Thursday, November 24, 2005
For unto us a child is born
By Russell King
For those of us who call ourselves Christians, the season of Advent (explained below) is close upon us. From the 8th century, it's been observed as a time of fasting and contemplating Christ's birth, teaching and example. And, as an American dad, I have to ask:
What does it mean to be a dad in a world in which 6 million children die each year, mostly from hunger-related causes?
What does it mean to be a dad in a country where, just before Thanksgiving, the U.S. House of Representatives votes to cut $700 million dollars from the food stamp program, cutting off 235,000 people who will now go hungry? Further, what does it mean to be a dad with the realization that the $700 million cut by cutting off 235,000 poor people is less than the tax cut that President Bush and Congress gave to Bill Gates alone?
What does it mean when we allow 235,000 people are going to go hungry so that a single individual can keep billions of dollars, in addition to the billions he already has? So where are our priorities, our values?
What sort of dad allows this to continue? For Christian dads: How close or how far are we from Christ's teaching and example? It's something on which we may wish to meditate during this season of Advent. Of course, the moral questions raised by the poverty, hunger and death around us, and by our priorities and policies as a people, are not for Christians alone. Dads of all faiths, or no faith, have cause for serious contemplation. And action.
This past year brought the hope of new political will to end hunger and poverty, as the ONE Campaign (www.one.org) in the United States, and similar campaigns in 80 other countries, engaged millions of people in new efforts to end to extreme poverty, hunger and disease. An unprecedented array of religious and secular groups have organized to address the root causes of these problems. They are responding not only through charity, but also by calling on our elected officials to make genuine human development for the poorest people and nations a top U.S. policy priority. More and more Christians are finding – in the ONE Campaign, the Micah Challenge (www.micahchallenge.org) , and the Catholic Campaign Against Global Poverty (www.usccb.org/sdwp/globalpoverty) – ways of acting on their faith to advocate for debt cancellation, trade justice and robust increases in poverty-focused development assistance. Advent can be our time to learn about these efforts, pray for their effectiveness and thus respond with greater energy in 2006 to better the lives and ensure the dignity of all children.
Bread for the World, an advocacy organization on hunger and poverty issues, has developed Advent resources use in our churches. Click here to download a quidebook from Bread for the World with suggestions for congregational efforts. The folks there remind us: "'Unto us a child is born, unto us a Son is given,'" Isaiah declares. As we prepare to receive the Christ child anew in this season of Advent, our faith compels us to hear the cry of all children, especially poor children. We must remember that every day millions of children are born suffering from hunger and poverty. Many of them will die of preventable disease. If we are to receive the Christ child fully into our hearts... we must take on God's passionate concern for the world's poor and oppressed people. This Advent and Christmas, let us remember with Isaiah that the Child who brings light to those 'who walk in darkness' tells us that if we 'offer food to the hungry and satisfy the needs of the afflicted,' our own 'light shall rise in the darkness' and our 'gloom shall be like the noonday.'" (Isaiah 58)There is much we are called to do in the face of poverty and hunger. Let's give it some consideration as we walk off yesterday's feast and prepare for the coming celebrations.
Advent in a nutshell: Advent is a holy season of the Christian church, the period of preparation for the celebration of the Nativity of Christ, or Christmas. It is the beginning of the Christian year (except in the Eastern churches, whose year begins on September 1). In Eastern Orthodox churches—where it is also called the Nativity Fast, Winter Lent, or the Christmas Lent—it lasts forty days, beginning on November 15, and in other churches from the Sunday nearest to St. Andrew's Day (30th of November) until Christmas. In Western Christianity, Advent begins on the fourth Sunday before Christmas. The earliest Advent can begin is November 27 and the latest is December 3. Very often Advent begins on the Sunday after the American Thanksgiving. Technically speaking, Advent ends on December 23.
By Russell King
For those of us who call ourselves Christians, the season of Advent (explained below) is close upon us. From the 8th century, it's been observed as a time of fasting and contemplating Christ's birth, teaching and example. And, as an American dad, I have to ask:
What does it mean to be a dad in a world in which 6 million children die each year, mostly from hunger-related causes?
