tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55782993754333839852024-03-14T00:33:09.245-07:00Ordinary GuyTim O'Keefehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12653709506879101775noreply@blogger.comBlogger470125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5578299375433383985.post-36559592879508557342022-01-27T17:03:00.005-08:002022-01-27T17:07:46.213-08:00INTERNATIONAL HOLOCAUST REMEMBERANCE DAY - <p> <span style="background-color: #eeeeee; color: #383838; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 14pt; letter-spacing: 0.25pt;">The United Nations General Assembly designated January 27—the anniversary of the liberation of </span><a href="https://encyclopedia.ushmm.org/content/en/article/auschwitz" style="background-color: #eeeeee; box-sizing: border-box; color: blue; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 14pt; letter-spacing: 0.25pt;"><span style="color: #337ab7; text-decoration-line: none;">Auschwitz-Birkenau</span></a><span style="background-color: #eeeeee; color: #383838; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 14pt; letter-spacing: 0.25pt;">—as </span><a href="https://www.ushmm.org/wlc/en/article.php?ModuleId=10008232" style="background-color: #eeeeee; box-sizing: border-box; color: blue; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 14pt; letter-spacing: 0.25pt;"><span style="color: #337ab7; text-decoration-line: none;">International Holocaust Remembrance Day</span></a><span style="background-color: #eeeeee; color: #383838; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 14pt; letter-spacing: 0.25pt;">.</span></p><p style="background: rgb(238, 238, 238); box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 20.65pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.25in;"><span style="color: #383838; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 14pt; letter-spacing: 0.25pt;">On this annual day of commemoration, the UN urges every member state to honor the six million Jewish victims of the Holocaust and millions of other victims of Nazism and to develop educational programs to help prevent future genocides.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This is an excerpt from a chapter I wrote in an unpublished manuscript called<i> A Change <span class="SpellE">Gonna</span> Come. </i>It’s a coming-of-age story of Tom O’Brien as he faces the challenges and joys of going to a Catholic school in NW Indiana during the 1967-68 school year. Among his very best friends are Carl and Giselle Black, his across-the-street elderly, immigrant, neighbors. This is a part where she reveals her <span class="SpellE"><i>geschichte—</i></span>her story, to Tom.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="ChapterTitle" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Chapter 19 – Please Remember, My Friend<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Wednesday, November 29, 1967</i><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 27pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The robins had left, settling into a warmer climate during the frigid northern Indiana winter. The Canada geese, in their jagged V formations, had been leaving since October. You could hear them honking and carrying on a mile away. The remaining birds were hearty.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 27pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The stubborn crows somehow managed to find food just about anywhere. Tom saw them eating roadkill along 57<sup>th</sup> Avenue and out of the trashcans at Saints Peter and Paul. The bright red cardinals and gregarious blue jays were a common sight on Giselle’s feeders. Tom was grateful for their color on these dreary days. Sparrows and finches and black-capped chickadees hunted for seeds in the remains of people’s gardens. Tufted titmice, small gray birds with tiny sprouts of feathers on the backs of their heads, cracked seeds and ate at the feeders. White-breasted nuthatches have long narrow beaks that allow them to find bugs under bark. These birds descend trees with their heads downward.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 27pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Once, when Tom and Carl were looking out the window at Giselle’s feeders, they watched a nuthatch on an oak tree. Carl, who was filling his pipe with tobacco, looked around to see if Giselle was within earshot. She wasn’t. “Thomas, do you know what bird experts are called?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>“Sure,” Tom answered. “Ornithologists, right?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“<i>Ja</i>, young sir. Do you know what ornithologists call that <span class="GramE">particular species</span>? There was a twinkle in his eye.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“What do they call them, Mr. Black?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Well,” he looked over his shoulder. The coast was clear. “The scientific name is <span class="SpellE"><i>sitta</i></span><i> carolinensis</i>. But the common name is <i>ass-up-a-tree</i>.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Tom grinned.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“But don’t mention that to Giselle!” he cautioned.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">…………</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Tom saw Carl and Giselle walking down their steps. They were bundled up. Carl wore a red cap Sarah Grace knitted for him, with a matching red scarf under a worn black overcoat. His beard bunched out over the scarf. <i>A wizard in a blizzard</i>, Tom thought.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Giselle also dressed warmly. But while Carl trudged slowly down the steps, Giselle seemed to glide down. He took careful steps, like a young child, holding the railing. His right foot came down, his left foot followed to the same step. Right foot down, left foot down the same.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Tom crossed the street and waved to his neighbors. “<span class="SpellE"><i>Guten</i></span><i> Abend</i>,”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“<span class="SpellE"><i>Guten</i></span><i> Abend</i>, Thomas” they replied in unison. <i>Good evening.<o:p></o:p></i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“We were just talking about you,” Carl said as he carefully stepped onto the sidewalk and straightened. “How pleasant to become reacquainted with your friend Marilyn the other day. Same intellect, same feisty spirit as when she was little.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“She’s a good kid.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“It must have been lovely to have your <span class="GramE">sisters</span> home for Thanksgiving.” Giselle eased her grip on Carl’s arm. “Did you have a nice time?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Sure,” said Tom. He laughed hard during those precious days. “But everyone’s changed.” Carl looked up the sidewalk towards West 55<sup>th</sup>.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Giselle straightened her collar. “It’s the natural way of things, isn’t it?” They took their usual places: Giselle on the inside, holding gloved hands with Carl, Carl leaning heavily on his cane. Tom walked nearest the street.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Change is expected,” Carl mumbled. They passed <span class="SpellE">Zubecks</span> on the right. Jack the Jack Russell terrier, barked shrilly from his perch on the couch. “<span class="GramE">But,</span> that dog doesn’t change.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Tell us about your sisters, Thomas,” Giselle inquired.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Catherine was happy to see us, but she was ready to get back.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“I remember such a feeling,” Carl said, “young and anxious to be on my own.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Tom continued, “She talked to her boyfriend half the day on the phone.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">They passed the empty lot where the gang played baseball, <span class="GramE">football</span> and soccer. There was a FOR SALE sign staked into the ground. “Gracie’s getting great grades and loves school. She misses Sarah.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> “They shared the same womb, the same crib, the same bedroom. Twins, like your Grace and Sarah, always had each other for built in best friends. <span class="GramE">I myself</span> had a twin brother,” Giselle said.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“You did?” Tom was genuinely surprised.<i> A twin?</i><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Yes. The bond between us was quite strong. And how is your lovely<i> </i>Sarah?” she asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i> </i>“She’s changed the most.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“How so?” Carl probed, slowing as they approached their first corner. Tom wondered if Carl could finish the final three quarters of their walk.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.5in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“For one thing, she’s against the Vietnam War. She and my dad don’t see eye to eye about politics.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> “Tension is to be expected when children leave and come back to the nest. The world looks different when you become independent,” Carl said.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“War is Hell,” said Giselle. She’d never cussed in front of Tom before.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Sometimes it’s necessary, right?” Tom heard his parents and grandparents talk about World War Two.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“I suppose so,” said Carl. It was getting dark. Carl <span class="GramE">slowed,</span> his feet barely left the ground.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Giselle,” Carl said after a few quiet moments. “Perhaps it’s time to continue the conversation we began in the workshop. Thomas asked us how we <span class="GramE">met</span> and I prattled on about my own story. But we never got to your history, your <span class="SpellE"><i>geschichte</i></span>.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">They neared the streetlight marking the halfway point in their walk. Its amber light was an island.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Tom prompted, “Carl said sharing stories is sharing life.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Yes,” she answered softly, “and we are more than friends. But remember that some of my early story is unpleasant.” They stopped on the sidewalk. The streetlight shone around them in the darkness. She looked at Carl. He nodded.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Giselle put her gloves in her pockets and held out her hands. Tom placed his cold hands into her warm ones. In the cone of amber light, Giselle shared her <span class="SpellE"><i>geschichte</i></span>.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“War is the death of innocence. Even soldiers are innocent victims of war. Soldiers on both sides are made to do what they are told. Most soldiers are frightened. I saw some of these scared young men who did not want to follow the orders of their commanders. People must be taught to fear and hate.<span style="color: #3366ff;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“My family members were victims of the Nazis during World War II. Your father was in the army wasn’t he, Thomas?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“My father enlisted, along with his brothers and his friends.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“In that he was brave,” Carl said. “He must have been not much more than a child.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“He was nineteen,” said Tom. “The same age as Gracie and Sarah.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Carl shook his head. The top of his red wool cap waggled back and forth.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Tom asked Giselle, “Are you from Germany?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“My family is from Hungary, a city named Sighet, but we spoke fluent German. My parents were devout Jews, as was my twin brother Chayim. His name means ‘life.’ He and his lovely wife had two children, who I thought of as my own. I lived with them. Chayim’s wife, Naomi, was not just my sister-in-law. She was my <span class="SpellE"><i>schwester</i></span>, my sister.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“My father was the finest tailor in the city. He was commissioned to make suits for the elites. He loved fabric as much as Carl <span class="SpellE">loves</span> wood. Like Carl, my father was an artist. I can see him now, running cloth through his fingers, touching it to his cheek.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She looked down, gazing into her past. “Jews were a minority in Sighet, but we were all Hungarians. We laughed. We loved. We cried. We rejoiced.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Do you remember the book I read this fall, <i>Night</i>, by Eliezer <span class="SpellE">Weisel</span>?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Tom nodded. It was the same one Marilyn was reading when he saw her cry in the cafeteria.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“I knew Elie and his family. He was a serious one. We went to synagogue together. I knew his sisters Hilda, and Beatrice, and little <span class="SpellE">Tzipora</span>. Such lovely people,” she sighed.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Then, the Nazis came. Jews were forced to leave our homes and live in ghettos. Our belongings were taken. We were forced to wear the yellow star on our clothes. Our leaders were arrested, as was my father. Thousands of Jews in such a small space. We thought it was temporary. How could the world watch and do nothing? We could not fathom what was happening.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Then they took us. The Germans herded us in train cars like cattle. They threatened us, humiliated us, beat us. The doors to the train were nailed shut.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Giselle whispered, “My family did not live to see the liberation of Auschwitz. We were told it was a work camp. It was only death.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Giselle looked into Tom’s eyes. She took her gloves from her pocket and put them back on.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“I’m sorry,” Tom breathed. Carl reached up and put a hand on Tom’s shoulder.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Giselle continued, “Like Elie Wiesel, I lived to tell the story.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Tom nodded.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“I am the blessed one who came to America after the liberation of the camp. I’m gifted with the love of this good man.” She squeezed Carl’s arm. “We have a beautiful home, friends, freedom.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“If I were to die this very night, I would be grateful for the life I have lived. Sixty-seven must seem quite old to you, but my grandmother died when she was one hundred and three. To her, at the end of her life, sixty-seven must have seemed quite young.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Tom sighed, his eyes brimming.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">They walked home in silence. With the break in their circuit, Carl was able to shuffle the rest of the way, but he was noticeably breathless when they approached Black’s driveway.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Giselle,” Tom said, for he thought the formality of ‘Mrs. Black’ was past, “Thanks for telling me your story.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“You are my friend.” She paused as if considering something important, “Thomas, do you mind coming in for a moment?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Tom put a steadying hand on Carl’s shoulder as he and Giselle helped Carl up the driveway.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Hmph,” Carl said. “By what means of physics does this driveway become a steeper angle each day?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“It’s a miracle, dear one,” Giselle said sweetly.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The Blacks hung up their coats. Giselle took something from the small handmade wooden box on the glass table near the picture window.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“First, I have something to show you. For we are friends, and sharing stories is sharing life.” She pushed up her right sleeve and held out her forearm. There was the number Tom glimpsed before. The number 4 in faded blue ink followed by 8788. The seven had a little hash mark across it the way Carl wrote his 7’s.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi60loKWNjg8LXga7i5UM6RGoD4KwNQx-4IWlgAwWnbWvDek88Y-cquo8ZT5h2qkG4ph2fS6r8ormTA8wIeV5fVKQo8GVC43lC53YZL3UxZPzBDxx8LUVegO8apJ_gs5HK4P7_UV9hLQf7wEgrQJJ_z0ustBaTzi-XySOIdHLWO8H3uyP82P9L7UcY4" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="393" data-original-width="362" height="407" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi60loKWNjg8LXga7i5UM6RGoD4KwNQx-4IWlgAwWnbWvDek88Y-cquo8ZT5h2qkG4ph2fS6r8ormTA8wIeV5fVKQo8GVC43lC53YZL3UxZPzBDxx8LUVegO8apJ_gs5HK4P7_UV9hLQf7wEgrQJJ_z0ustBaTzi-XySOIdHLWO8H3uyP82P9L7UcY4=w374-h407" width="374" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;">“This was the number the Nazis gave me when I was in Birkenau, the processing center for Auschwitz. I keep it hidden, for I am not this number. You know me now, Thomas, in a way you didn’t before tonight.”<o:p></o:p></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">He looked into her clear, dark eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Carl and I met at an advanced <span class="GramE">age</span> so we didn’t have children. But know that in some ways we think of you as a son.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Tom swallowed hard.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“And here is my gift to you.” She pulled a piece of fabric from her pocket and handed it to him.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Before my father was dragged away, he pulled this from his sweater. He handed it to me the very last time we saw each other.” Loose threads remained around the edges. Two inverted triangles. A yellow star. The word <i>Jude</i> inscribed at its center.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“The Nazis made us wear these to make us feel inferior. Wearing the star reminded me clearly that I am a Jew. And I am proud. Now I give it to you.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Tom was speechless.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“<i>Bitte <span class="SpellE">denkt</span> <span class="SpellE">daran</span>,</i> <span class="SpellE"><i>mein</i></span><i> <span class="SpellE">freund</span></i>. <i>Please remember, my friend</i>.”</span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></p>Tim O'Keefehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12653709506879101775noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5578299375433383985.post-70310989258971403112022-01-05T07:12:00.002-08:002022-01-05T11:46:05.111-08:00My Mother's Gifts<p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">I wrote this piece a while back. Back when I was still teaching second grade. I miss my mom. She touched my life in so many beautiful ways. She was more than a mother. She was a best<br />friend.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjro987ChOUPYlIkjNHTZYSpamnUBcQM75RPakY1xNbY6duyO9CUR_KT1D8gZz7wZeA8vCVlh-z8WO0AMB6reiqoFXN_gTidjwsMKB3mvDsn-Z7R4d4Q8Lvx5ivBqlZigrNfPJrjW-2acMmgSnDYIkEY3FW29Rzy3KL-8ZpHVfEbDWJabMTRJuC1Ow8=s1439" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: times;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1439" data-original-width="1013" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjro987ChOUPYlIkjNHTZYSpamnUBcQM75RPakY1xNbY6duyO9CUR_KT1D8gZz7wZeA8vCVlh-z8WO0AMB6reiqoFXN_gTidjwsMKB3mvDsn-Z7R4d4Q8Lvx5ivBqlZigrNfPJrjW-2acMmgSnDYIkEY3FW29Rzy3KL-8ZpHVfEbDWJabMTRJuC1Ow8=s320" width="225" /></span></a></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">If I am a literate guy, and I am not saying that I am all that literate, I owe it to my mom. The other day I asked my second graders to bring in some writing that is special to them, something they can read over and over, something that they would take with them to the proverbial deserted island. They brought in an incredible array of pieces from their current chapter books to the very first books they could read on their own, from cards and letters written to them by special people in their lives, to <em>Calvin and Hobbes</em> and <em>Tom and Jerry</em> collections. We ended up calling these “precious pieces”. