives and greed of a corrupt king’s court. Husayn was both bothered and intrigued by the performance; however, what happened after the little curtain was drawn and the other children were leaving played an important part in shaping Husayn’s mind and future. Husayn noted the puppeteer stepping out from behind the curtain and leaving the premises with a big box under his arm.

Curious and unafraid, Husayn asked the man what was in the box. “All this lavish display and these elaborate devices,” the man replied, “the king, the princes, and the ministers, their pomp and glory, their might and power, everything you saw, are now contained within this box.” The concept that all of the tapestries of life, those material items struggled toward, that we all-too-often witness the lives of others being destroyed over, could be rendered lifeless and carried away. All could be lost at the very gates of death, at the end of our live’s performance, as we too are boxed and buried. As these thoughts coalesced in little Husayn’s mind, he suddenly viewed all of our lifelong material struggles as nothing more important than children’s playthings, mere past-times, we playing the role of puppets to unknown masters.

What drives our lives?

We are no longer puppets being manipulated by outside powerful forces: we become the powerful force ourselves. ~ Leo Buscaglia

It's not a bad goal to have...

A desire to have a strong, loving and committed relationship with our significant other. A need to see success in our children’s lives, to know they will be secure in their futures. The ability to retire in relative comfort, with a roof over our heads and not a worry about money. A desire to attain notoriety in our field of endeavor, to be seen as contributing. A wish to be loved by others, whether in a small office or on the big screen. A brand new Mustang convertible is always good. There are millions of hopes and dreams we all have, sharing more than a handful of them with most. Sometimes these dreams are directly in competition with someone else’s. Where did these hopes, desires, and dreams come from? Who pulls our strings?

When Husayn’s father passed away, the very desirable and financially secure ministerial position he held was offered to Husayn, who turned it down to pursue a life of charitable work, wishing to put to good use his belief that the pursuit of wealth and title were nothing compared to the care of others. He worked diligently to improve the lives of the many poor in the surrounding community, earning him reverence and the title of “Father of the Poor.”

Who pulls our strings?

Men are not great or small because of their material possessions. They are great or small because of what they are. ~ James Cash Penney

Wait! Don't run off just yet!

Before you hit the Close Window button on your browser, I’m not on a soapbox today. There’s nothing wrong with buying a lot of cool things and keeping them. I’m staring at twin 27″ screens, when I could’ve done this sort of work on a simple 15″ one. There’s a whisper quiet brandy new PC under my desk, running Windows 7. My shiny (but not so new) iPhone is always within arm’s length. I own way too many weird ties and an assortment of coffee cups. But bear with me for a bit…

We have to work to survive, so we work. For most of us, it means the job you did not dream of as a child, because the income was nice, the benefits pretty decent, we had a family that prefers food on the table, and there’s a decent retirement plan on the horizon. We’re busy after work driving our children to appointments, baking something for fundraisers, getting our garages ready for the next yard sale, and trying to keep ahead of the impending Christmas shopping rush. Basically treading water, right?

It’s a difficult economy right now, and I’m starting to look at the Christmas list with a bit of tredipation. I likely won’t be spending quite as much as last year, and am feeling a twinge of guilt about it. But you know what? I’m starting to ask myself why I feel bad about it. Do I have to spend every cent I have in the malls purchasing more of those trinkets to eventually store in the boxes in my garage, or for my kids to toss in the closet with the ghosts of Christmas past? Are the unknown forces that drove my father and his father going to drive me too, or will I take a new path in life?

The dangers of stepping through unknown Gates

The World is all gates, all opportunities, strings of tension waiting to be struck. ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

Downtown Tehran, early 1900s

In 1844, a young man by the name of Siyyid Alí-Muhammad changed Husayn’s life forever. Siyyid referred to himself as the Báb, which meant “the Gate” in Arabic, and proclaimed that all faiths served a single God, and therefore must come together in unison. Siyyid made sure everyone understood that he wasn’t that person, but that he would soon come. What the Báb taught rocked Iran’s nobility and faithful, and his renown spread quickly, with Husayn becoming one his most ardent supporters. To the clerics, supported by and controlling the government, it would appear a movement was afoot, and fears slowly grew that they might someday lose power…

Four years after Siyyid introduced his new philosophy, Husayn found himself a captive of the government, being tortured for his support of the Báb, as his captors repeatedly beat the soles of his feet with long wooden rods. It was only the start of many such episodes in his life, as he was either chased to or sent to a variety of prison locations, ending up over 2,800 km from his place of birth.

What will be the legacy to my children?

It’s a bit daunting, the concept of figuring out what drives my life. But I don’t want to be known affectionately in the future by my children as the guy that once got them the Wii Mario Cart game. I want to be known as the guy who taught them how to freely say “I’m sorry,” upon discovering they wronged someone. I’d much rather be remembered as the man that taught them loving acceptance of the wonderful variations of humanity around them, than the guy who brought home a piping hot cheese pizza every Friday night. That said, I also want to enjoy a nice pizza and beat their cheerful little butts on the Wii once in awhile.