What does it mean to be a dad in a country where, just before Thanksgiving, the U.S. House of Representatives votes to cut $700 million dollars from the food stamp program, cutting off 235,000 people who will now go hungry? Further, what does it mean to be a dad with the realization that the $700 million cut by cutting off 235,000 poor people is less than the tax cut that President Bush and Congress gave to Bill Gates alone?
What does it mean when we allow 235,000 people are going to go hungry so that a single individual can keep billions of dollars, in addition to the billions he already has? So where are our priorities, our values?
What sort of dad allows this to continue? For Christian dads: How close or how far are we from Christ's teaching and example? It's something on which we may wish to meditate during this season of Advent. Of course, the moral questions raised by the poverty, hunger and death around us, and by our priorities and policies as a people, are not for Christians alone. Dads of all faiths, or no faith, have cause for serious contemplation. And action.
This past year brought the hope of new political will to end hunger and poverty, as the ONE Campaign (www.one.org) in the United States, and similar campaigns in 80 other countries, engaged millions of people in new efforts to end to extreme poverty, hunger and disease. An unprecedented array of religious and secular groups have organized to address the root causes of these problems. They are responding not only through charity, but also by calling on our elected officials to make genuine human development for the poorest people and nations a top U.S. policy priority. More and more Christians are finding – in the ONE Campaign, the Micah Challenge (www.micahchallenge.org) , and the Catholic Campaign Against Global Poverty (www.usccb.org/sdwp/globalpoverty) – ways of acting on their faith to advocate for debt cancellation, trade justice and robust increases in poverty-focused development assistance. Advent can be our time to learn about these efforts, pray for their effectiveness and thus respond with greater energy in 2006 to better the lives and ensure the dignity of all children.
Bread for the World, an advocacy organization on hunger and poverty issues, has developed Advent resources use in our churches. Click here to download a quidebook from Bread for the World with suggestions for congregational efforts. The folks there remind us: "'Unto us a child is born, unto us a Son is given,'" Isaiah declares. As we prepare to receive the Christ child anew in this season of Advent, our faith compels us to hear the cry of all children, especially poor children. We must remember that every day millions of children are born suffering from hunger and poverty. Many of them will die of preventable disease. If we are to receive the Christ child fully into our hearts... we must take on God's passionate concern for the world's poor and oppressed people. This Advent and Christmas, let us remember with Isaiah that the Child who brings light to those 'who walk in darkness' tells us that if we 'offer food to the hungry and satisfy the needs of the afflicted,' our own 'light shall rise in the darkness' and our 'gloom shall be like the noonday.'" (Isaiah 58)There is much we are called to do in the face of poverty and hunger. Let's give it some consideration as we walk off yesterday's feast and prepare for the coming celebrations.
Advent in a nutshell: Advent is a holy season of the Christian church, the period of preparation for the celebration of the Nativity of Christ, or Christmas. It is the beginning of the Christian year (except in the Eastern churches, whose year begins on September 1). In Eastern Orthodox churches—where it is also called the Nativity Fast, Winter Lent, or the Christmas Lent—it lasts forty days, beginning on November 15, and in other churches from the Sunday nearest to St. Andrew's Day (30th of November) until Christmas. In Western Christianity, Advent begins on the fourth Sunday before Christmas. The earliest Advent can begin is November 27 and the latest is December 3. Very often Advent begins on the Sunday after the American Thanksgiving. Technically speaking, Advent ends on December 23.
Friday, November 18, 2005
The sign reads "Thanks to: Brian + Alma Hart, Senator Kennedy, and everyone else who care for our wellbeing and makes an effort -- you have saved lives." See the story behind the picture in the post below.
A grieving American dad gives thanks
Brian Hart and his wife Alma lost their 20-year-old son, John Daniel Hart two years ago. Shortly before he died, John told his father that he and his buddies were concerned that their Humvee had no bulletproof armor--or even metal doors. Sadly, he was right to be concerned. Here is Brian's letter of 11/05/05. --Russ We received this photo by email from Sgt. Nick Pulliam in Iraq. An excerpt from the email was, “I attached a photo that you might want to post. The vehicle in question was hit by an IED on the road from …. The entire crew was o.k. thanks to the added armor. Our convoy witnessed this explosion and we were first on site to recover the vehicle. It now resides on our lot ….Thanks again for your, and Alma's, efforts on our behalf.” I have stared at the photo in humble appreciation over the weekend trying to decide whether or not to post it. After all, we should be thanking the Pulliams of this world instead, the unheralded soldiers who did their job, those willing to go in harms way, come what may.