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">After listening to the children share their precious pieces, we generated a list of what makes writing powerful, what makes it memorable and precious. I brought in a few precious pieces of my own to share and they were all connected to my mom. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">First there was <em>Green Eggs and Ham</em>. I had to include the first book I could read on my own. Now, I wasn’t one of those kids who could read anything at age three. I wasn’t reading chapter books by the time I got to first grade. My mom taught me to read the year before I went to school. She stayed home that year with my baby brother and me. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">I’m sure my teachers had something to do with my eventual literacy development (no doubt, the phonics overkill part). I remember my sister Ruthie reading to me as well. But it was my mom who gave me the gift of literacy. She treated books as precious gifts from as far back as I can remember. I still have several books she insisted I read just before she died.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><em>Green Eggs and Ham</em> was my breakthrough book. I can’t recall the exact events but it has to do with my mom reading to me in bed. I think I was sick. My little brother Danny was a baby so he was probably asleep or in his playpen. Come to think of it, we spent a lot of time together in that playpen so, if I was sick, Danny probably was too. <em>Green Eggs and Ham</em>. She'd probably read that book to me a hundred times. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><em>I am Sam... Sam I am </em> </span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">She probably read it to me a few times that morning, but I remember saying, “Hey! I can read this!” </span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Would you eat them in the rain? Would you eat them on a train?</span> </span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">“I mean I can REALLY read this. I can read these words!” </span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><em>Would you eat them in a box? Would you eat them with a fox?</em> </span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">It was in her warm bed. Just the two of us. <em>Green Eggs and Ham</em>. Good old Dr. Seuss. How could she have known? </span></p><p><em><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Would you eat them in a house? Would you eat them with a mouse? </span></em></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">I brought in other precious pieces to share as well. Some of her letters. I never did read any of those aloud. I wouldn't have made it through the without losing it. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"> When I was about 10 or 11, my mom gave me <em>Of Mice and Men</em>. How could she have known what that would do for me? And after I read it, my folks let me stay up late and watch the old black and white movie classic, the one with Burgess Merideth and Lon Chaney Jr. My mom watched with me. It was on the late show. My <em>first</em> late show. It didn’t even start until 10:30. When it came to the end, I cried. Right? I mean how could you not cry? </span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">George takes the German luger, the one they used to kill Candy’s loveable but stinky old dog. He takes that luger, and after it's perfectly clear that Lenny is going to get caught for killing that pretty little woman. That Lenny would go to prison—which he would never be able to take without going absolutely crazy. George takes that luger, and gets Lenny talking about their dream. You know the dream. They’d get themselves a ranch and raise rabbits and Lenny could pet the rabbits any old time he wanted to. George takes the luger, and gets Lenny to look out into the distance where he can actually see their ranch. And then he shoots Lenny when Lenny is waxing on about their dream. He shoots Lenny when he is at his happiest. And he shoots his best friend because he loves him, because he wants to protect him. How could you not cry, right? It was a gift, that book, that film, those tears. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">I still read that book from time to time. I still cry. I still give it to people I know who have not read it yet. Years later, when I was in college, my beloved professor, Jerry Harste, said, “If you can’t cry then you can’t read.” And I remember thinking, <em><b>my mom taught me that a long time ago. It was Steinbeck. It was Of Mice and Men. It was clever and crafty George. It was lovable but dangerous old Lenny. Lenny, who needed to be saved from himself. It was George, brave enough to save him.</b></em> But you know it was more than that. It was <em>Green Eggs and Ham</em>, and <em>Danny and the Dinosaur</em>, and <em>The Hardy Boys</em>, and <em>Boy’s Life Magazine</em>. It was <em>Tom,</em> and <em>Huck,</em> and <em>Scout,</em> and <em>Atticus</em>. My mom gave me all of that. And so much more. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">My mom was a woman of letters. While she was also a person of the internet age—she did email regularly, she knew the value of a handwritten letter. She didn't send cards with sayings or poetry someone else had written. She did not send the kind of things you buy and put your name on, somehow indicating that you took the effort to find just the right words. She <em>wrote</em> the right words. When I was in college, just out of the house, she wrote to me regularly. She'd make my little brother write too. I missed him the most. He never would have written if she didn't make him. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">I kept her letters. They are time capsules of my adult life. They're snapshots of her life with my dad, her sadness when he died. Her loneliness, her fears, her joy at finding new love. Otto’s kindness, and then big, tender Jim. They are her travels, her friends, her romance and disappointments. Hers are among the few real letters I ever received. And they mean more to me than any other personal possession. </span></p><div></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">They are not cc’d to anyone, or listserved, or groupmailed. They are pen-in-hand, random paper, and licked envelopes. They are stamps and a post office. They are latenight and earlymorning; they are quiet homes with sleepy mates, after dinner and before breakfast. They are insomnia, and tears, and laughs. They are rambling, and shuffling, and loving, and funny, and intimate. They are silly and descriptive. They are kind, and reflective, and desperate. They reflect the seasons, the wildlife, and the seasons of life. </span></div><div><em><strong><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></strong></em></div><div><em><strong><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">My handwriting is so bad now – but I know you like written letters so I will try. </span></strong></em></div><div><em><strong><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></strong></em></div><div><em><strong><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">I am sitting alone listening to Mozart’s C Major Concerto… </span></strong></em></div><div><em><strong><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></strong></em></div><div><em><strong><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">He and I would remember the Huichol Indians who sat near the lake with their babies painting pieces of amatyl (bark) with colors like Mexican pink, blue and yellow… </span></strong></em></div><div><em><strong><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></strong></em></div><div><em><strong><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">I am 82 – 3 of my children will soon be 60. My baby is 46. </span></strong></em></div><div><em><strong><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></strong></em></div><div><em><strong><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">I wish Jack could have known your boys. What a happiness he missed! </span></strong></em></div><div><em><strong><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></strong></em></div><div><em><strong><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">This is something I read and loved – “Forgive quickly, kiss slowly, laugh uncontrollably and never regret something that makes you smile.” </span></strong></em></div><div><em><strong><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></strong></em></div><div><em><strong><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">I finished the book you gave me – there was a part I underlined. I will copy it when I get it back… </span></strong></em></div><div><em><strong><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></strong></em></div><div><em><strong><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">I loved being the mom to so many different and wonderful children. That was my life. When I was a mom of a big family, I never seemed to have the time to think about making memories for my children. </span></strong></em></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">When I think back on what my mom gave me, the in between times that mean the most. It isn’t the birthday presents or family vacations or other big-ticket items that many people probably think of as constituting important family memories. The soft things are the most important; the late night conversations, the books and book talks, the letters, the questions about family, the requests for original tunes, the stories. It's the unconditional love that we expect from our mothers, that we may even take for granted. I think I am blessed more than most. My mom gave me something that only a few people can boast. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">She wasn't just a mother. She was a best friend.</span></div>Tim O'Keefehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12653709506879101775noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5578299375433383985.post-68927736213379893372021-12-01T09:27:00.002-08:002021-12-01T16:17:18.145-08:00For Jack<p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"> </span></p><div style="background-color: white; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: #29303b; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: #29303b; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #29303b;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I'm not a guy who marks out dates to grieve. You may be someone who does. I mean no offense. But you know what I mean, right? There are folks who know the date a beloved died. They dread the approaching of that date. They're miserable on the date and have lingering sadness for days after. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I AM sentimental. I tear up at embarrassingly small things. And I DO remember my loved ones—mainly my mom and dad. I think of them all the time. I dream about them still. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">But I don't dread the dates of their deaths. When I remember them, I smile. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">All that being said, I'm at a pretty weird place in my mind right now. I am the exact age of my father, Jack O'Keefe, when he died. I was 32. He was 64 1/2. The same age as I am right now. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Almost to the day.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I have big feelings. Not boo hoo sad. But, God I miss that good man. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">When Jack died, I was teaching my first graduate class at U of SC. R670. Language Arts Methods for Elementary Teachers. Our first assignment together was to write a memoir. As in, "If you expect to teach children to write, you'd do it best if you thought of yourself as a writer." So, we all wrote. It was just a week after Jack's death. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Mine was not exactly a memoir. More like a collection of small moments—a mosaic of images and memories. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So here it is. Written exactly half my life ago. I miss that good guy. I always will.</div><br /><br /></span></span></div></div></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #29303b; text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></i></b></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #29303b; text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></i></b></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #29303b; text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">For Jack</span></i></b></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #29303b;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #29303b;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #29303b;">When we got to the hospital, my dad was in a coma. I heard the news before I left home that day, making my way to the Chicago hospital where he lay dying. I reached his room around 9:30. My mom and most of my brothers and sisters were already there and even some nieces and nephews, most of whom were too young to understand what was going on, that their grandpa was dying. I knew that he was going soon. It was inevitable. Soon.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #29303b;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #29303b;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #29303b;">In my mind I knew that a quick end would be better for him, and for my mom. and for all of us who loved him. In my heart I wanted to see him just one last time, to look into his eyes and make contact, to tell him just once more how much he meant to me. To tell him once again that I loved him. I hadn’t said that often enough.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #29303b;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #29303b;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #29303b;">As I pushed open the door of the hospital room, my family’s sadness hit me like a wave. I cried. The man I knew as my dad was no longer there, or if he was, he was so deep inside that communication wasn’t possible. I cried—more for myself than him. I cried. He was no longer in pain, no more aware of the body that had betrayed him after just a little more than 64 years. He’d never hear me say that I loved him ever again. I never told him that enough. I cried for all those times I never told him. I cried the selfish tears of one who realizes too late the power of words never spoken. I cried at the realization of how fleeting life is. I cried for opportunities lost, for conversations cut short, for him never seeing the family that Heidi would have some day.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #29303b;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #29303b;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #29303b;">I sat by his bed and my tears fell into the sheets. I stroked his soft brown hair, something I had never done before. I looked into his eyes that were open, but didn’t look back.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #29303b;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #29303b;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #29303b;">Memories emerged as they still do, all these years later. Images of my childhood and young adulthood. Pictures of my parents as the younger, energetic couple they were when I was a kid. I remembered.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #29303b;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #29303b;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #29303b;">My two older brothers and me wrestling with my dad on his warm Saturday morning bed. He was the biggest, strongest man in the world. If he could take us on, he could beat an army. Shrieks of laugher as one of the “Three Stooges” fell out of bed.</span></span><div style="background-color: white; color: #29303b;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #29303b;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #29303b;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /><br />“You snore like a lion!”<br /><br />“I’ve never heard myself snore.”<br /><br />“How could you?”</span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #29303b;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #29303b;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #29303b;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /><br />My father driving the boat with my little brother Danny skiing behind. “Hang on, Danny!” Dan couldn’t have more than five or six that summer he learned to ski. He had the most incredible mixture of fear and joy on his face. That old yellow boat rode low in the water. My dad’s back and arms were hairy and freckled. Dan, whose nose was covered in summertime freckles did hang on. For miles. My dad beamed with pride. I was a little jealous.<br /><br />My dad drove the boat like a crazy man at times. We loved it if someone else was skiing. We were a little afraid when we were the ones behind the boat. The sun sparkled on those Lake Michigan waves and the sun was hot on our feet on the beach. My dad’s sunglasses were horn-rimmed. The hair on his arms was golden, I remember. His hair was wavy when it was long. His hair was brown and never really turned gray. His eyes were pale, watery blue.<br /><br />One summer when I was about 11 my father and I built a porch on that old summerhouse. It was pretty amazing. We used scraps of wood and some used windows he had scavenged somewhere. He could have asked my brothers to help. It would have made the project go much faster. But that didn’t bother us. He was on vacation and he was spending it with me building a porch on that old wet basement. We took plenty of breaks and drank cold root beer on those sweltering summer days. I pretended it was real beer like he used to drink. He made me feel like a man doing a man's work.<br /><br />That porch looked a little rough. None of the lines were straight and the angles were far from ninety degrees but it was functional and when we painted it, the little walled off porch didn’t look half bad. It was my dad’s vacation project and I was proud that he had spent so much time with me. I should have told him how I felt about that time; how happy I was and how much I enjoyed laughing with him and watching him measure and draw lines with the flat red carpenter’s pencil. I should have told him that it was the best part of that summer for me. But I never did. Maybe when he thought back on that time, he remembered it the way I did and wished that he had told me how much it meant to him.<br /><br />When I was in junior high, my family gave my dad a beat up Model A Ford for his birthday. We thought that restoring that it would make another nice project for him. He seemed pleased with the car and began restoring it right away. We hauled it to the summerhouse and stored it in the garage. That old timey garage was too small to hold a real car anyway. It had a wooden floor and I was always a bit afraid that the car would fall through. It never did.<br /><br />I remember going with my dad to pick up an engine that someone had rebuilt. He paid the man $35 for it. My dad pinched the bills as he plucked them from his wallet. He always did that to make sure that there weren’t any bills stuck together. He never did get around to completely finishing the Model A project. We kept it for a few years but he did finally get it to run. I don’t think I ever saw him more pleased than when he finally got it going. It sputtered, backfired and shook as he drove it around the block. I can still see him in a grungy old t-shirt, gray-blue smoke billowing out the back, that big old Irish grin on his ruddy face, looking like the cat that ate the canary.<br /><br />One time I went on a business trip with my father when I was a junior in high school. It was during my spring break. My dad did a lot of driving for his job. He was really good at it. He was a representative for a big steel mill in northwest Indiana, Inland Steel Company. He made lot of calls to deal with concerns about the steel. When I was younger I thought my dad drove for a living. In a way I guess he did. He had the most amazing sense of direction. He rarely looked at a map and seemed to feel his way around new places. He was one of those guys who never asked for directions, even if it was probably just the right thing to do. A matter of pride I suppose.