It’s a balancing act, isn’t it? To be a good parent, to remember to teach the lasting life skills in a patient manner, while still providing the many material objects that my kids (and I have to admit that I) drool over in the store. I have to build the Gate through which they’ll cross from idealistic, angst-filled teens to loving and decent adults. And I have to help them walk that sometimes tortuous path.

Cutting the Strings

My desire to exit the game is greater than my desire to remain in it. I have searched my heart through and through and feel comfortable with this decision. ~ Barry Sanders

Prison in Akka, Israel. Husayn's cell in upper right corner.

In 1850 the Báb was killed, along with a number of his most ardent supporters by government forces and the powerful clerics. Although Husayn was spared execution, he was sent off to a prisons in Tehran, Adrianople, Istanbul and Akka, each place progressively worse. And in each of these fetid, smelly, dark places he received revelations, divine images telling him things he had difficulty understanding or accepting.

According to the visions, Husayn was the chosen one spoken of by the Báb. A year after arriving in Baghdad, Husayn took leave from his family and followers, and went up into the nearby mountains of Sulaymaniyyih for 2 years, to consider in solitude how to accept this mantle, and what he must do. When he returned, he began writing a number of religious books, and with renewed vigor the Bábi community rapidly embraced him as a leader.

Ten years later, in 1853, Husayn officially proclaimed himself to be the Bahá’u'lláh, the chosen one that the Bab referred to, the promised one he believed was to be found in all scriptures, who had now come to unite the faiths in brotherhood. And he was once again sent off to prisons in faraway lands.

I have some cutting to do...

I’m not going to be around forever. Duh. To be a better parent to my children, I have to intensify my focus on them, to listen to the voices in my head that tell me to take the time and teach, to slow myself and them down, to offer both toys and wisdom. I have to cut some of the strings in my life, too. I have to cut the string that says I have to spend all of my hard-earned money each month. Or the big ol’ credit card stringie. I have to cut the string that says I have to always get that new, shiny thing even though the old thing still works. The watch every football game string (that’s a painful one…) Oh, there are a variety of other invisible strings pulling me around, and I will have to take some time examining (and cutting) some of them too… But I know my kids and fiancée are worth it…

Staying out of the box

In 1867 Bahá’u'lláh penned letters to all of the leaders of the great nations including Emperor Napoleon III, Queen Victoria, Kaiser Wilhelm I, Tsar Alexander II, Emperor Franz Joseph, Pope Pius IX, Sultan Abdul-Aziz, and the Iranian ruler, Nasiri’d-Din Shah, telling them that he was a messenger of God, and exhorting them all to join God’s plan in putting down their arms and working together in peace and unity.

Even more than being a good parent to my children, I want to be a good citizen of the World. I want to understand, to embrace the varieties of existence around me. I believe as long as I keep my eyes (and mind) wide open, I just might be able to stay outside of that little box for awhile…

Bahá’u'lláh and the Bahá’í Faith

And suddenly, like light in darkness, the real truth broke in upon me; the simple fact of Man, which I had forgotten, which had lain deep buried and out of sight; the idea of community, of unity. ~ Ernst Toller

As a result of angry response to his letters to World leaders, Bahá’u'lláh was finally exiled to the prison city of Akka, Israel, to join the murderers, theives and political prisoners sent there by the Ottomans. It was believed that Bahá’u'lláh and his followers would die there, and that the new faith would soon crumble without his continued presence.

Within months of arriving under harsh treatment, Bahá’u'lláh and his follower’s treated the sick and suffering in silence, an act which led authorities in Akka to lower restrictions against them, including finally allowing visitors, who travelled hundreds of miles to see their religious leader. During this time, Bahá’u'lláh began laying out the essentials of the Bahá’í faith as it is known today, creating a roadmap of how the World could come together. After having accomplished so much in sharing the message he had received, after having lived as an exemplar of spiritual philanthropy, Bahá’u'lláh died peacefully in 1892.

We can all live together, regardless of faith...

In case you were wondering, I’m not a member of the Bahá’í faith. I am a very liberal Jew in the Reformist tradition, reaching out to and learning from the words embodied in a variety of faiths. I can see many merits in the Bahá’í philosophy of unity and caring for each other, and have noted these same exhortations in a variety of religions. I can see the value of Bahá’u'lláh’s desire to see all of us control our own destinies, ignoring those that tell us to live meaningless lives in pursuit of things that tarnish with time, and erasing the many boundaries that have been constructed to separate us from one another.

In celebration of the birth of the founder of their faith, Bahá’í houses of worship and national centers near you are holding special programs, artistic performances tonight, as well as offering to the public food and refreshments, kindness and fellowship. If you are up to it, feel free to step through a new Gate and join them. You just might find out a way to stay out of that box too…

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