Since John was killed two years ago, Alma and I wanted to get the word out about the shortages of equipment with the simple mission of reducing casualties – of doing right by him for the comrades he was willing to die for. We never wanted to be the story – just get the problem solved and move on. But over time, somewhere, somehow, we became hopelessly intertwined in the prickly vines of our time that ensnare our hearts and threaten to smother the soul of our nation.
I would put Nick’s photo in a box safely away with similar photos of wrecked vehicles we’ve received and alongside the crude cardboard memorial built by John’s comrades as an ad hoc memorial – a simple frame made of wood from a crate, painted white – the collected treasures of our heart. The phrase in Nick’s picture written on cardboard with a marker that caused me to change my mind and forward his message along is, “thanks … everybody who cares for our wellbeing and makes an effort. You have saved lives.” Alma and I are mindful of the great many that went above and beyond the call to get the issue of body and vehicular armor addressed over the last two years. To those that wonder if their individual efforts ever made a difference against the stupidity of uncaring bureaucrats and the insanity of our times. So I have decided to post this photo. Also I forward to you by email this humble letter of thanks as you were part of the solution and did something.
As I think over the last two years, I hardly know who to thank first. There are so many to whom we are indebted, and almost all of whom desire anonymity (You can see the full list at the link above. -- Russ): Sen. Kennedy for taking us seriously and going to bat for soldiers ... He will never get the credit he deserves; Sen. Reed ... for being on the ball from the beginning; ... Rep. Murtha ... Without his help ... I’m certain hundreds, if not a thousand, more would be dead; ... soldiers that risked their careers to tell us the truth in emails and phone calls to cold and lonely graveside testimonials; relatives and friends who wrote letters to officials, who tried to hand letters to Cheney, who would not accept them; Sen. McCain who swung a few critical votes to keep the humvee plant running; ... Soldiers for the Truth and Operation Truth for being a forum and honest broker of news for enlisted personnel unable to speak up for themselves. I want to thank the many journalists that stood up and helped us and to shame those gray and timid souls that didn’t -- a public affairs statement from the Pentagon is not the whole news and sometimes not even the truth.
So I type our thanks with tear-blurred eyes and cloudy mind -- to everyone who cared for the soldiers’ welfare and made an effort to make a difference – together perhaps we did. --Sincerely, Brian & Alma Hart
Brian Hart and his wife Alma lost their 20-year-old son, John Daniel Hart two years ago. Shortly before he died, John told his father that he and his buddies were concerned that their Humvee had no bulletproof armor--or even metal doors. Sadly, he was right to be concerned. Here is Brian's letter of 11/05/05. --Russ We received this photo by email from Sgt. Nick Pulliam in Iraq. An excerpt from the email was, “I attached a photo that you might want to post. The vehicle in question was hit by an IED on the road from …. The entire crew was o.k. thanks to the added armor. Our convoy witnessed this explosion and we were first on site to recover the vehicle. It now resides on our lot ….Thanks again for your, and Alma's, efforts on our behalf.” I have stared at the photo in humble appreciation over the weekend trying to decide whether or not to post it. After all, we should be thanking the Pulliams of this world instead, the unheralded soldiers who did their job, those willing to go in harms way, come what may.
Since John was killed two years ago, Alma and I wanted to get the word out about the shortages of equipment with the simple mission of reducing casualties – of doing right by him for the comrades he was willing to die for. We never wanted to be the story – just get the problem solved and move on. But over time, somewhere, somehow, we became hopelessly intertwined in the prickly vines of our time that ensnare our hearts and threaten to smother the soul of our nation.