<br /><br />We were on a dusty Indiana country road in LaPort County when my dad recognized the area. I’m not sure why we were country roading, surely there was a more direct way home. Maybe he just wanted to spend more time with me. I like to think that’s what it was. I was bored from riding in the car all day. But it had been fun – just the two of us. He took me out to lunch at some greasy spoon out in the country. I felt very adult, very special. As we left the restaurant, he put some dinner mints in his pocket for my brothers. He often did that.<br /><br />I perked up a little and looked away from my book when I saw him becoming enthusiastic. “Somewhere around here,” he mumbled as we drove by farmhouses in the hazy Indiana evening. “There!” he said with excitement. “I knew I’d been here before. That’s where my father was born. This is the farm where he grew up!”<br /><br />I didn’t realize at the time just how important that moment was. I didn’t know all these years later that I would remember that sunset, that dusty road, his ruddy face and wind blown hair. It was one of the few times he ever talked about his family. But he did talk that evening. It was as if a door to some part of him had been opened. He told me about his grandfather who was killed on that farm, kicked in the head by a mule. He told me about going there when he was a kid. He hadn’t been that way for so many years that he couldn’t even remember. There was a light in his eyes, a sparkle. I wish I had tapped into his energy more, asked him more questions.<br /><br />My father dropped me off at college my freshman year. I was exited about leaving home. And more than a little scared. One of my best friends from high school was living in the same dorm. So was my girlfriend. It was the independence I had dreamed of. But I was frightened as well. I grew up in a big family. Seven kids. There was always someone to hang around with, someone to tease. I was used to being surrounded by siblings and my boys from the neighborhood. It was scary to think of living hours away from home. To talk to my mom and my little brother it would be <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">long distance. Long distance.</span><br /><br />We talked about the old days on the four-hour trip. It’s funny how there could even be “old days” when you’re 18 and starting out on your own. I sensed that he was sad at seeing me leave home. I would be back of course. I planned on working in his steel mill the next summer, but this was the first real step toward my being on my own. He helped me move my few possessions to the sweaty dormitory room.<br /><br />“You’ve got your meal ticket, right?”<br /><br />“Sure,” I said, starting to get choked up.<br /><br />“You’ve got some spending money?”<br /><br />“A little. I don’t need much.” I was trying to act brave but on the inside I was falling apart. I was missing my dad already.<br /><br />“Here.” He pinched out two twenties. “Don’t tell your mother I gave you this.” It was funny. My mom was by far the more generous one. “And call us if you need anything. Anything at all. Person-to-person for yourself and we’ll call you back.”<br /><br />“Thanks, Dad.” I wasn’t going to cry in front of him. It was hard.<br /><br />“C’mon, Bub,” he said. Then he hugged me. Tight. He wasn’t a very hugging guy. I didn’t ever remember him hugging me. Maybe that’s why it meant so much. Maybe that’s why I still remember it. I walked him back to his car. When his car turned the corner I cried.<br /></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #29303b;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #29303b;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">A few months before he was diagnosed with cancer, my mom and dad visited the first grade classroom at R. Earle Davis Elementary in Cayce, SC where I taught. He was very sick and didn’t know it yet. His hips were sore and his appetite was down. He was looking thin but his color was good. “Just feeling my age,” he said, almost apologetically.<br /><br />I can see him now, sitting in one of the tiny first grade chairs with the children gathered around my mom and him asking questions. “What kind of naughty things did Mr. O’Keefe do when he was little?”<br /><br />“Mr. O’Keefe was a pretty good little boy,” my dad answered. “He’s a good son.” There were times I had not been such a good son, such a good little boy. I knew. By then we had grown to love each other in the quiet way that grown-ups do. In the way that fathers and sons do when they can forget the arguments and the angst, the disobedience and the lack of respect.<br /><br />I am so thankful that he forgave me for my teenage transgressions. When I think of him in that little tiny chair, I am so proud of him. He had just retired from the mill and looking ahead to a long and happy retirement.<br /><br />At Christmastime we knew that my dad had cancer. We knew that he didn’t have much more time with us. We knew that the end would not be pleasant. He came home from the hospital for Christmas. It might have been because my sister Ruthie would be there and that she was a doctor and could deal with the IV that he had to keep in the whole time. Or his doctor might just have had the good sense to see that what this man needed most was his last few days at home surrounded by his family. We played cards. We laughed precious laughs. We exchanged gifts. We looked into each other’s eyes.<br /><br />He and I watched a movie together in his bedroom. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Planes, Trains and Automobiles</span>. And we laughed. My big brother Pat was asleep in my dad’s leather easy chair. He was snoring lightly. I was on the floor at the foot of the bed. My dad was in his bed, the IV on a pole next to the bed. We laughed. I’m glad that it was just the two of us awake. For a while, reality was suspended and we gave ourselves up to the movie. When it was over reality came crashing back over us. We didn’t have much time left.<br /><br />That night I told my dad that I loved him. It was probably the first time since I was a little kid. I said that I was sorry for the ugly way I had treated him when I was younger and that he had to know how I felt. He said he was sorry for some things too. I think it was then that we admitted to ourselves that the end was close.<br /><br />The evening before my dad went into the final coma I spoke with him on the phone. We talked of all the tests he had to have and he joked weakly about the awful hospital food. He had no appetite. My mom told me that he wasn’t eating. He sounded tired. The last thing I said to him before we hung up the phone was, “I really love you, Dad.”<br /><br />“You too, Bub.”<br /><br />I still picture him on that rickety old porch, a glass of wine in his hand. I remember sneaking into the house as a teenager and walking up the stairs in the dead of night. My father in his leather easy chair, asleep, snoring like a lion. Now when I look at my hands I see my father’s hands, and in the mirror—</span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsTzKCVepaRVxJ1oTEhGaj90EvAQKLfMRWxOm21uiQ6jwBSX8t03jzBYhZlAFi6eCpBJA0TRytt7o8GvdetzlmzIAnM5rdqj4sZQPj8V5yZLLzCeuCyx8jhdTnxjTvgOJLUGjQYgqj2rQ/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1415" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsTzKCVepaRVxJ1oTEhGaj90EvAQKLfMRWxOm21uiQ6jwBSX8t03jzBYhZlAFi6eCpBJA0TRytt7o8GvdetzlmzIAnM5rdqj4sZQPj8V5yZLLzCeuCyx8jhdTnxjTvgOJLUGjQYgqj2rQ/" width="166" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br />my father’s eyes. I am so blessed to have known this big, gentle man. I hope that some of his goodness has been passed down to me.<br /><br />He died with relative peace and dignity. His pain was blessedly short. Most of his family was at his side. He never gave up. He was a strong man.<br /><br />My dad was a simple guy. I think he had realistic expectations for us. Though he never said them quite this way, I think they were these: Do the best you can with what you have. Be honest. Earn your pay. Be as happy as you can be. I hope that I have lived up to his expectations.</span></div>Tim O'Keefehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12653709506879101775noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5578299375433383985.post-23870403629605197612021-11-01T17:25:00.002-07:002021-11-01T17:25:45.360-07:00<p> </p><h3 class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="background-color: white; color: #686868; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 18px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; position: relative;">The Poor Letter X</h3><div class="post-header" style="background-color: white; color: #a6a6a6; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.5px; line-height: 1.6; margin: 0px 0px 1.5em;"><div class="post-header-line-1"></div></div><div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-724321205629077497" itemprop="description articleBody" style="background-color: white; color: #686868; line-height: 1.4; position: relative; width: 578px;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1px;"><img height="461" id="il_fi" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/proxy/AVvXsEiKmhGPRwhiL2zv1W-QA1d2Y3Lj49o9X9FI2tfqcWlyaI9gn-nki33uo22KLn3WVp8aVX86atzGe3veUfrZD1_sSBnnFmuOeuAssznjzzv-D887kkGtE5HISz2sGL2xpSHVhop2-AhBlq5VFu4GiQetNPnxmF3eYYfDjcrf9Q=s0-d" style="border-color: initial; border-style: initial; border-width: 0px; padding: 8px;" width="600" /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"><b><i>I wrote this piece a while ago. It reminds me of my mom who died several years ago. She loved this post. </i></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;">I feel a little sorry for the letter <i>X.</i> Of course it’s as well known as its more popular brothers and sisters, but poor old <i>X</i> just doesn’t have much of a home.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;">I was flipping through my mom’s dictionary the other day. She’s into this word game with her friend Joanne. It’s called Quiddler. It’s sort of like Scrabble, but you play with cards. Anyway, you declare words and lay down cards when you have them and your opponent can check your words to see if they indeed exist.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; text-align: center;"><o:p></o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1px;"><img height="635" id="il_fi" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRRhS7dxwVWj6hr0nJcGf8PZiuGOjU9PUoG8OBfmeNnQYVW8Y0BzZ7H4P7wcDSRG4AggFqDRR7QT-8EaxR1feA0iGPXFKjVdeB7ZJNluY1HAWaR-O6W7-sQH3lvM32dikmFVOFzrss8QA/s1600/The+Letter+X+WM.jpg" style="border-color: initial; border-style: initial; border-width: 0px; padding: 8px;" width="483" /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;">My mom said there is a word <i>xi. </i>Now my mom has taught me the art of speaking with authority as a way to convince someone of your accuracy (even when you could be bluffing). Because I am on to her game, I had to look up the word to be sure myself. Sure enough, <i>xi</i> is a real word. According to Webster’s, not only is <i>xi </i>the 14<sup>th</sup> letter of the Greek alphabet (I should have known that I suppose but I was never in a fraternity), it is also <i>an unstable element of the baryon family existing in negative and neutral charged states, with masses respectively 2585 and 2572 times the mass of an electron</i>.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;">And that’s the thing about <i>X</i>, most of the words are so obscure that no one ever uses them. Oh sure, you’ve got <i>x-ray</i> and its derivatives (<i>x-ray astronomy, x-ray diffraction</i>, etc.) which account for 9 of the <i>X</i> words. And you’ve got your <i>xylophone</i>, the percussion instrument made of different sized wooden bars. It’s a very pretty sounding instrument, we had one when we were kids. But all of the rest of the <i>X </i>words are almost never really used in conversation – unless you’re some kind of scientist I suppose. But without <i>x-ray</i> and <i>xylophone</i>, what would we even be able to put on the picture alphabet cards in our early childhood classrooms? And when you read the definition of many of the <i>X</i> words, you have to look up even more words in those definitions to understand them. That's not really fair.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; text-align: center;"><o:p></o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1px;"><img height="400" id="il_fi" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/proxy/AVvXsEhYLnDJ5VuaZFglGJl2wp6SRu8bwxrTq_y8DS-UnZKEJk90Nqku9DcwrIHD86PGO4VzDg0kmlpyq8Dxq8ToPlSyWe_nOCCCnEdctCsxQS_GHpE3uSIUOyWNwc574bqVKKT9WvH15ESfrjS_D8YtYSysGUyx6cmUCjhf4i9piVnDmbck9w=s0-d" style="border-color: initial; border-style: initial; border-width: 0px; padding: 8px;" width="600" /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;">When was the last time you used <i>xanthic</i> in casual speech? It has a red squiggly line under it for goodness sakes. Doesn’t my Mac realize that <i>xanthic</i> means <i>of, relating to, or tending toward a yellow color</i>? Or how about <i>xanthrochroi</i>? (Another squiggly red line, by the way.) It’s a noun meaning <i>white persons having light hair and fair skin. </i>Could you possibly see <i>xanthrochroi</i> on an alphabet card in a Kindergarten classroom? Believe me, that is one of the only likely contenders for the ABC cards compared to the rest of the <i>X’</i>s.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;">I am not sure that <i>X </i>should even have regular letter status. It’s more like a letter-territory than a letter-state. Or maybe a letter-district, as in the District of Columbia. It is certainly there holding down the 24<sup>th</sup> spot in the alphabet, but is it really a letter? I mean even Rhode Island has people in it. When I counted, <i>X</i> only started 84 different words and some of them are sort of cheating words like <i>Xe</i> (for the element <i>Xenon</i> – that’s an abbreviation, right?) and <i>xing</i> – <i>marked with the letter X. </i>Those are not even really definitions. And <i>X-mas</i> (probably the third most commonly used “word” for X) is only a lazy person’s (or non-Christian’s) way of writing Christmas. And <i>Xerox</i> is really a proper noun like Kleenex or Tampax (hey, 2 more words with x’s), but it had to make it into the dictionary because there just are so few X’s. They have to put something on those one-and-one-quarter pages.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;">So here’s a little quiz for you. I’ll give you 5 words with definitions. See how many you can match up.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; margin-left: 37pt; text-align: center; text-indent: -19pt;"><b><i><span style="font-family: Cambria;">(A)<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></i></b><b><i>– xeric (B) – xiphosuran (C) – xylan</i></b></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; margin-left: 37pt; text-align: center; text-indent: -19pt;"><b><i>(D) - xylophagous (E) – xylotomous<o:p></o:p></i></b></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; margin-left: 37pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14.85px; font-weight: bold;">1.</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: xx-small;">! </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: x-large;">1. </span><b style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"><i>feeding on or in wood<o:p></o:p></i></b></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14.85px; font-weight: bold;">2. </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: x-large;">2. </span><b style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"><i>a yellow gummy pentosan, abundantly present in plant cell walls<o:p></o:p></i></b></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; text-indent: -0.25in;"><b><span style="font-family: Cambria;"><span style="font-size: 14.85px;">3.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">3. </span></span></span></b><b style="font-size: 14.85px;"><i>any of an order of arthropods, comprising the horseshoe crabs and extinct related forms<o:p></o:p></i></b></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; text-indent: -0.25in;"><b><span style="font-family: Cambria;"><span style="font-size: 14.85px;">4</span><span style="font-size: x-large;">.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> <span class="Apple-style-span">4.</span><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></span></span></span></b><b style="font-size: 14.85px;"><i>requiring only a small amount of moisture<o:p></o:p></i></b></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14.85px; font-weight: bold;">5. </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: x-large;">5. </span><b style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"><i>capable of boring or cutting wood.<o:p></o:p></i></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;">I guess we’re so used to having those precious 26 that it would seem silly to demote poor old <i>X</i> just because it really doesn’t have many members. Thank goodness for xylophone and x-ray. But just think how cool it would be to have 25 REAL letters in the alphabet. 25 is a perfect square (5 x 5). It’s a quarter of a hundred. Everyone can remember 25. It’d be like having the 50 states. I’m just saying.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;">(A) = 4 (B) = 3 (C) = 2 (D) = 1 (E) = 5</p></div>Tim O'Keefehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12653709506879101775noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5578299375433383985.post-65881476993159934642021-10-24T12:20:00.003-07:002021-10-25T08:26:33.560-07:00Basic Skills - A Teacher's Story<span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><b>
In 1986 I moved to Columbia, SC from southern Indiana. I admit there was a bit of a culture shock. I had never really traveled south of Indiana before. I flew down to Columbia, SC to interview, flew back home, then drove down with all our stuff to live here. </b></span><div><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><b>Since this is a teaching story, I feel compelled to say that it was NOT all goodness and light in Indiana. I worked with a principal who had lost track of what was important. My last year there I team-taught with a teacher who really seemed to hate teaching. </b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><b>There were some rough spots in my first job in SC. But, like all things related to teaching, it is the children who make teaching what it is. Not the administrators, not the teachers down the hall... the children. This is a story I wrote in remembrance of my first year here. </b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><b> Part of being a non-fiction writer is like being a photographer. If it works, it is often because of being in the right place, at the right time, with the right equipment. Being a teacher for so many years makes me blessed. I was always at the right place to witness and share in the wonder and drama of living and learning with a bunch of wonderful people. </b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><b> One of the amazing things about writing to me is that is helps one to recall. When I started this story, I didn't know how much would come back. It happened 35 years ago. During the process of writing this piece, Antwan and Bridget Mr. Litton, and others all came swimming back to me. I can recall Antwan's shining eyes like I saw them just yesterday. Bridget's radiant, crooked-toothed smile and her pony tail bouncing as she jumped when I turned the rope at recess - it's like these 35 years have vanished and I am there with them. They would be 47 or 48 years old now. I don't know if I would recognize them if I saw them walking down the street or in line at the grocery store. But those 11-year-old faces? I would recognize them in a heartbeat. </b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">For my first year teaching in South Carolina I was a Basic Skills Instructor. I worked with small groups of kids in two different schools. These were children who tested in the bottom quartile on the Basic Skills exam. These were typically kids who didn’t get their homework done, didn’t finish class work, often spent their recess time “on the hill” trying to complete workbook pages and handouts. These were the kids who never caught up. Often they were discipline problems. They were the ones sent to the office for behavior referrals. School for these children was a constant mountain of unfinished papers, tests they couldn’t pass, teachers they didn’t get along with, work that was too hard. They were the unmotivated, the outcasts, the disruptive, the students other teachers didn’t want to teach. It was my job to pull these kids out of the classroom and put them together in small groups for short periods each day. These were the Basic Skills kids, and these were my students for the year. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">I worked with groups of four to six kids for a half an hour at a time. Of course, I had to get them to and from their classes, so we only had about 25 minutes to work together each day.