I would put Nick’s photo in a box safely away with similar photos of wrecked vehicles we’ve received and alongside the crude cardboard memorial built by John’s comrades as an ad hoc memorial – a simple frame made of wood from a crate, painted white – the collected treasures of our heart. The phrase in Nick’s picture written on cardboard with a marker that caused me to change my mind and forward his message along is, “thanks … everybody who cares for our wellbeing and makes an effort. You have saved lives.” Alma and I are mindful of the great many that went above and beyond the call to get the issue of body and vehicular armor addressed over the last two years. To those that wonder if their individual efforts ever made a difference against the stupidity of uncaring bureaucrats and the insanity of our times. So I have decided to post this photo. Also I forward to you by email this humble letter of thanks as you were part of the solution and did something.
As I think over the last two years, I hardly know who to thank first. There are so many to whom we are indebted, and almost all of whom desire anonymity (You can see the full list at the link above. -- Russ): Sen. Kennedy for taking us seriously and going to bat for soldiers ... He will never get the credit he deserves; Sen. Reed ... for being on the ball from the beginning; ... Rep. Murtha ... Without his help ... I’m certain hundreds, if not a thousand, more would be dead; ... soldiers that risked their careers to tell us the truth in emails and phone calls to cold and lonely graveside testimonials; relatives and friends who wrote letters to officials, who tried to hand letters to Cheney, who would not accept them; Sen. McCain who swung a few critical votes to keep the humvee plant running; ... Soldiers for the Truth and Operation Truth for being a forum and honest broker of news for enlisted personnel unable to speak up for themselves. I want to thank the many journalists that stood up and helped us and to shame those gray and timid souls that didn’t -- a public affairs statement from the Pentagon is not the whole news and sometimes not even the truth.
So I type our thanks with tear-blurred eyes and cloudy mind -- to everyone who cared for the soldiers’ welfare and made an effort to make a difference – together perhaps we did. --Sincerely, Brian & Alma Hart
Saturday, November 12, 2005
A quarter ton of hope
By Russell King
About this time of year, five years ago, the road in my eldest son's life turned treacherous. Not just bumpy. Not just rocky. Not just slippery or steep or full of sharp turns. His personal inner demons joined forces with some severe health problems and, together, they nearly destroyed him. As his dad, I had no choice but to intervene in a way that caused great anguish.
Doing the hard thing and doing the right thing are usually the same thing, and those first steps of intervention caused more pain than anything I'd ever done (or probably ever will do), but we can save that discussion for another day. Equally important to stopping him from continuing on his destructive path was the effort to redirect him, to turn him around, to get him pointed in a direction toward a happier and healthier life journey.
I searched then, as I still do today, to find words and ways of reaching him, of being heard and understood by him. Then, as now -- and as is the case with millions of children and adults -- he was consumed with the superficial demands of our culture: How do you look and what do you have? I wanted to get him looking inside himself and thinking more about what kind of person he wanted to be, but I wasn't having much luck.
Then he took up weight lifting, and I thought I found a hook. A year or so before, I had reached a goal of my own in weight lifting, and this accomplishment seemed to be something he considered significant. He boasted of it and aspired to it. More importantly, it gave me "street cred" with him (and his peers, which seemed to matter a lot to him). So, I used it in an attempt to steer him in another direction.
I wrote him the following note, which I recently discovered he has kept tucked away:
"I think it is important for you to know why I lifted 500 pounds on the bench press. I did it to push myself--hard--and to reach a goal I did not think I could reach.
"It was a way of testing myself, and I like testing myself. This test showed me that I can be stronger than I ever imagined on the outside--meaning muscular strength. That’s true. But what is more important is that this test showed me that I can be stronger than I ever imagined on the inside. What does that mean? It means that conquering the enemies inside my own head was more important than anything else. If I did not defeat those enemies, I would never lift 500 pounds.
"What enemies were inside my head? An entire army of enemies!
"I had to fight my own doubts. I had to fight my own weakness. I had to fight my own fear. I had to fight soreness in my muscles and joints, and keep going when I wanted to quit. I had to fight the pain of injury, and keep working when it would have felt great to quit. I had to fight my own frustration whenever I was not getting stronger as fast as I thought I should. No matter what happened, no matter how easy or tempting it might have been to quit, I had to keep faith in myself and to keep working out.
"I was so proud of myself on the day I lifted 500 pounds, but, looking back, I can see that I not only learned a lot about myself along the way, I also taught myself a lot about what it really means to be strong. The funny thing is, it has absolutely nothing to do with muscles. It’s all inside.
"It is a lesson I hope you will learn through the work you are doing now."
He eventually excelled at that very exercise, even winning a high school competition in it, and while the physical accomplishment means absolutely nothing of value by itself, it is a sign that --perhaps-- something meaningful is happening inside. I have to believe that the internal effort required to achieve his external result is a good reason to entertain hope.
Being an American dad is sometimes like training to lift 500 pounds. You have to fight your own doubts, fears and weaknesses. You have to keep going when the pains of setbacks are severe. You have to keep working, even when you're frustrated because progress is maddening slow or simply not apparent. No matter what happens, you have to keep faith in yourself and keep at it.
It's too soon to know, of course, whether I'm doing much good with this young man. The journey is long, he's only 17 and keeping him moving in the right direction is an ongoing challenge. But I'm a dad, so I grasp and hold tightly to any hint that I've touched the right button. Sometimes, hope and love are all you have.
Fortunately, hope and love are always enough.
By Russell King
About this time of year, five years ago, the road in my eldest son's life turned treacherous. Not just bumpy. Not just rocky. Not just slippery or steep or full of sharp turns. His personal inner demons joined forces with some severe health problems and, together, they nearly destroyed him. As his dad, I had no choice but to intervene in a way that caused great anguish.
Doing the hard thing and doing the right thing are usually the same thing, and those first steps of intervention caused more pain than anything I'd ever done (or probably ever will do), but we can save that discussion for another day. Equally important to stopping him from continuing on his destructive path was the effort to redirect him, to turn him around, to get him pointed in a direction toward a happier and healthier life journey.
I searched then, as I still do today, to find words and ways of reaching him, of being heard and understood by him. Then, as now -- and as is the case with millions of children and adults -- he was consumed with the superficial demands of our culture: How do you look and what do you have? I wanted to get him looking inside himself and thinking more about what kind of person he wanted to be, but I wasn't having much luck.
Then he took up weight lifting, and I thought I found a hook. A year or so before, I had reached a goal of my own in weight lifting, and this accomplishment seemed to be something he considered significant. He boasted of it and aspired to it. More importantly, it gave me "street cred" with him (and his peers, which seemed to matter a lot to him). So, I used it in an attempt to steer him in another direction.
I wrote him the following note, which I recently discovered he has kept tucked away:
"I think it is important for you to know why I lifted 500 pounds on the bench press. I did it to push myself--hard--and to reach a goal I did not think I could reach.
"It was a way of testing myself, and I like testing myself. This test showed me that I can be stronger than I ever imagined on the outside--meaning muscular strength. That’s true. But what is more important is that this test showed me that I can be stronger than I ever imagined on the inside. What does that mean? It means that conquering the enemies inside my own head was more important than anything else. If I did not defeat those enemies, I would never lift 500 pounds.
"What enemies were inside my head? An entire army of enemies!
"I had to fight my own doubts. I had to fight my own weakness. I had to fight my own fear. I had to fight soreness in my muscles and joints, and keep going when I wanted to quit. I had to fight the pain of injury, and keep working when it would have felt great to quit. I had to fight my own frustration whenever I was not getting stronger as fast as I thought I should. No matter what happened, no matter how easy or tempting it might have been to quit, I had to keep faith in myself and to keep working out.
"I was so proud of myself on the day I lifted 500 pounds, but, looking back, I can see that I not only learned a lot about myself along the way, I also taught myself a lot about what it really means to be strong. The funny thing is, it has absolutely nothing to do with muscles. It’s all inside.
"It is a lesson I hope you will learn through the work you are doing now."
He eventually excelled at that very exercise, even winning a high school competition in it, and while the physical accomplishment means absolutely nothing of value by itself, it is a sign that --perhaps-- something meaningful is happening inside. I have to believe that the internal effort required to achieve his external result is a good reason to entertain hope.
Being an American dad is sometimes like training to lift 500 pounds. You have to fight your own doubts, fears and weaknesses. You have to keep going when the pains of setbacks are severe. You have to keep working, even when you're frustrated because progress is maddening slow or simply not apparent. No matter what happens, you have to keep faith in yourself and keep at it.