At first the children came with workbook pages they hadn’t finished in class. The teachers wanted me to be sure the work was finished. They wanted me to be their enforcer. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">I did this for a week or so, nagging them to do the kind of work I disagreed with. The kids were pretty harsh with me in return. They saw me as an extension of their own classrooms where many were already failing. They saw me as another authority figure trying to make them do tasks they saw as worthless, work they hated. They saw me as the enemy. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">The role didn't work for me either. I was used to writing curriculum and lessons with kids. Our time together should be interesting and worthwhile. Basic Skills time should be important. I couldn’t take being the “workbook dragon” day after day, insisting that kids fill in blanks on workbook pages or draw lines from questions to correct answers. The system wasn’t working for them. It was a waste of time for the students and for me. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">I went to John Litton, my new principal to see what could be done. When I entered his smoke-filled office (this was in 1986 – before smoking was banned from public buildings). I told him about my problem. I didn’t think I was serving the students very well by making them do worksheets and workbook pages. I said that my time would be used more appropriately if the students were doing real reading and writing and math projects. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">He listened carefully to my lengthy complaint. When I was finished my monologue he smiled broadly, his white beard yellowed from years of smoking. He smushed out his cigarette in a butt-filled ashtray and said, “Sure. No problem. Whatever. Only YOU get to tell the teachers about your new role.” </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"> I took the coward’s way out. When the kids came to me with workbooks, I sent them back with the same unfinished work. I never told the teachers directly but soon they got the message that the Basic Skills kids were going to learn different kinds of basic skills. They didn’t know what yet, but the 3rd, 4th, and 5th grade teachers at R. Earle Davis Elementary became accustomed to not sending worksheets. They would have to trust me for my little half hour, three times a week. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">It took a while for the other teachers to get used to what we were doing. For one thing it wasn’t what you would called joyful school. It was dark in almost every sense of the word. The walls were dark. The carpets were filthy. It always smelled of cigarettes smoked by the office staff and the cigars smoked by the head custodian, Mr. Steverson. The windows were dirty, grudgingly allowing in dim and dusty daylight. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Many teachers hollered constantly… “How many times do I have to tell you?… I said SIT DOWN!... What on earth is WRONG WITH YOU?” I don’t fault them. It was just their way. It was how they grew up as teachers, as though the only way to get through to kids was to bring the volume up, to speak sarcastically, and to threaten the students into doing their work. It may never have occurred to them that perhaps the kids weren’t working very hard because they saw no real reason for it. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">For most of the children, writing was a series of exercises: drawing lines from questions to answers, filling in a blank with a word from a word bank or answering comprehension questions about a story they couldn’t read.
When they passed by our door the teachers would hear us laughing (sometimes hysterically), writing, and acting out plays, reading and writing responses to pen pal letters, listening to chapter books, videotaping plays we had written, etc. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Ours was a motley crew. While these children were considered "low end” academically, they were quite bright. Most had never gotten along well in a pencil and paper system. Some were still struggling to read and do basic math, but many demonstrated great ability in other areas. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">One student, Antwan, was a child with an amazing sense of humor and a sunny disposition.
He and his best friend Bridget usually came in giggling over some private joke. Eventually they warmed up to me. They got my jokes, shared my love of story and, although neither was a tremendous reader, they loved it when I read aloud. They were expressive and energetic kids. They invented unusual names for me including “O’Theif”, “O’Boy”, “O’Man” and “O’Teeth”. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Antwan was hard for me to get to know at first. He wouldn’t look me in the eye when he spoke to me. He was a nice kid but I felt like I didn’t know him well. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Once on the playground I was turning the jump rope for Bridget and others. “What’s up with Antwan?” I asked her. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">"What you mean?” </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">“Why doesn’t he like me?” </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">“It’s not that, O’Teeth. He just doesn’t trust you is all.” </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">“Why?” </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">“You don’t know much about Antwan, do you?” </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">“What do you mean?” </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">“You don’t know what happened to his family? </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">“Why don’t you fill me in?” I said. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">She motioned for me to follow her away from the others. “He stays with his grandparents, right?” </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">I said I’d heard that. It wasn’t uncommon for many of my students to live with family members other than their parents. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">“Do you know why he stays with them?” Her beautiful black eyes never left mine. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">“No, why?” </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">“His daddy’s in jail. His mamma’s dead. His daddy killed her.” </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">I didn’t know what to say. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">“You need to know that about him.” </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">We went on with our routine and eventually Antwan began to open up to me as a friend and not just his teacher.
</span><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ84xWA9MYA3T6u582hRaJF2Ur5U8dlocW2ol0QCl-_wDontveD-ia7dFJZFMisBqXGZ1DYrdRVrP2cmj8GtlHfZkD97gx31F_dTQJTG2OQVRx60vAGmfdJMli2rjlgNNnWE6JQMXeNwM/s485/Hand.png" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="356" data-original-width="485" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ84xWA9MYA3T6u582hRaJF2Ur5U8dlocW2ol0QCl-_wDontveD-ia7dFJZFMisBqXGZ1DYrdRVrP2cmj8GtlHfZkD97gx31F_dTQJTG2OQVRx60vAGmfdJMli2rjlgNNnWE6JQMXeNwM/s400/Hand.png" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;">
Pen pal letters were the favorite project of all the groups. My wife, Heidi, was an instructor at USC. At the time she was teaching undergraduates, mostly young women, how to teach reading and writing to elementary children. It was the perfect match. Heidi’s undergraduates exchanged letters with my Basic Skills kids once each week. The kids experienced a real purpose for writing. And they were getting to know some neat people through their letters. The USC students were coming to understand writing development for third through fifth grade students. They were also forming bonds with young people most of whom had never written a letter to anyone in their lives. It was what my wife called “Curricular Heaven”. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Because our time was so short, I had the letters on the tables as the kids came in. The computers were on for kids who wanted to compose at the keyboard. The kids were unbelievably focused. They tore into their envelopes, helped each other to read, shared funny parts, laughed, and wrote. These were the days when my job was easy and gratifying. All I had to do was to put out the letters and writing supplies and get out of the way. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">By January we were in a comfortable routine. Wednesday was pen pal day and the Basic Skills kids were in their second set of USC friends for the year. We had only exchanged a couple of letters with the new group when Bridget’s group came in one cold day without Antwan. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Bridget took me aside. There was no smile in those bright eyes. I had never seen them so solemn, so sad.
“What’s going on?” I asked. “Where’s Antwan?” </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">“He’s at home. So’s his sister. Their grandpa died yesterday.” </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">“They were close, weren’t they?” </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">“He loved his grandpa so hard, Mr. O. His grandparents took care of him, you know?” </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">“I remember.” </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">“When his mama died, his grandparents took Antwan and his sister to live with them,” she reminded me. “They was the ones raisin’ them. They was really old. Now he’s only got his grandma left.” </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">“I’m so sorry, Bridget.” I knew Antwan and Bridget were best friends – not boyfriend and girlfriend – just best friends. They had been since they were little kids. In some ways they were closer than boyfriend/girlfriend. They were life friends. She was hurting too. “What can we do?” </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">“How 'bout we save the pen pal letters for Antwan when he gets back?”
That’s what we did. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">The day of the funeral the Basic Skills kids listened to me read a short story and we discussed it. Bridget was with her best friend in his time of sorrow and need. The group was subdued. There was no kidding around, little teasing and laughter. It wasn’t the same without Antwan and Bridget. We had friends who were hurting, and we were feeling some of their pain. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">The next day Antwan and Bridget came in with the rest of the group. I remember it like it was yesterday. In some ways it was a day that changed me as a teacher.
Antwan had on his parka with the hood zipped up all the way. I couldn’t see his face. It was a cold day outside but rather warm in the room. I wanted to comfort Antwan, to tell him I was sorry for his loss. He wouldn’t look at me as he plopped himself into the usual chair. His arms were crossed. His head was down.
Bridget looked at me expectantly. I told everyone that we saved the pen pal letters for today so Antwan and Bridget could be here. We all were a little jumpy and tense, but gradually busy noise filled the room. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">The usual kids chose to work at computers while the others plucked pens or pencils from the can in the center of the table. Antwan and Bridget sat side by side at the computer work stations. Bridget kept looking at Antwan. He hadn’t budged. Just over a week ago Antwan tore into his letter with delight. He'd received a photo of his pen pal, Monique, and she was a beauty. He had delighted in the ribbing he received from the others. Now his letter lay unopened on the table next to him.
The Antwan I knew as a happy little cut up, who laughed easily and who teased me mercilessly was not there. The joking, smiling, laughing Antwan I knew was somewhere deep inside that parka. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">As I scooted my chair up to him tears fell from his hood. I put my arm around his shoulders, something I had never done before. “I’m so sorry about your grandpa, Antwan.” I couldn’t think of anything else to say. His life had just changed in the saddest way imaginable. I couldn’t begin to understand his pain. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">“Yeah,” he muttered, still not letting me see his face. “He was a good guy.” More tears fell.
There was an awkward silence as I thought of what to say, what to do for my sad little friend. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">“Do you want to write to Monique about it? I think she’d like to know what’s going on with you and your family.” </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">He didn’t answer but instead picked up Monique’s letter, tore it open and began to read. I moved on to the other kids. I didn’t want to make Antwan any more self-conscious by hovering over him.
I looked over from time to time. He was slowly composing his note, one letter at a time with his right index finger, his left hand in his lap except to capitalize. While I couldn’t see his face (his parka hood was still up) tears dripped into the keys of the computer. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">The children worked steadily for about 15 minutes. Antwan had barely shown his face all morning. He was hidden deep within his coat, deep within himself. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">When the period was over the kids handed me their letters on their way back to their classroom. Antwan printed his letter out on the old dot matrix printer and handed it to me without a word. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Before he walked back to his classroom I reached out and touched him on the shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Antwan.” </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">He pulled his hood off and our eyes met. His were red and puffy; his cheeks wet with tears. “My grandmamma said that it was just his time, that he lived a good long life. He's with God now." He paused, and then, "He was a real good man, O’Keefe. Real good. Nothin's gonna be the same without him.” </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">That moment is etched in my mind. The others were out the door. Antwan and I stood there, both of us sorrowful. Antwan would never look into the loving eyes of his grandpa; his protector, his guardian, his provider and friend. I was sad because he was being forced to grow up too fast. He already had a life filled with too much violence, too much grief. Now, at 11 years old, he would be the man of his little family. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">I asked him if I could copy his letter for his file. He said OK and turned away without another word.
I had the next period free for planning. Antwan’s letter was left on the computer monitor. As I read his sweet, sincere note; my tears joined his as they fell into the keyboard. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Dear Monique, </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">It was good to get your letter. Did you have a nice time in Atlanta? I hope you feel better. I will dream about you. In my family my grandpa died. He took care of me. He was my best friend. Now I will not have no one to hug. No one to kiss. No one to TELL THINGS TO. No one to love and give things to. I will still go to see him but I will not dig him up because I am not that kind of guy. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Love,
Your friend,
Antwan </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">He'd never met Monique before. They had only exchanged a few letters. They had barely established their friendship before this tragedy hit Antwan’s family. Antwan bravely poured out his emotions to Monique although they were really only acquaintances. He used writing to explain feelings that spoken words could not. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">I had never truly realized the power and potential of writing. I knew that the pen pal correspondence was an important part of our time together. I understood it was an authentic reason to write. At the same time, it was not much more than a great project or activity. I knew that it was important to write to communicate to someone but I didn’t understand the true significance; the true potential. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Antwan told Monique something he had never told me. That single, most powerful word was <i><b>love</b></i>. Writing allowed him to cross the barrier, to express himself in important clear ways, to be open and honest. It freed him from the boundaries of face-to-face communication. Through writing, Antwan was able to explain his complicated emotions; to let out some of the saddest feelings he’d ever had. He connected to Monique in his letter. I am still awed by his frankness, inspired by his honesty. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Later that semester, after exchanging at least 15 letters the USC pen pals came to Davis Elementary to meet the Basic Skills kids. Like most of the others, Antwan was shy when he met Monique. His words were few and quiet. But his letters were always friendly, newsy and personal. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">He, and Bridget, and most of the other Basic Skills kids were dressed in their Sunday clothes. Antwan had on an ill-fitting suit and Bridget wore uncomfortable shoes and a pretty, if worn pink dress. Bridget's hair, always in a loose ponytail, was braided into tight cornrows. She told me they hurt. But those two shined bright that day. All the kids did. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">I have long since lost track of Antwan but his face stays with me along with his humor and feisty spirit. His shining black eyes look back at me through all these years. In my mind he will always be eleven. In my mind he will always be that fragile little boy - my friend and one of my greatest teachers.