It's too soon to know, of course, whether I'm doing much good with this young man. The journey is long, he's only 17 and keeping him moving in the right direction is an ongoing challenge. But I'm a dad, so I grasp and hold tightly to any hint that I've touched the right button. Sometimes, hope and love are all you have.
Fortunately, hope and love are always enough.
Sunday, November 06, 2005
In the beginning.... There were no diapers
I haven't yet read the book, but this was too good not to pass it along. --RK
by Tim Bete
My first book, In The Beginning…There Were No Diapers, was recently published. It answers earth-shattering questions, such as “How do I know I'm a parent?” “How do I change a diaper in an airplane restroom?” and “Where can I find the volume control on my kids?”
While I'm sure my book will be hailed by parents everywhere as “the best thing since puréed carrot and pea medley,” it's currently raising a lot of questions. The most frequent question is, “What does the title, In The Beginning…There Were No Diapers, mean?”
I could call each of the millions of people who will buy my book and tell them the answer, but sharing it here will be quicker. Besides, my cell phone plan only provides 60 minutes each month before I'm charged for additional time.
The title comes from a deep theological insight I had while writing the soon-to-be-best-seller: God doesn't change diapers. Ipso facto, in the beginning, there were no diapers. I took a philosophy course in college, so I'm pretty confident of my logic. (Maybe it was a psychology course but I'm sure it started with a “p.”)
God created Adam and Eve as adults for a good reason -- because he could. If you were all-powerful, would you choose to change diapers? I didn't think so.
But, in addition to an aversion to diaper changing, there were a few other reasons God created Adam and Eve as adults. The early chapters of Genesis, which can be found in another best-seller, would have been a little different if Adam had been a 5-year-old.
God: You may freely eat of every tree of the garden…
Adam: I don't like those trees. The fruit is ewwie.
God: Ewwie?
Adam: The bananas have brown spots. Can you make a fruit cocktail tree?
God: Please, let me finish…You must not eat of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil…
Adam: That tree is ewwie, too. The fruit is green. Green tastes funny. Can I climb the trees? I want a tree house…
God: OK, enough about the trees. Let's move on to naming the animals…
Adam: I already did. I named them all Rocky. When I call them for dinner, I only have to use one name…Rocky, here Rocky, come on boy…oh, look a stampede…
God: I'd really prefer that you give each type of animal a different name.
Adam: How about Rocky, Rocky II, Rocky III, Rocky IV…it would be just like that movie! Maybe we could name all the girl animals Adrian…Yo, Adrian! Here girl…come on girl…
God grew exhausted talking to young Adam and caused a deep sleep to fall over him, although it took a while because Adam insisted he was too big to take a nap and said he needed a story…and a drink of water…and his binky…
Based on my thoughtful analysis, I think you'll agree that in the beginning, there were no diapers. If you have any other questions about my book, feel free to contact me. Just don't call my cell phone. I'm saving my minutes to talk to my mom.
To order In The Beginning... There Were No Diapers, visit www.TimBete.com
I haven't yet read the book, but this was too good not to pass it along. --RK
by Tim Bete
My first book, In The Beginning…There Were No Diapers, was recently published. It answers earth-shattering questions, such as “How do I know I'm a parent?” “How do I change a diaper in an airplane restroom?” and “Where can I find the volume control on my kids?”
While I'm sure my book will be hailed by parents everywhere as “the best thing since puréed carrot and pea medley,” it's currently raising a lot of questions. The most frequent question is, “What does the title, In The Beginning…There Were No Diapers, mean?”
I could call each of the millions of people who will buy my book and tell them the answer, but sharing it here will be quicker. Besides, my cell phone plan only provides 60 minutes each month before I'm charged for additional time.
The title comes from a deep theological insight I had while writing the soon-to-be-best-seller: God doesn't change diapers. Ipso facto, in the beginning, there were no diapers. I took a philosophy course in college, so I'm pretty confident of my logic. (Maybe it was a psychology course but I'm sure it started with a “p.”)