</span></div>Tim O'Keefehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12653709506879101775noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5578299375433383985.post-37283053767130990322021-10-08T13:23:00.007-07:002021-10-08T13:54:33.066-07:00The Nine<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/JWLHFqrmIw0" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe>
<p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JWLHFqrmIw0&t=1s">This is a song I wrote about 5 years ago to commemorate the Charleston Nine. It's still a hard one to sing.</a></span></b><p></p><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">The Nine – Tim O’Keefe 7-15<o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">Charleston in the month of June <b>Am C</b><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">At Mother Emmanuel <b>G Am</b><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">Good people met to share their prayers<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">But one man came to kill<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">They invited him to share their time <b>F C</b><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">To pray, to learn, to teach <b>G Am</b><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">They welcomed him with open arms<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">But his heart was out of reach<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">(CHORUS)<o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><b><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">Maybe some good will happen Am C<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><b><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">Maybe some kind of spark G Am<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><b><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">Maybe we’ll move a little closer to the light <o:p></o:p></span></i></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><b><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">Maybe come in from the dark<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><b><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">Maybe we’ll seek some honest answers F C<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><b><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">That would be so fine G Am<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><b><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">Maybe we’ll speak some truth to power<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><b><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">We owe so much to The Nine </span></i></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;"> <b>E* Am</b><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">He shot and killed those precious ones<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">To start <span class="GramE">some kind of war</span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">He thought his hate would conquer their love<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">But he’ll get no reward<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">‘Cause when the families of the victims spoke<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">Their strength came from their faith<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">Forgiveness was the message they shared,<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">“There’s no room in my heart to hate.” <b>CHORUS</b><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">It was no trouble for that young man<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">To get himself a gun<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">Like chains and whips and ropes of old<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">He carried a Glock .41<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">They prayed and talked that <span class="SpellE">mid June</span> night<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">A young stranger in their midst<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">Singing those old Halleluiah songs<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">They couldn’t know what to expect <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><b><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">BRIDGE<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">We met this evil man before <b>F C F C G</b><o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">His face was there on Africa’s shore <b>Am F C G</b><o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">In the Dark Middle Passage and Hate’s awful course <b>Am F C G</b><o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">We’re familiar with his terrible face<o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">His gun and his rope and his hanging place<o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">His Jim Crow laws, his higher race<o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">We know this wretched man all right<o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">His tired flag, his speeches trite<o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">His endless battle against Civil Rights<o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">His chains, his whip, his hate, his gun<o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">He’s been in this land since we’ve begun<o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">Now let us pray that his time is done<o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">Along with the Birmingham girls<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">Mississippi and young Emmett Till<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">The Freedom Riders back in ‘61<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">We remember their stories well<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Come Ye That Love <span class="GramE">The</span> Lord,” they sang<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span class="GramE"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">And,</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;"> “We are marching to beautiful Zion”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">We sing their songs, we raise our voices<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">To the memory of The Nine<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><o:p> </o:p></p></div><br /><br /></div>Tim O'Keefehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12653709506879101775noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5578299375433383985.post-75523381783051143572021-10-01T05:35:00.002-07:002021-10-01T05:40:12.186-07:00Notes/Aesthetic for my novel A Change Gonna Come<p> </p><p><br /></p><p><span style="text-align: center;">These are some of the notes and images I put together when writing </span><i style="text-align: center;">A Change Gonna Come. </i><span style="text-align: center;">It's the blend of pictures and ideas I used</span><i style="text-align: center;"> </i><span style="text-align: center;">for inspiration and to generate the history of my characters and possible scenes. These were strictly for a working draft and research purposes. But it helped to have an image of my characters as I wrote about them. This is a glimpse of the process I used to keep focused, for inspiration, to generate new ideas, to imagine. </span></p><p><span style="text-align: center;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="text-align: center;">It's extremely rough, full of typos, and unfinished ideas. These are just the first several pages of about 25. </span></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkVzLUWL7Ac0bZY1vxrMjsS2CWs3Y0vJ1OLT2twaNfkrwTTle09ON4COTnrjTlXg95CdSPxHFQuBmhXkJUBD4_6ld_pZRhHrmk4TAKvTnNTFW2FJ-shFznBbtZcN3Y2mOD8fuMcFBco84/s752/1.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="752" data-original-width="650" height="454" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkVzLUWL7Ac0bZY1vxrMjsS2CWs3Y0vJ1OLT2twaNfkrwTTle09ON4COTnrjTlXg95CdSPxHFQuBmhXkJUBD4_6ld_pZRhHrmk4TAKvTnNTFW2FJ-shFznBbtZcN3Y2mOD8fuMcFBco84/w393-h454/1.png" width="393" /></a></div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYyND0gd_oybKbonVRkHmtRRbMMS4t2CYccH4Tx5GU6UoWDRqC-VnwGg4CvZPXu4An8j35Zh-bwQ0LmxxmJ_S5fUvHv44cgrr9VMY4sTTBKMwGXk-ECsOJ8OpqqIU-jAQHnka8gNtVEto/s748/2.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="748" data-original-width="596" height="586" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYyND0gd_oybKbonVRkHmtRRbMMS4t2CYccH4Tx5GU6UoWDRqC-VnwGg4CvZPXu4An8j35Zh-bwQ0LmxxmJ_S5fUvHv44cgrr9VMY4sTTBKMwGXk-ECsOJ8OpqqIU-jAQHnka8gNtVEto/w467-h586/2.png" width="467" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihvXMFuX3McaSRGc73zzBOzxU0S6bOYANNj4JG6dzpwSY3qSqKt_Z3JDyabFcmSNT8YqdQEmTefKWSn2PkbkWMLQ_F4Nhj_3ySVKxbJyQajd_gxLkMqbASdf4RXk8Qt_K8Y7NucAjbHQg/s727/3.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="727" data-original-width="607" height="596" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihvXMFuX3McaSRGc73zzBOzxU0S6bOYANNj4JG6dzpwSY3qSqKt_Z3JDyabFcmSNT8YqdQEmTefKWSn2PkbkWMLQ_F4Nhj_3ySVKxbJyQajd_gxLkMqbASdf4RXk8Qt_K8Y7NucAjbHQg/w497-h596/3.png" width="497" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK1LAGft0L_Y1LROB7E7ILX-zk6JQ5HYtePoZrJmyAlzbDnc-HAsgS1oph2O-WcLZCRx1ULenAAFz1P2j-SeSdFjXC_5Kr7Y_JO_DjIrg73EPruapekRhss8vmcqchznir0oREmKy3f4A/s715/4.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="715" data-original-width="580" height="581" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK1LAGft0L_Y1LROB7E7ILX-zk6JQ5HYtePoZrJmyAlzbDnc-HAsgS1oph2O-WcLZCRx1ULenAAFz1P2j-SeSdFjXC_5Kr7Y_JO_DjIrg73EPruapekRhss8vmcqchznir0oREmKy3f4A/w472-h581/4.png" width="472" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWYwo2LUHfUSK_9q5BRc7PYLFqNqb5TUiGXxxW4yDznumBnnDW-x_iK8zGqci_505XIr_hhmAz1-7A2JVWEY5P5kza8xuTyW5mi85_AR89GtfMR4ln7Fu_HuYY_kcZ2-ckrj8VkvqKVP0/s718/5.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="718" data-original-width="602" height="578" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWYwo2LUHfUSK_9q5BRc7PYLFqNqb5TUiGXxxW4yDznumBnnDW-x_iK8zGqci_505XIr_hhmAz1-7A2JVWEY5P5kza8xuTyW5mi85_AR89GtfMR4ln7Fu_HuYY_kcZ2-ckrj8VkvqKVP0/w483-h578/5.png" width="483" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoYv-UmGWymSfLVGUxmNlk5dv9zHhSE7Tqyl6ng-ceICWl793YwsmehH2kG8vgB5QPilEIcPo1EMQvWk2Y3T2VWaiCridVG-m9lPYoFl4XvvZbU3Aezo-k3kvB9A-FVMk-_v7ztXyZHbU/s712/6.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="712" data-original-width="533" height="582" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoYv-UmGWymSfLVGUxmNlk5dv9zHhSE7Tqyl6ng-ceICWl793YwsmehH2kG8vgB5QPilEIcPo1EMQvWk2Y3T2VWaiCridVG-m9lPYoFl4XvvZbU3Aezo-k3kvB9A-FVMk-_v7ztXyZHbU/w437-h582/6.png" width="437" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx1OCjKRvYWNe4z_B-vZkqlkOHwFD-cxEe5pCwQby9-Snbd0zf7GOKuda48-i6qudxfpGWLmm5U9VVGep_ExMmQadQuU_kvZg0NnN9hKHZtbZg8VXYeUrHwN0IpxO2BuGnugYhINWR0NY/s630/7.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="630" data-original-width="567" height="556" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx1OCjKRvYWNe4z_B-vZkqlkOHwFD-cxEe5pCwQby9-Snbd0zf7GOKuda48-i6qudxfpGWLmm5U9VVGep_ExMmQadQuU_kvZg0NnN9hKHZtbZg8VXYeUrHwN0IpxO2BuGnugYhINWR0NY/w500-h556/7.png" width="500" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho0Pmmi7wKOOCzAzlxOjDm3ku36y2A9iXWIvt7Owj44P3BjEGiFr5sWPJUVcPxnM0uouAAHES6wdf_MRzPsrh65BgRBuN0bt-eM9I8YK9Ad0Jd-RFoway6YfxIFTINnpLxnEeSYTwKe_I/s662/8.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="662" data-original-width="511" height="651" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho0Pmmi7wKOOCzAzlxOjDm3ku36y2A9iXWIvt7Owj44P3BjEGiFr5sWPJUVcPxnM0uouAAHES6wdf_MRzPsrh65BgRBuN0bt-eM9I8YK9Ad0Jd-RFoway6YfxIFTINnpLxnEeSYTwKe_I/w502-h651/8.png" width="502" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUHFKR_vbAyqDf_un1WcwkMyRIqx25n7UwWj_YsQTn5F0QYTiRzeIul6Er6gfjVcrdKnb1vZpw_Oh380h5sKN-kCQ7TSUVp86U1hyphenhyphenEIMIiWlp-Kf1bMfayNTLIOhxWAj3vym-atGOjUgE/s613/9.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="613" data-original-width="575" height="517" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUHFKR_vbAyqDf_un1WcwkMyRIqx25n7UwWj_YsQTn5F0QYTiRzeIul6Er6gfjVcrdKnb1vZpw_Oh380h5sKN-kCQ7TSUVp86U1hyphenhyphenEIMIiWlp-Kf1bMfayNTLIOhxWAj3vym-atGOjUgE/w484-h517/9.png" width="484" /></span></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVvz_JJ_bJX-SMWkYLQqmJVpkJG1iWai4ViolW-zxsMlIGlE3W94ZKwXPRw8DLuS1SrjcudaSramQ4YjbR2l1plfp7jHYqs1xNE2h02gwEQuiB2Q4sGr_0BZJ1WQ5lNfGH_ckXwP2GxFg/s1379/1.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="881" data-original-width="1379" height="423" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVvz_JJ_bJX-SMWkYLQqmJVpkJG1iWai4ViolW-zxsMlIGlE3W94ZKwXPRw8DLuS1SrjcudaSramQ4YjbR2l1plfp7jHYqs1xNE2h02gwEQuiB2Q4sGr_0BZJ1WQ5lNfGH_ckXwP2GxFg/w663-h423/1.png" width="663" /></a></div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><br /></div><br /><br /><p></p><br />Tim O'Keefehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12653709506879101775noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5578299375433383985.post-25579806309663824682021-09-28T13:33:00.002-07:002021-09-28T13:33:33.705-07:00Crying<p><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><b> This little piece is from a YA/historical fiction I wrote called <u>A Change Gonna Come</u>. <u>Change</u> is about being in 6th grade in a Catholic school during the 1967-68 school year. Tom is a sweet kid. He thinks he's a little too sensitive for his own good. Marilyn is a new girl in class. Her mom took Thalidomide during pregnancy and this leaves Marilyn with phocomelia the most obvious deformity caused by Thalidomide. Her arm is severely shortened. This little bit is based on a true story from my own childhood.</b></i> </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br />Mark Timchenko was tough. Once, Tom saw him slide into second base on the asphalt playground during a game of kickball, ripping his trousers and skinning his knee. Sister Celeste declared him safe at the base. His hair was slick, which bothered Sister Rachael Marie. She ridiculed him about it. In his quiet, confident way, he was defiant. Geno was cool in a loudmouth way. Mark was quiet cool.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">That morning, Sister walked the aisles while the class worked on penmanship. Sister stopped near Tom’s desk. She sniffed the air like a dog on the scent. “What on earth is that smell?” She glanced at Tom accusingly. He shook his head. She was holding the ruler.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">She looked to her left. Mark shrugged, eyes wide. She turned to Tom. He shuddered. Then she snapped back to Mark. “It’s you!” she shrieked, grabbing him by the neck. He dropped his pencil with the chewed-up eraser. It rolled down the aisle.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">“What did you put in your hair?” Mark didn’t speak at the first assault. “Answer me!”</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Mark’s big brother wore Brylcream in his hair. Everyone knew if you wanted your hair slick that “a little dab’ll do ya,” like they said on TV. It didn’t smell like Brylcream.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">“Bacon grease, Sister Rachael Marie,” Mark choked out.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">“What were you thinking?” She jerked him out of his seat by the neck and shook him like a terrier shakes a rat. Mark winced. But he did not cry. That boy had a high threshold of pain. Mark simply wouldn’t or couldn’t cry. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Then she pulled his hair.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">“How dare you? What will your father say?” If his parents were anything like the O’Briens, they’d laugh and called him a goofball. Maybe, Tom thought, Sister felt like she owed Mark, like he’d gotten away with too much. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">“I… don’t… know…Sister…” The words came out with little spaces between them. Spaces Tom knew were filled with pain. Mark’s scalp rose at the front of his hairline. His eyes were squeezed shut. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">The class knew that she wouldn’t release him until she got what she was looking for.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">“What will your father say?” she repeated. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">She shifted her grip from the front of his hair to his sideburn. Of course, they were too young for real sideburns. But Sister grabbed the piece of hair just in front and above his ear. And pulled. Up. Hard.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Mark wasn’t trying to be brave; it was just not his nature to cry. The class knew she wouldn’t stop pulling until he did. Tears were Sister’s currency.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Tom said a prayer for Mark. Tom thought later he should have prayed for Sister to have a kinder heart.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">After what seemed like eternity, a tear pearled in the corner of Mark’s eye. All the kids who could see that tear hoped it would signal the end of Sister Rachael Marie’s discipline. The tear slipped down his cheek and onto his handwriting paper, a round wet spot blurring the blue lines.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">With a faint smile, Sister let him go. Mark’s face was red. Tears filled both of his eyes now. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Sister sighed. “Where were we? Oh yes, let’s review the letter Q…”</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Tom walked home alone. Geno would have made up a nickname for Mark, and Tom couldn’t bear it. The scene played over in his mind—Mark’s crooked tie, the chewed pencil rolling down the aisle, the silence as everyone waited for him to cry.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Tom ducked into a weedy lot beside 57th Avenue. He sat on a cement block, the remains of a house foundation. Crickets chirped. Grasshoppers flung themselves around at being disturbed on this perfect grasshopper day. There was a yellow and black spider with a bright white zipper line woven through the middle of her web, waiting to catch one of these reckless grasshoppers. He heard traffic and snatches of kids’ conversation. A cicada buzzed close by. Tom put his head in his hands. And cried. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">They were quiet tears, like Mark’s. He prayed Mark would not be too embarrassed. He prayed Sister would lighten up. He prayed for the strength not to be such a crybaby. Tom was alone in this weedy little world, his head bowed. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWgkkB1g_7xHj3-4kjO_gz0N4bTRDAzrZdTxeUHQAQ1qMKHwXdIrcuJalPocuoihqvPDvE4g-Xp2S1k7xpiRP5YA3j0joxhAWCdOcWsZWcbTwKRCFBTXLnXCedyG4HWB5nkUKzSPW7OPY/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="143" data-original-width="258" height="177" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWgkkB1g_7xHj3-4kjO_gz0N4bTRDAzrZdTxeUHQAQ1qMKHwXdIrcuJalPocuoihqvPDvE4g-Xp2S1k7xpiRP5YA3j0joxhAWCdOcWsZWcbTwKRCFBTXLnXCedyG4HWB5nkUKzSPW7OPY/" width="320" /></a></span></div><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">He sighed and lifted his chin. Startled, he realized he wasn’t alone. Sitting next to him was Marilyn Malloy. She looked into the distance. Tom wiped his eyes and stole a glance at her. Her right arm was tucked into the folds of her plaid skirt. Her eyes sparkled blue and clear. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Then she snatched off her beanie. Bobby pins flew. Tom thought about making up a story to account for his tears, maybe allergies or an imaginary bug that flew up his nose.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">“Sorry,” he croaked.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">“You don’t have to be sorry.”</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">“I don’t usually hang out in the weeds and lose it.”</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">“I get it,” she said, avoiding his eyes. “Sister’s cruel. I cry sometimes, too.” </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><i>So</i>, Tom thought, <i>she can read minds</i>.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">They sat silently for a few minutes while he composed himself. She looked away so he wouldn’t be embarrassed. Tall weeds. Singing crickets. Foolish grasshoppers. Hungry spiders. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Marilyn pulled her malformed arm from its hiding place and touched Tom on the shoulder. Tom looked at it, then met her gaze. She smiled.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">“Listen. Don’t let her get you down. She wins then.”</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Tom had never been touched by a girl, other than his sisters or his mom.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">She simply touched him, got up, nodded, and walked away. For the rest of his life, he’d remember the first time being touched in kindness by a pretty girl.</span></p><div><br /></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p></p>Tim O'Keefehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12653709506879101775noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5578299375433383985.post-67468170764383813142021-09-07T07:13:00.002-07:002021-09-07T07:20:11.609-07:00We Pray for Children<br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;">I discovered this poem many years ago. I don't know it's <span class="GramE">history</span> but I used it often whenever I spoke to teachers of young children about how important our job is. For many kids, teachers are among the most important people in their daily lives. During the workweek, teachers spend about as much time with their students as parents do. That’s a lot of responsibility.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;">During this <span class="GramE">time in particular, when</span> our world is making life brutal for kids, the teacher’s roles of comforting, strengthening, confidence building, nurturing, empowering, and – yes – loving, are more crucial than ever. While I’ve been out of the classroom for over a year now, it’s hard to stop thinking of myself as a teacher. I hope I didn't just teach math or reading or social studies. I always meant to teach children. They weren’t my clients or my job. They were my best friends. This poem by Ina Hughes reminds me.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;">We pray for children</span></i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"> who put chocolate fingers <span class="GramE">everywhere</span></span></i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"> who like to be <span class="GramE">tickled</span></span></i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"> who stomp in puddles and ruin their new <span class="GramE">pants</span></span></i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"> who sneak popsicles before <span class="GramE">supper</span></span></i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"> who erase holes in math <span class="GramE">workbooks</span></span></i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"> who can never find their <span class="GramE">shoes</span></span></i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;">And we pray for those</span></i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"> who stare at photographers from behind barbed <span class="GramE">wire</span></span></i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"> who can't bound down the street in a new pair of <span class="GramE">sneakers</span></span></i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"> who never "counted potatoes<span class="GramE">"</span></span></i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"> who are born in places we wouldn't be caught <span class="GramE">dead</span></span></i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"> who never go to the <span class="GramE">circus</span></span></i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"> who live in an <span class="SpellE">x-rated</span> <span class="GramE">world</span></span></i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;">We pray for children</span></i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"> who bring us sticky kisses and fistfuls of <span class="GramE">dandelions</span></span></i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"> who sleep with the dog and bury <span class="GramE">goldfish</span></span></i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"> who hug us in a hurry and forget their lunch <span class="GramE">money</span></span></i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"> who cover themselves with band-aids and sing off <span class="GramE">key</span></span></i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"> who squeeze toothpaste all over the <span class="GramE">sink</span></span></i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"> who slurp their <span class="GramE">soup</span></span></i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;">And we pray for those</span></i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"> who never get <span class="GramE">dessert</span></span></i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"> who have no safe blanket to drag behind <span class="GramE">them</span></span></i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"> who watch their parents watch them die</span></i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"> who can't find any bread to <span class="GramE">steal</span></span></i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"> who don't have any rooms to clean <span class="GramE">up</span></span></i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"> whose pictures aren't on anybody's dresser</span></i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"> whose monsters are real</span></i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;">We pray for children</span></i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"> who spend their allowance before <span class="GramE">Tuesday</span></span></i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"> who throw tantrums in the grocery store and pick at their <span class="GramE">food</span></span></i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"> who like ghost <span class="GramE">stories</span></span></i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"> who shove dirty clothes under the bed and never rinse out the <span class="GramE">tub</span></span></i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"> who get visits from the tooth <span class="GramE">fairy</span></span></i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"> who don't like to be kissed in front of the <span class="GramE">carpool</span></span></i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"> who squirm in church or temple and scream in the <span class="GramE">phone</span></span></i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"> whose tears we sometimes laugh at and whose smiles can make us cry</span></i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;">And we pray for those</span></i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"> whose nightmares come in the daytime</span></i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"> who will eat <span class="GramE">anything</span></span></i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"> who have never seen a <span class="GramE">dentist</span></span></i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"> who aren't spoiled by <span class="GramE">anybody</span></span></i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"> who go to bed hungry and cry themselves to <span class="GramE">sleep</span></span></i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"> who live and breathe but have no <span class="GramE">being</span></span></i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;">We pray for children who want to be carried and for those who must</span></i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"> for those we never give up on </span></i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"> and for those who don't have a second chance</span></i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;">For those we smother... and for those who will grab the hand of </span></i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"> anybody kind enough to offer it.</span></i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"> Ina J. Hughes</span></i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPMSGLIT2vggzG7VquIlEnkubc5bDJNSP1zMx4zf4BI4Bz95hhhkdLWNfxKxZd-N210Kr4d6oRTOWphSOkeGRS45Z8pKZQDP90QOZCDTA5izYnKeqI8n_gAbkMslYxp5CSJTO_CJvioNQ/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="310" data-original-width="381" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPMSGLIT2vggzG7VquIlEnkubc5bDJNSP1zMx4zf4BI4Bz95hhhkdLWNfxKxZd-N210Kr4d6oRTOWphSOkeGRS45Z8pKZQDP90QOZCDTA5izYnKeqI8n_gAbkMslYxp5CSJTO_CJvioNQ/" width="295" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;">At school we had a moment of silence. I used to resent it. "Please pause for a moment of silence," said the child who read the announcements every day. It used to mean nothing to me. It was just thirty seconds where I would mentally prepare for the school day ahead.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #686868; font-size: 14pt;">After a while, I tried to look into the eyes of each student. After a while they tried to make sure our eyes met. During that sort of sacred time, I prayed for children.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p></p>Tim O'Keefehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12653709506879101775noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5578299375433383985.post-25438427600317951172021-08-29T11:03:00.000-07:002021-08-29T11:03:49.077-07:00A Change Gonna Come<p><span style="font-size: medium;"><b> </b></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><br /></b></span></div><p></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0in;"><i><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: medium;">For the past couple of years I've been writing fiction. Sort of. Much of it is memories. I have two manuscripts under my belt. Working on a third. Below is the first chapter of a historical fiction/middle grade novel tentatively called <u>A Change Gonna Come</u>. It's about being in sixth grade in a Catholic school during the 1967-68 school year. While it IS fiction, it's based on some of my experiences, friends, family, teachers, and enemies. From time to time I'll post bits that might work as stand alone pieces. Here's the opening chapter. I'd love to know what you think. </span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0in;"><i><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0in;"><i><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: medium;">Looking for an agent. Just saying. </span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0in;"><i><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><br /></b></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0in;"><i><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><br /></b></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><i>Merrillville, Indiana - Tuesday, September 5, 1967</i><o:p></o:p></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>“God, I hate these chokers!” Geno Svoboda tugged at his tie on their walk to Saints Peter and Paul Catholic School. Almost fall, it was still summertime hot.<o:p></o:p></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>“I miss vacation already,” said Tom. Black dress shoes shined, white shirts bleached, hair buzzed. This was the freshest they’d look until May 31, their final day of sixth grade. Their shoes were dusty by the time they got to school.</b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><br /></b></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji84pq6-4Iqszl9nmMKt69BqBFz2BXhdYv9Rs9rwXjbUOI4iksyK9IdqyxoJWGQ1Y6YjDRjsrS-iun8i_wHE_F064PGgjq52DTyCskXvq6wLI8I9fQa3rNQDsH54O8O75-QyWiiEJuiVQ/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><img alt="" data-original-height="208" data-original-width="371" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji84pq6-4Iqszl9nmMKt69BqBFz2BXhdYv9Rs9rwXjbUOI4iksyK9IdqyxoJWGQ1Y6YjDRjsrS-iun8i_wHE_F064PGgjq52DTyCskXvq6wLI8I9fQa3rNQDsH54O8O75-QyWiiEJuiVQ/" width="320" /></b></span></a></div></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><br /></b></span></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>The classroom smelled of the waxy floor coating applied over the summer, chalk, and dusty books. The windows let in a welcomed breeze that smelled of baseball, fort making, and snake catching, now reserved for weekends and vacations.<o:p></o:p></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Sister Rachael Marie was dressed in her nun’s habit, her “penguin costume.” All you could see of Sister were her hands and face. Even her forehead was covered with stiff, white fabric. The nuns wore long black veils, and their habits reached the floor.<o:p></o:p></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>She studied her seating chart and looked up at the young faces forming first impressions.<o:p></o:p></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>After nodding to Sister Rachael Marie, Tom zeroed in on his name, written on the desktop in neat cursive on a piece of tape: <i>Thomas O’Brien</i>. He looked at the name on the desk in front of his: <i>Mary Malloy.</i><o:p></o:p></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Tom hoped she was cool, because he’d have to look at the back of her head for the next one hundred seventy school days.<o:p></o:p></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>The girls wore white blouses, shiny black shoes, and pleated skirts. Through sixth grade the girls wore beanies, little round cloth caps held in place with bobby pins. <o:p></o:p></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Sister examined her chart. “Another O’Brien, hmm?” Tom hoped she wouldn’t judge him from his brother Matt’s shenanigans.<o:p></o:p></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>“Maria Bartolomeo. I pray you have a better work ethic than your brother, Anthony.”<o:p></o:p></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>“Yes, Sister,” she replied.<o:p></o:p></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>“You must call me <i>Sister Rachael Marie</i>. No informalities in this classroom.”<o:p></o:p></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>“Yes, Sister Rachael Marie,” Maria nodded so hard her beanie almost fell off.<o:p></o:p></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Then she walked in. It had to be Mary. Tom noticed how bright her eyes <span class="GramE">were in contrast to</span> her dark hair.<o:p></o:p></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Rachael Marie motioned to the empty front desk.<o:p></o:p></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Mary’s beanie was tucked into the waist of her skirt.<o:p></o:p></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>“Mary, put your beanie on.”<o:p></o:p></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Mary looked perplexed.<o:p></o:p></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>“Mary!” Sister said too loudly. “Beanie. Now!”<o:p></o:p></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>“My name is Marilyn,” she whispered. “I thought you were talking to someone else.”<o:p></o:p></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>“There is no Marilyn in the Bible. I will have no unchristian names in my classroom.”<o:p></o:p></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>“My parents named me Marilyn,” she said, eyebrows scrunching together.<o:p></o:p></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>“Children in this room will be called Christian names.” Tom could think of plenty of kids in school who didn’t have Biblical names.<o:p></o:p></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>“Now, put your beanie on.”<o:p></o:p></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>“Sister, we didn’t have any bobby pins. I just enrolled and…”<o:p></o:p></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>“I expect you’ve been raised very informally. In this classroom you will give me my rank.”<o:p></o:p></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>“Ma’am?”<o:p></o:p></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>“You’ll address me as <i>Sister Rachael Marie</i> at all times.”<o:p></o:p></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>“Yes, ma’am. Yes, Sister. Yes, Sister Rachael Marie,” Marilyn-Mary stammered.<o:p></o:p></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>“You will wear your beanie every day. Today you’ll buy pins from me. I charge two pennies each.”<o:p></o:p></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>“Sister, I don’t…”<o:p></o:p></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>“Pay me tomorrow, but you <i>will </i>wear your beanie today.”<o:p></o:p></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Marilyn-Mary’s cheeks flushed. Sister opened her drawer and pulled out a card covered with bobby pins. She pulled two off and walked over to Marilyn-Mary’s desk. They dropped with a <span class="SpellE"><i>tink-tink</i></span>.<o:p></o:p></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Marilyn-Mary pinned her beanie in place.<o:p></o:p></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Later, Tom watched her reach out to open the lid of her desk. Her arm ended above the elbow. The hand at the end of that short arm had only one tiny finger curving out from the side.<o:p></o:p></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Tom stared. This girl was so pretty, so normal. But her arm gave him the creeps. No matter what was happening in class, he searched for her stump. He didn’t want to see it, but he couldn’t look away.<o:p></o:p></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Around midmorning, textbooks were checked out. Marilyn-Mary’s stump snaked out to hold up her desktop as Sister handed her the heavy American history book. Sister saw the malformed hand, and so did many of their classmates.<o:p></o:p></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>“Mary,” Sister said.<o:p></o:p></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>After an entire morning of talking, Sister fell silent.<o:p></o:p></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Marilyn-Mary looked up, “Yes, Sister Rachael Marie?”<o:p></o:p></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>“I’m sorry,” Sister said, eyes focused directly on Marilyn-Mary’s arm.<o:p></o:p></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Marilyn-Mary’s cheeks <span class="GramE">flushed;</span> her eyes bright with anger. “<i>Don’t waste your sorry on me</i>, Sister Rachael Marie.”</b></span><o:p></o:p></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p></p>Tim O'Keefehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12653709506879101775noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5578299375433383985.post-5249180518505681592021-08-22T10:23:00.003-07:002021-08-22T14:42:03.838-07:00Dear Mr. O<div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Forgive the tense changes in this piece. I retired from teaching little kids a year ago. Sometimes I still wake up and I'm a little confused about where I am. My tenses are bewildered.</span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><br /></span><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">You might remember letters. A pencil-and-paper message, handwritten, with thoughts, memories, stories. Love. Carefully crafted. Written in cursive, folded twice, tucked into an envelope, licked shut, stamped, addressed, return addressed. I received one this week. It was from an old friend. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"> I knew this child a couple years ago. She was in my third-grade class. We spent 7 hours a day together. We played on the recess field. Shared meals. Made each other laugh. We shared our favorite books, family stories. We sat side-by-side during powerful discoveries, asked and answered important questions. After a while (never at the very beginning) we said we loved each other. And it was sincere. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">The life of a teacher must be peculiar to those outside the field. Teachers and students start out essentially as strangers, each of us asking ourselves if we’ll like each other, if this will be a good time, if we’ll laugh. Can we be ourselves? Will there be moments of amazement? Joy? Will there be sadness? Fear? Will we be allowed and encouraged to be who we really are? </span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"> I asked myself at the beginning of the year (yes, even after 38 years), <i>Am I up to this? Do I have teacher/imposter syndrome? Am I faking it? Is everything going to be OK? </i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">As we got to know each other, there were all the important times one expects after years in the profession. The Ah-Ha! moments, difficult things to learn and teach, the sometimes excruciating outside world pressing in on our classroom lives, new babies, the deaths of grandparents and beloved pets, getting to know each other in ways that few people can. Knowing which gags will make the class laugh. Understanding how to get everyone’s attention. Figuring out everyone’s line of when to push, when to let go, when to show anger and disappointment, and when – after a while – to say, “I’ve been meaning to tell you all this. I hope you don’t feel uncomfortable. But… </span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“<i>I love you</i>. I do. You’re my best friends. Someone has to be in charge here. And that would be me. But I want you to know. I mean it. I love you.” Or something like that. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"> It was more spontaneous than it sounds. It wasn’t rehearsed. I usually said it when we got settled from a transition. Like coming in for recess, just before read aloud, lining up for lunch, or at the end of a particularly difficult day. (Yeah, we had those.) </span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">There were plenty of years as a young teacher when I didn’t tell the kids how I felt. The emotions were always there. I just wasn’t comfortable enough in my teacher-skin to say it. But after the first time I used “the L word” with my young students, a weight was lifted. It became more natural. It felt right. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">When the kids went on the fourth grade, I often mourned. Quietly. It wasn’t just certain kids. There’s an <i>US</i> that happens with a group of people who get to know each as teachers and learners in a room where you spend hundreds of hours in the same space. You may remember from when you were little. It probably happens in middle and high school. Surely it happens in college seminars. But it’s not quite the same as when you’re little. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">So, when they moved on I mourned. I missed <i>US</i>. Certainly, there was a new group in front of me that I would learn to love. But for a time, there was an uncertainty in many of my former students’ eyes as we passed in the hall or saw each other in the cafeteria. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><i>There’s the guy who made us laugh and work hard. There is the graybeard who read us stories, let us into his life, read to us from the news and asked our opinions. That man who brought in watermelons for us to eat on hot days, caterpillars for us to watch, forest soil to examine. He prepared us for the ridiculous end of the year tests, sang songs with us, listened as we shared our stories. That old dude who taught us new playground games, math games, chess. The fella (born in the 1950’s, can you believe it?) who had a hard time hiding his tears and never held back his laughter. </i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">After a while our connection fades. For those new 9-year-olds passing me in the hall or playing kickball with their own class on the recess field, that time in 2nd and 3rd becomes distant. They’re growing up, making new memories that replace many of the old ones. They’re not strangers exactly, but no longer best friends. I might flash the “I love you” sign, but their smiles back become less bright. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">It’s natural. I’ve seen it so many times I can’t remember. My first students would be in their mid-50s now. They may remember my name, but very little else. It’s just the way it is. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDtOEY7AB3Qn3XQfyID5b_klgiEICen0ZaP8js7WE9rn7LxfGducUTpR6qPjIM3Zfnd2T2_8S5DDNjBAzZLPuPcE045HON6V2gqEEFTKvlTkglbRZthe1scZtJc6A6bwrerqwGmqdOVh4/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="330" data-original-width="514" height="287" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDtOEY7AB3Qn3XQfyID5b_klgiEICen0ZaP8js7WE9rn7LxfGducUTpR6qPjIM3Zfnd2T2_8S5DDNjBAzZLPuPcE045HON6V2gqEEFTKvlTkglbRZthe1scZtJc6A6bwrerqwGmqdOVh4/w448-h287/Screen+Shot+2021-08-22+at+1.06.20+PM.png" width="448" /></a></div></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">But then every once in a while, a little glimmer reaches through the bills, ads, political BS, and sales circulars in my mailbox. Every so often there is an envelope addressed to me in cursive handwriting (that I taught). And it’s filled with… </span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><i>Dear Mr. O… I got to see my new baby cousin for the first time. She is so sweet… We caught 3 snakes and a huge crawdad… My pinky got stung by a bee that I was trying to rescue… I can’t believe we’re going back to school so soon. They say there might be a new kid… I read a good book called <u>Charley Thorn and the Lost City</u>. What are you reading?... </i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">And every once in a while, it’s signed with perhaps the most important word of all time. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><b><i>Love