God created Adam and Eve as adults for a good reason -- because he could. If you were all-powerful, would you choose to change diapers? I didn't think so.
But, in addition to an aversion to diaper changing, there were a few other reasons God created Adam and Eve as adults. The early chapters of Genesis, which can be found in another best-seller, would have been a little different if Adam had been a 5-year-old.
God: You may freely eat of every tree of the garden…
Adam: I don't like those trees. The fruit is ewwie.
God: Ewwie?
Adam: The bananas have brown spots. Can you make a fruit cocktail tree?
God: Please, let me finish…You must not eat of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil…
Adam: That tree is ewwie, too. The fruit is green. Green tastes funny. Can I climb the trees? I want a tree house…
God: OK, enough about the trees. Let's move on to naming the animals…
Adam: I already did. I named them all Rocky. When I call them for dinner, I only have to use one name…Rocky, here Rocky, come on boy…oh, look a stampede…
God: I'd really prefer that you give each type of animal a different name.
Adam: How about Rocky, Rocky II, Rocky III, Rocky IV…it would be just like that movie! Maybe we could name all the girl animals Adrian…Yo, Adrian! Here girl…come on girl…
God grew exhausted talking to young Adam and caused a deep sleep to fall over him, although it took a while because Adam insisted he was too big to take a nap and said he needed a story…and a drink of water…and his binky…
Based on my thoughtful analysis, I think you'll agree that in the beginning, there were no diapers. If you have any other questions about my book, feel free to contact me. Just don't call my cell phone. I'm saving my minutes to talk to my mom.
To order In The Beginning... There Were No Diapers, visit www.TimBete.com
Wednesday, November 02, 2005
The lessons, myths, reality of Rosa Parks
The following was written by Leonard Pitts Jr., one of America's brighter lights. The implications of what he says about the lessons of Rosa Parks is so important for our children, and for parents, that I can make no further comment -- except to say that the implications ring true no matter what color our skin may be.
''Noncooperation with evil is as much a moral obligation as cooperation with good.'' -- Martin Luther King, Jr.
Her feet were not tired. At least, no more so than usual.
She always hated that leg end so let us, in this, the week of her death at age 92, set the record straight. And while we're at it, let's correct another misconception: It's not precisely true that she refused to give up her seat to a white man. The seats next to her and across the aisle were empty, vacated by black people who had already heeded the bus driver's command to get up. So there were places for the white man to sit.
But under the segregation statutes of Montgomery, Ala., no white man was expected to suffer the indignity of sitting next to a black woman or even across from her. So driver J.F. Blake asked again. And Rosa Parks, this soft-spoken 42-year-old department store seamstress just trying to get home from work, gave him her answer again. She told him no.
Her feet were not tired. Her soul was exhausted.
On Dec. 1, it will be 50 years since that drama played out in Court Square. Fifty years since police took her away. Fifty years since black Montgomery protested by boycotting the buses. Fifty years since community leaders tapped as their leader the new preacher at the Dexter Avenue Baptist Church, Martin Luther King Jr.
That moment in Court Square was the birthplace of the 13-year epoch called the Civil Rights Movement. You could make a compelling argument that it was also a birthplace of the modern world.
None of which Rosa Parks could have foreseen that December evening half a century ago. All she knew was that she was tired, sick of acquiescing, accommodating, accepting foolish white laws and white people who said she wasn't good enough to occupy a bus seat. Something had gotten into her that wouldn't let her go along any more, something that turned a lifetime of yes into an electric moment of no.
In the world born from that moment, it is not uncommon for white men to sit next to black women, to work for them, be married to them, get arrested by them. Indeed, any list of the most powerful women in America is likely to have two black women -- Oprah Winfrey, Condoleezza Rice -- at the top.
Racism that was once brazen enough to demand a black woman's bus seat is covert now, a throw-the-rock-and-hide-your-hand charade, its effects as visible as ever, its workings mostly hidden. But for all that, it is now only the second most worrisome threat to African-American life.
African Americans are the first. Because many of us have internalized the lies of inferiority so deeply as to make racism superfluous. We don't need white people to destroy us; we happily destroy ourselves. Destroy our families by exiling fathers from them, destroy our futures by declaring education something only white people do, destroy our spirits with a culture that celebrates all that is seamy, soulless and material.