</i></b></span></div>Tim O'Keefehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12653709506879101775noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5578299375433383985.post-12144802791600241512021-08-16T11:25:00.001-07:002021-08-16T12:16:57.327-07:00Just Ordinary Thoughts - Three Angels and a Truck<p><br /> </p><h3 class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="background-color: white; color: #686868; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 18px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; position: relative;">Just Ordinary Thoughts</h3><div class="post-header" style="background-color: white; color: #a6a6a6; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.5px; line-height: 1.6; margin: 0px 0px 1.5em;"><div class="post-header-line-1"></div></div><div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-7178546853893087220" itemprop="description articleBody" style="background-color: white; color: #686868; line-height: 1.4; position: relative; width: 578px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Once again, restarting the blog. I mean it this time. A lot has been going on. Retired from teaching little kids after 38 years. I wrote two books. Querying the heck out of the first one. Waiting for edits on the second. Thinking and making notes for the third. In the meantime I have the need to write. My goal is to write something new every week for Ordinary Guy (the name of this blog). But I'll also repost older pieces that haven't seen the light of day for a while. This is the one I started off with on September 25, 2008. A little time capsule. A little fossil preserved in amber.</span></div><div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-7178546853893087220" itemprop="description articleBody" style="background-color: white; color: #686868; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 1.4; position: relative; width: 578px;"><br /></div><div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-7178546853893087220" itemprop="description articleBody" style="background-color: white; color: #686868; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 1.4; position: relative; width: 578px;"><br /></div><div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-7178546853893087220" itemprop="description articleBody" style="background-color: white; color: #686868; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 1.4; position: relative; width: 578px;"><br /></div><div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-7178546853893087220" itemprop="description articleBody" style="background-color: white; color: #686868; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 1.4; position: relative; width: 578px;">The other day a cool thing happened. I guess it isn't just ordinary. My wife and some new friends and my son and his sweetie were helping a friend in distress. She was moving out of her estranged husband's place. It was hard. Not the work. The situation. She was incredibly sad. She and her husband had fixed this beautiful place up. It took years of backbreaking work. Yet, as our friend explained, it was all a labor of love. <div><br /></div><div>It was a big old building. They had to tear it apart before rebuilding. Sweat. Tears. Years. The estranged husband was there while we were organizing, collecting dusty boxes, emptying out closets, getting fire ant bites. He was there sort of creeping around. and playing his symphonic music REALLY loud. We would catch peeks of him lurking.</div><div><br /></div><div>Our friend was in pain. She took us on a lengthy tour of the place. It was magnificent. The work was brilliant. While there was still a lot to do, her work there was finished. She was not only saying good bye to this home, this project, the years of labor and love she put into it. She was also saying farewell to years of marriage and commitment to a guy who wasn't nice for a long time. There were lots of tears. While the morning became afternoon I became more and more angry with her skulking husband and sadder and sadder for her. It was wretched.</div><div><br /></div><div>In the early afternoon three guys came from Two-Men-And-A-Truck. To me they were sort of faceless. I'm embarrassed to say it but I was so absorbed in my friend's pain, and my anger at her creeper husband, that I never even looked these men in the eye. While we had sort of organized things and pulled some of the boxes together, these three men did the real work. Dressers, wardrobes, stuffed dusty boxes. I didn't even acknowledge them. These strong young men put their backs into the real labor, while we sort of huddled around our friend. We were doing our job. They were doing theirs.</div><div><br /></div><div>After the truck was loaded we prepared for the long ride back to her new place. Three cars and the moving truck. One of the young movers said, "We need to circle up." I wasn't sure what he meant. "C'mon, man. Why don't you go get the lady? She needs a circle." I went to get our friend. As I walked up to the door she came out into the sunlight with red-rimmed eyes and wet cheeks. She had just been saying good bye to her dog who was staying behind. The rest of our group were standing in a semi-circle. Waiting. When she came over, we held hands. The Three-Men-And-Truck guy took off his hat. His head was shiny bald. He tucked it under his arm and held hands with one of the other guys. The Three-Men closed their eyes and bowed their heads. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwMrwUa_Fna3QdpFhPokkquh_YM8HVOIB_kIT7csJ6UJqv9dUCEfccm9LCjUUs4M14u1WBSaGRqYb46vFvx8UGr0thNcMaRdITULww1i9b2eB_5DdnhiQVDwlpj5hP4v6gzJ8H2Sq4AoY/s333/Screen+Shot+2021-08-16+at+1.36.24+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="168" data-original-width="333" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwMrwUa_Fna3QdpFhPokkquh_YM8HVOIB_kIT7csJ6UJqv9dUCEfccm9LCjUUs4M14u1WBSaGRqYb46vFvx8UGr0thNcMaRdITULww1i9b2eB_5DdnhiQVDwlpj5hP4v6gzJ8H2Sq4AoY/w415-h209/Screen+Shot+2021-08-16+at+1.36.24+PM.png" width="415" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>"God," he said reverently. "Please send down your love on this good woman. She's goin' through some hard times and she needs some of your love right now. Thank you, God, for these good friends who have gathered 'round to give her comfort. Please be sure that she sees some of your kindness and mercy real soon." Long pause. The other Three-Men guys nodded their approval. </div><div><br /></div><div>"Thanks," our friend said quietly. "That was beautiful." </div><div><br /></div><div>I cried. Some of the others did too. The words were perfect. The sentiments exactly what were needed. The blessing so pure and sweet. Of course these good men had seen the pain and sorrow. They were tired, probably not all that well paid. And yet they gave back to all of us in a way that nothing else could. </div><div><br /></div><div>We left that place soon after. It was one of those <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">rea</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">l</span></span> times, one of those lessons about human worth and dignity that jumped out at me. When I shared this little story with some friends it occurred to me that there are small important moments that happen all the time. I work with small children. I am married to my best friend and have two wonderful sons to fill my life with joy. </div><div><br /></div><div>It was this bright little moment that made me think I should start another blog. This one will be a combination of Just Ordinary Thoughts and stories of a life. It will also contain short stories and bits of fiction that I have written over the years. Since I am a teacher, it will probably contain stories of wonderful children and the lessons they teach me. </div><div><br /></div><div>So, here is the start of my story. I hope that it has some light for you.</div></div>Tim O'Keefehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12653709506879101775noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5578299375433383985.post-54705830569837952522019-04-01T05:13:00.000-07:002019-04-01T05:14:03.661-07:00That One Day<div class="MsoNormal">
I hadn’t even looked at my blog for a long time. I AM a
writer. I have written curriculum with kids, I have written books, chapters and
articles about teaching. I wrote lengthy newsletters to my students’ parents
about what we did each week in class and why we did it. I wrote during my
class’ writing workshop. I’ve written songs, responses to books, lots of
things. Really. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But I let this blog go. I stopped writing about the
essential every day noticings a writer needs in order to sustain an edge, that look at the world, that observational stance, which makes one more
careful, more watchful, more keen to pick up on little things that make a big
difference. We live those moments all the time. But writing about them gives
them their rightful place in our lives. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s all those small stories that make up the big story of
our life. And when you write them down, they find their importance.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Here’s one. A couple weekends ago, Heidi and I went up to
our son’s house. He and his wife bought this honey of a place in Tega Cay. It
had just been flipped. The previous owner went through as fast as possible and
slapped down carpet over tile, ignored drainage issues, and painted
surfaces that deserved a little more TLC before being whitewashed over. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Devin found mold behind some sheetrock and had to gut a
downstairs room. Carpet had to be pulled up, plasterboard broken up and removed, everything needed to be bleached. He had to get it all down to the bare bones. Not pleasant but necessary. He invited me up for the construction. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Neither of us had ever done any extensive rebuilding like
this. Instead of replacing the sheetrock we used tongue-and-groove pine boards. There were
four outlets on the wall, space for trim, lots of measuring and cutting. It’s
not like it was all that hard to figure out what to do. It’s just that we
figured it out <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">together</i>. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Here is this big strong man, who I used to carry on my
shoulders, who used to delight me with his first insect discoveries, his first
guitar licks, his first tricks on a skateboard, catching his first bass. Then
his first crush, his first car, his first experiences in college. Then getting
into grad school, getting that doctorate, marrying the love of his life, buying
his first house. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>That one day</i> of us figuring out – <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Measure twice, cut once</i></b>!
– on the edge of understanding, of making small mistakes and figuring out how
to fix them so no one would notice but us. <i>That one day </i>of measuring and
cutting, of drilling and screwing, of trimming over larger than expected spaces
and spackling and calking in places where it was needed. <i>That one day</i> of
laughing and reminiscing and catching up on the miles and time between us. <i>That
one day</i> of sawdust in our noses and too loud noises in our ears, of cool water
drinks and fast food sandwiches. <i>That one day</i>.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If you’d asked me on Monday what I did over the weekend, I
probably would have said, “Heidi and I went up to Devin and Shae’s and we
refinished his sunroom.” But it was more than that. It was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">that one day.</i> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I looked over the little profile piece for this blog.
Sheesh, it is out of date. I will do the necessary repairs to the blurb, but
after teaching little kids for thirty-eight years, I am a retired classroom
teacher. It feels weird to say it, to write it, to be it. When I find myself at
Lowe’s at 9:00 some random weekday morning to get paint for that shed
I’ve let go for so long, it still feels weird. When I look at the clock
throughout the day I wonder what my old class, my old best friends are doing
right now. When it’s recess time I wonder if they are playing the games we used
to play. I wonder what books they are reading, what science they are learning,
how their writing is coming along. I wonder if they laugh as much as we used
to. I wonder if they still read books that make them cry.</div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Here is a little piece Heidi and I published in a book called </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Open a World of Possible</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJY0MU48ijytsumoUaoxqReBSkLzG1MLEKfpgh4RpaYpDA9JOMKhX8K47Jz-lirVPGlmzavcLCAIiZEPOGNWyAS7Am7DITT3XxQQFpQE6ZOKp2LIL03LvxM5LdI1ajIoqgrkW5OzpSONM/s1600/p.+212.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="780" data-original-width="549" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJY0MU48ijytsumoUaoxqReBSkLzG1MLEKfpgh4RpaYpDA9JOMKhX8K47Jz-lirVPGlmzavcLCAIiZEPOGNWyAS7Am7DITT3XxQQFpQE6ZOKp2LIL03LvxM5LdI1ajIoqgrkW5OzpSONM/s1600/p.+212.png" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiCTwlV6PBMrURdVSUHoW627Z1DSsuXoD_Yswl-YYO8bd2jqzD0tkRvYfdEHIgyY0u5bbpbPrGuY0ygyVx3i2pRwdnPqxNV6pCjewAAXAdCfOoIh8CTr0kSUeTdApOLBlgCGHbAEL6Wmc/s1600/p.+213.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="771" data-original-width="516" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiCTwlV6PBMrURdVSUHoW627Z1DSsuXoD_Yswl-YYO8bd2jqzD0tkRvYfdEHIgyY0u5bbpbPrGuY0ygyVx3i2pRwdnPqxNV6pCjewAAXAdCfOoIh8CTr0kSUeTdApOLBlgCGHbAEL6Wmc/s1600/p.+213.png" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1P1CLOQ9z4uc6H1ovV6L7PFCnsyqcheQ3qUi5Txh6NYP8QPFTVEkTU_9Ytk0tS5mfnw1cjWLRWxWWlyoKVPbXYFJ7CoPP6muNtcPWWPoa6YxVpkLqS9H1uLSbHll2_InWzOxriY6iDTY/s1600/p.+214.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="622" data-original-width="515" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1P1CLOQ9z4uc6H1ovV6L7PFCnsyqcheQ3qUi5Txh6NYP8QPFTVEkTU_9Ytk0tS5mfnw1cjWLRWxWWlyoKVPbXYFJ7CoPP6muNtcPWWPoa6YxVpkLqS9H1uLSbHll2_InWzOxriY6iDTY/s1600/p.+214.png" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That being said – here comes the part that sounds trite – I
am working on my first novel. I told you I am a writer. But don’t many people,
at some time or another, start their first novel (and never get it finished,
never get it right, never get it submitted, never get it accepted, never get it
published)? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have been working pretty seriously since September, and it
is more than half finished – well, the rough draft. I do understand that a ton
of work has to be done in the finishing. You know, filling in where there are
gaps, trimming over larger than expected spaces, calking, spackling, measuring
twice and cutting once. So far I’ve only measured once. But I’ll get there.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Thing is, it doesn’t feel like work. In some ways I have
been preparing for this for my entire adult life. I have read the greats
(Stephen King - <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">On Writing</i>, Strunk
and White – <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Elements of Style</i>,
Ralph Fletcher – <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">What a Writer Needs</i>,
William Zinsser – <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">On Writing Well</i>). </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I know that in future blog posts I will write more about my sixth
grade characters set in northwest Indiana, in a Catholic school, in the 1967-68
school year. Back in the day there were 170 school days. The working title is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">One Hundred Seventy Days With Marilyn</i>. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I hope that you stay on board. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ll be back. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
<o:AllowPNG/>
</o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:WordDocument>
<w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom>
<w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves>
<w:TrackFormatting/>
<w:PunctuationKerning/>
<w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>
<w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>
<w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>
<w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>
<w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/>
<w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>
<w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent>
<w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>
<w:Compatibility>
<w:BreakWrappedTables/>
<w:DontGrowAutofit/>
<w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/>
<w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/>
</w:Compatibility>
</w:WordDocument>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276">
</w:LatentStyles>
</xml><![endif]-->
<!--[if gte mso 10]>
<style>
/* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
{mso-style-name:"Table Normal";
mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt;
mso-para-margin:0in;
mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;}
</style>
<![endif]-->
<!--StartFragment-->
<!--EndFragment--><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I promise.</div>
Tim O'Keefehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12653709506879101775noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5578299375433383985.post-15210228221395197872019-03-12T14:05:00.001-07:002019-03-12T14:05:37.225-07:00Cancer Poetry<span style="font-size: large;">I have been out of the blogging business for quite some time now. I have not been out of the writing business though. Currently I am working on a young adult novel. The tentative title is, <i>One Hundred Seventy Days With Marilyn. </i></span><br />
<i><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></i>
<span style="font-size: large;">It feels good. I'll probably keep updating about the progress of the book. Thing is - it doesn't feel like work. When I am not writing, I read about writing. I think about writing. I have little epiphanies at the strangest times. Taking a shower, going out for a walk, painting the shed. Dreaming. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I feel as though I need to get back to my roots and write about the wonderful, the mysterious, the mundane. The people and events that shape my life. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">If you have checked in on my blogs in the past (bless you), you know that at one time I was a regular. It might take me a while to gain that momentum again. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">People don't much read blogs anymore. No, it's the Facebook, Instagram, Twitter. Frankly, not a whole lot of people read books anymore. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">But writing is, at least in part, for the writer, right?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Here's a little piece (a text - HA!) I wrote to my principal and my friend about going to the doctor. She said with the right line breaks it might be poetry. Hmmm</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">You be the judge. It ain't like <a href="http://thedashboardpoet.blogspot.com/">James M. Woods</a> (see blog scroll for some real, honest-to-God poetry).</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Thanks for reading. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I'll be back.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Tim</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">SKIN DOC</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Went to the skin doc on Thursday</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">She sort of keeps my cancer business</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">in check</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Along with my oncologist</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">I have seen her a dozen times or more</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Never in clothes</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">By the time she comes in</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">I am always in my skivvies</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Weird relationship, huh?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">(Nine years since my malignant </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">melanoma, by the way </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">But I should never feel at ease about it</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">There is no statute of limitations</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">on malignant melanoma</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">THANKS, DOC!)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">I leave a little part of me with her</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">whenever I see her</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Not in a love song way</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">I mean a piece of my body</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">This time a piece of my cheek</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Like I'm not rough looking enough</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>Tim O'Keefehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12653709506879101775noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5578299375433383985.post-4186960743621459092017-01-16T06:30:00.005-08:002017-01-17T02:34:26.656-08:00God Bless John Lewis<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">God Bless John Lewis</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Y_hbDoJFzIU" width="560"></iframe></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">“I believe in forgiveness.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I get that. Totally. If someone punched you in the gut. Even
if he did it on purpose. One could possibly forgive that person. But could you
do it while the person was punching you? What if the person kept on
punching?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Can you forgive someone
who is punching you, has a history of punching others and has proven that he
just won’t stop?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Can you forgive a person who punches people who are less
able to defend themselves? Can you forgive a person who punches freely, without
fear of any reprisal, whom you know will keep on punching, and kicking, and who
will get others to do it for him as long as he possibly can?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">The closer we get to inauguration day, the scarier this
whole thing becomes. Trump's cabinet choices demonstrate how he has no regard for
our political system, no intentions of placing people who would do a decent job
of representing the people’s interests.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Rex Tillerson for Secretary of State. Could there be a worse
pick? He is the ex-chairman for Exxon Mobil, has extremely close ties to Putin.