This is the threat that troubles most, simply because while racism strangles aspiration, nihilism renders it stillborn.
And in the face of this threat, too many of us do what Rosa Parks got sick of doing: acquiesce, accommodate, accept.
Indeed, let a white man call our children fatherless, ill-educated thugs and we will, justifiably, rip him an orifice God never intended. Let our children say the same thing of themselves and many of us call it music and look the other way.
The lesson of Rosa Parks' life is that you don't have to look the other way. That night on the bus, she wasn't a movement, wasn't an icon. She was just a woman, one woman who'd had enough, who refused to comply any longer with a system that dehumanized her.
Her death reminds us that there is no number more powerful than one, no word more potent than no. And no force more compelling than a soul grown exhausted enough for change.
The following was written by Leonard Pitts Jr., one of America's brighter lights. The implications of what he says about the lessons of Rosa Parks is so important for our children, and for parents, that I can make no further comment -- except to say that the implications ring true no matter what color our skin may be.
''Noncooperation with evil is as much a moral obligation as cooperation with good.'' -- Martin Luther King, Jr.
Her feet were not tired. At least, no more so than usual.
She always hated that leg end so let us, in this, the week of her death at age 92, set the record straight. And while we're at it, let's correct another misconception: It's not precisely true that she refused to give up her seat to a white man. The seats next to her and across the aisle were empty, vacated by black people who had already heeded the bus driver's command to get up. So there were places for the white man to sit.
But under the segregation statutes of Montgomery, Ala., no white man was expected to suffer the indignity of sitting next to a black woman or even across from her. So driver J.F. Blake asked again. And Rosa Parks, this soft-spoken 42-year-old department store seamstress just trying to get home from work, gave him her answer again. She told him no.
Her feet were not tired. Her soul was exhausted.
On Dec. 1, it will be 50 years since that drama played out in Court Square. Fifty years since police took her away. Fifty years since black Montgomery protested by boycotting the buses. Fifty years since community leaders tapped as their leader the new preacher at the Dexter Avenue Baptist Church, Martin Luther King Jr.
That moment in Court Square was the birthplace of the 13-year epoch called the Civil Rights Movement. You could make a compelling argument that it was also a birthplace of the modern world.
None of which Rosa Parks could have foreseen that December evening half a century ago. All she knew was that she was tired, sick of acquiescing, accommodating, accepting foolish white laws and white people who said she wasn't good enough to occupy a bus seat. Something had gotten into her that wouldn't let her go along any more, something that turned a lifetime of yes into an electric moment of no.
In the world born from that moment, it is not uncommon for white men to sit next to black women, to work for them, be married to them, get arrested by them. Indeed, any list of the most powerful women in America is likely to have two black women -- Oprah Winfrey, Condoleezza Rice -- at the top.
Racism that was once brazen enough to demand a black woman's bus seat is covert now, a throw-the-rock-and-hide-your-hand charade, its effects as visible as ever, its workings mostly hidden. But for all that, it is now only the second most worrisome threat to African-American life.
African Americans are the first. Because many of us have internalized the lies of inferiority so deeply as to make racism superfluous. We don't need white people to destroy us; we happily destroy ourselves. Destroy our families by exiling fathers from them, destroy our futures by declaring education something only white people do, destroy our spirits with a culture that celebrates all that is seamy, soulless and material.
This is the threat that troubles most, simply because while racism strangles aspiration, nihilism renders it stillborn.
And in the face of this threat, too many of us do what Rosa Parks got sick of doing: acquiesce, accommodate, accept.
Indeed, let a white man call our children fatherless, ill-educated thugs and we will, justifiably, rip him an orifice God never intended. Let our children say the same thing of themselves and many of us call it music and look the other way.
The lesson of Rosa Parks' life is that you don't have to look the other way. That night on the bus, she wasn't a movement, wasn't an icon. She was just a woman, one woman who'd had enough, who refused to comply any longer with a system that dehumanized her.
Her death reminds us that there is no number more powerful than one, no word more potent than no. And no force more compelling than a soul grown exhausted enough for change.