In the past has been a climate change skeptic, but may be willing to change his
tune for a shot at this job. He just acted dumb about foreign policy questions
during his hearing. He is openly ignorant about foreign policy. You would have thought he could bone up for the interview, right?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Ben Carson for the director of HUD? It would be funny if it weren’t
so apparently ignorant. Carson didn’t want the position. Admitted that he had
no experience or knowledge of what to do. Probably doesn’t know what HUD stands
for.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Michael Flynn for National Security Advisor. He lost his job
in part for giving classified information to Pakistan. Trust issues?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Trump wants Linda McMahon to be in charge of the Small
Business Administration She is an executive from World Wrestling Entertainment. Her qualifications? Promoting fake wrestling. Make sense?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Mike Pompeo as Director of the CIA. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="background: white; color: #333333;">He called
those at the CIA who participated in torture “heroes, not pawns in some liberal
game being played by the ACLU and [former intelligence committee chair] Senator
[Dianne] Feinstein”</span></i><span style="background: white; color: #333333;">.</span><span style="color: #333333;"> (<a href="https://www.theguardian.com/us-news/2016/dec/09/donald-trump-administration-cabinet-picks-so-far">https://www.theguardian.com/us-news/2016/dec/09/donald-trump-administration-cabinet-picks-so-far</a>)<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Rick Perry for the EPA! Kidding, right? Nope! The same Rick
Perry who in a debate, forgot the name of this department as one he would get
rid of. This department. A climate change denier in charge of the the Environmental Protection Agency he
wanted to eliminate?!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #333333;">Betsy DeVos who has spent all of her energy in education
undermining public schools. She’s the pick to head the Department of Education.
Seriously?</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Sarah Palin in charge of the Veterans Administration? Sarah
Palin in charge of anything?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB-EbwdKy4Nog93uZOHycL2RFS2047ErW8dL7EQnb3dFsoNvpyAIfQ4q3E_gqDoG0rp2MWk-BOw_Z-fUCp5yM9JXI33SxiiVPseZdyjPwnZejkkjjuMG8Q0qssPkoAcLRI37o_wQJeaRo/s1600/Trump+Tweet.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB-EbwdKy4Nog93uZOHycL2RFS2047ErW8dL7EQnb3dFsoNvpyAIfQ4q3E_gqDoG0rp2MWk-BOw_Z-fUCp5yM9JXI33SxiiVPseZdyjPwnZejkkjjuMG8Q0qssPkoAcLRI37o_wQJeaRo/s400/Trump+Tweet.png" width="353" /></span></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-no-proof: yes;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /><!--[endif]--></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">So when Donald Trump tweeted that John Lewis needs to stick
to his own business, and that he is failing to help his own district, I thought
– Donald Trump isn’t worthy to be in the same room as John Lewis. John Lewis
has spent his entire life helping others. He risked his life to do so. He has
always stood up for the common man, the poor, the oppressed. The only person
Trump has stood up for is himself, his only cause is to make more money. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRe4c3lyFQzch820gEE1RKnHFVnN588FhWhSf3M4OD7yclINMZ5c2n4waA0FkxTqEKtCPe-29v6hPSYiFEtoJdp6NowwU-dDCa7LShIS3P7t72b5PMumhtbfKpkbnmf-C8_-wfoqo1kIg/s1600/An+American+Hero.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRe4c3lyFQzch820gEE1RKnHFVnN588FhWhSf3M4OD7yclINMZ5c2n4waA0FkxTqEKtCPe-29v6hPSYiFEtoJdp6NowwU-dDCa7LShIS3P7t72b5PMumhtbfKpkbnmf-C8_-wfoqo1kIg/s400/An+American+Hero.png" width="391" /></span></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-no-proof: yes;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /><!--[endif]--></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXLLz21JjA8xmjdTidMpICvCePOQbWxLrxfhJfZjjDQ0ag37h4Szcy8zk748AA4hkiakSNjkuMPPbZdK7wtjHu7Z5ZJNENj0xOMxTefXgxhS7-YCo7YMsdW7gwYwbKhz_7jvayqJQ_rhk/s1600/Mugshot.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXLLz21JjA8xmjdTidMpICvCePOQbWxLrxfhJfZjjDQ0ag37h4Szcy8zk748AA4hkiakSNjkuMPPbZdK7wtjHu7Z5ZJNENj0xOMxTefXgxhS7-YCo7YMsdW7gwYwbKhz_7jvayqJQ_rhk/s400/Mugshot.png" width="268" /></span></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-no-proof: yes;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /><!--[endif]--></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRssqi7JDxXiaxlMW19oAe0mBQqtNtiZoz3nt7y466IF1h6ldNB0KQh1jdtoznBrQKkrmZXDiANkpix0nP6LNL_07RB-rBcE_yaNDMUDkDIhRP_f1qos6mqe_gyfI0cJbkakLKZgymBLw/s1600/medal+of+Freedom.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRssqi7JDxXiaxlMW19oAe0mBQqtNtiZoz3nt7y466IF1h6ldNB0KQh1jdtoznBrQKkrmZXDiANkpix0nP6LNL_07RB-rBcE_yaNDMUDkDIhRP_f1qos6mqe_gyfI0cJbkakLKZgymBLw/s640/medal+of+Freedom.png" width="596" /></span></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-no-proof: yes;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /><!--[endif]--></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<!--[if !mso]>
<style>
v\:* {behavior:url(#default#VML);}
o\:* {behavior:url(#default#VML);}
w\:* {behavior:url(#default#VML);}
.shape {behavior:url(#default#VML);}
</style>
<![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
<o:AllowPNG/>
</o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:WordDocument>
<w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom>
<w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves>
<w:TrackFormatting/>
<w:PunctuationKerning/>
<w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>
<w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>
<w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>
<w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>
<w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/>
<w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>
<w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent>
<w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>
<w:Compatibility>
<w:BreakWrappedTables/>
<w:DontGrowAutofit/>
<w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/>
<w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/>
</w:Compatibility>
</w:WordDocument>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276">
</w:LatentStyles>
</xml><![endif]-->
<!--[if gte mso 10]>
<style>
/* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
{mso-style-name:"Table Normal";
mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt;
mso-para-margin:0in;
mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;}
</style>
<![endif]-->
<!--StartFragment-->
<!--EndFragment--><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">So God Bless John Lewis. Between him and Donald J. Trump,
which one do you think is the patriot?</span></div>
Tim O'Keefehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12653709506879101775noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5578299375433383985.post-49684839484971425112017-01-08T18:17:00.000-08:002017-01-08T18:17:34.016-08:00Yes We Did<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Yes We Did</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>I can hardly believe that these eight years are over. I
can’t say that I agree with everything that Barak Obama has done as president.
And there are things that I wish he had focused on more. But no president tried
to do more good for more people than he did. There could never be a president
of the United States of America that I could completely agree with. But he had
integrity. Sincerity. He stood up for the oppressed. He was kind. He was
generous. Welcoming. Strong when he needed to be.</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>There were no scandals in the White House. Michelle Obama is
articulate, brilliant, beautiful. All of her causes were noble and forward
thinking. She really did write most of her own speeches. </b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><b><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/eDOo3v2ntHI" width="560"></iframe></b></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><b><br /></b></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>I can’t say I am not a little frightened. OK, a lot
frightened – by our experiment in idiocy. Our next president has more honesty
issues, more hypocrisy, more racism, more sexual violence in his past, than can
even be imagined. I wouldn’t want my students in the same room alone with him.
And we voted for him as our president? </b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Where are the conservatives who despised Russia? Are we now
willing to suck up to a villain? And don’t give me that Russia had no effect on
our elections. They hacked emails. Spread fake news. They lied. MANY believed the lies. They got away
with it. </b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>His racism and hostility towards minorities and immigrants
is disgusting. His apparent sexism and brutality toward women, his bullying and
incitement to violence at his rallies, his acceptance of indecency all should
have disqualified him.</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Ah, but these are different times. There are new rules in
that there are NO rules.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lies,
scandal, ignorance, sexual assault – nothing stood in the way of the US voting
for this man. Here are a few of Trumps “issues” listed by my friend Dan in an
email, any one of these may have disqualified anyone else in the past. Charity
fraud <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>- caught in lies, calling
for nuclear proliferation, calling for national stop and frisk, violating the
trade embargo with Cuba, bribing the DA in Florida and getting caught red-handed,
employing a campaign manager involved with illegal corruption in Russia, he
doesn’t pay taxes for 20 years – and brags about how he uses the system.</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>He called for banning an entire religion from entering the
US, lied about his support for the war in Iraq, in court for the rape of a
minor, being totally unaware of Russia’s invasion of Crimea and the many deaths
there, being unaware of the situation in Syria, being penalized for
discrimination in housing, filing for bankruptcy 6 times, showing very little
knowledge of world affairs in all of the debates.</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>He slammed John McCain for being a POW while he never served
in the armed forces (the details of his deferment seem to indicate that he lied
to get out of serving in Vietnam), he called Mexicans rapists, he questioned a
federal judge’s integrity because his parents are Mexican, he deleted emails in
a casino scandal, he committed insurance fraud after a hurricane in Florida.</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Dozens of assault victims came forward with allegations of
abuse, he attacked and kept attacking Miss Universe for being overweight (while
Trump himself is considered well beyond a healthy weight), he called for US
citizens to be sent to Gitmo, he called for more extreme forms of torture to be
used, he asked why we can’t use nukes if we have them.</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>He called to kill women and children in families of
suspected terrorists, he said women should be punished for having abortions, he
made fun of a disabled reporter and then continually lied about doing so, he
has called for an end of freedom of the press, he has called global warming a
Chinese hoax, he continually praises Putin as being an intelligent man and a
strong leader, he openly admitted to not paying his employees during a debate,
he delegitimized Obama’s presidency hundreds of times by lying about his
citizenship.</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>He used campaign contributions to enrich his own businesses,
said Ted Cruz’s father was involved with the assassination of JFK citing the
National Enquirer as his source, he said that Black people are inherently lazy,
and his appointments for cabinet positions and advisors are almost comical in
their absurdity.</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
<o:AllowPNG/>
</o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:WordDocument>
<w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom>
<w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves>
<w:TrackFormatting/>
<w:PunctuationKerning/>
<w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>
<w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>
<w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>
<w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>
<w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/>
<w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>
<w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent>
<w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>
<w:Compatibility>
<w:BreakWrappedTables/>
<w:DontGrowAutofit/>
<w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/>
<w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/>
</w:Compatibility>
</w:WordDocument>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276">
</w:LatentStyles>
</xml><![endif]-->
<!--[if gte mso 10]>
<style>
/* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
{mso-style-name:"Table Normal";
mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt;
mso-para-margin:0in;
mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;}
</style>
<![endif]-->
<!--StartFragment-->
<!--EndFragment--><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>I will miss Barak Obama more than I can imagine. </b></span></div>
Tim O'Keefehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12653709506879101775noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5578299375433383985.post-48265345091655049772016-11-12T10:14:00.000-08:002016-11-12T10:14:39.973-08:00Make America Hate Again<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I’ve been having a hard time sleeping lately. I’ve always
been a light sleeper. 6 or 7 continuous hours is a lot of sleep for me. Rare. I dozed
off at about 11:00 on election night. Heidi woke me at 1 to give me the news
that Trump had been elected. No more sleep that night.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">It’s not a Republican/Democrat thing. My worries are quite
simple. We have elected a man to the highest position who is a
hater. I am not overstating it. Everyone knows it. He proclaims it. He has
confessed (no, bragged) about being a sexual predator. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">And he was elected to be the president of the United States.
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">He is clueless about world affairs (he didn’t know that
Russia had invaded the Ukraine when he swore that it wouldn’t happen under his
watch). And he will be handed the nuclear codes. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">He declared climate a change a hoax perpetrated by the
Chinese to get an advantage over the US in manufacturing. Yet, he and his
administration (Sarah Palin – climate change denier - for Secretary of the
Interior?!) will set policies concerning the environment.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">He is the biggest, unapologetic liar in public, who somehow thinks that if he denies something he said that was recorded and played over and over that his lie will become truth. That's called pathological. One small example is that in 2002 he told Howard Stern (remember that it is recorded) that he supported the war. He said over and over in the recent debates that he never supported the war. The entire world cringes at his lack of integrity. But he is the most powerful man in the world.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Trump’s outward hate-fueled mistrust of people of color, of
immigrants, of Muslims has launched the kind of open hostility that was ever present
at his rallies. Just Google <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u>hate
crimes, trump</u></i> and see what comes up. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">We have good friends who came to America years ago as
refugees from a Kenyan refugee camp. These hard working, lovely people told us
that within days of Trump’s election that they were threatened and harassed. A
friend from Costa Rica said that she and her immigrant friends are scared of
what’s to come and that she never is more than a few feet from her green card. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Make America Great Again?!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Here are a few of the MANY examples of hate that have
emerged in our country over the past few days. The language is graphic, the threat of violence
is real. Not one for the kiddies…</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmMdE-qYs_Wzp-_l1Z8lodkNZdEKyxuuoI1FceFImiVV1wccG0Mw9U3SfSt3ZIgF_aJrNVECU1lvE0sN0ybywjSFUlyLiQiFukFTgy-iOlRrk5XPc5yuhy2dC8xVdCDs8Ltf57tNDsM_k/s1600/%25231.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="207" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmMdE-qYs_Wzp-_l1Z8lodkNZdEKyxuuoI1FceFImiVV1wccG0Mw9U3SfSt3ZIgF_aJrNVECU1lvE0sN0ybywjSFUlyLiQiFukFTgy-iOlRrk5XPc5yuhy2dC8xVdCDs8Ltf57tNDsM_k/s400/%25231.png" width="400" /></a></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsgrKi3AC5wd-IFpCox9U3UzOoUGTUNjl8wJiaLcyFlECCFndZsPPHjSecYZcphpfQYIz3L9yOGmZpXjyffg2nnr0mCUO9fyyy3nJBIT58UrJdX-oFczCsowUmm3nHnyAZrprLIH4fqXM/s1600/%25232.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="203" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsgrKi3AC5wd-IFpCox9U3UzOoUGTUNjl8wJiaLcyFlECCFndZsPPHjSecYZcphpfQYIz3L9yOGmZpXjyffg2nnr0mCUO9fyyy3nJBIT58UrJdX-oFczCsowUmm3nHnyAZrprLIH4fqXM/s320/%25232.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwHhw35C2avl6hLoqypl7sidcEeYF3eUoyy1ZGUy0-s2fT1E2_OrBSU5RYq1Uu0oKOVAB4k5tSlyl2xeT0gUyRsKKwHdek1AlQ8x4lzKWZNL9Elt3Z0hugw9pD-GLFRMUhLkYTNxRiOH8/s1600/%25233.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwHhw35C2avl6hLoqypl7sidcEeYF3eUoyy1ZGUy0-s2fT1E2_OrBSU5RYq1Uu0oKOVAB4k5tSlyl2xeT0gUyRsKKwHdek1AlQ8x4lzKWZNL9Elt3Z0hugw9pD-GLFRMUhLkYTNxRiOH8/s320/%25233.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQGBiaFPIQW96NrJ87SpCY44awvcYfZmU9I0WUVEyJF5ZLQphXxVTTP2z0fr7ay9BUe2C2ghqjTR0f5x73eIBilpJl1yEK7iLWIKarv_LLQqmpfjY9FoNahI4JNfZKaulh2QfSZUTqGNY/s1600/%25234.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="131" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQGBiaFPIQW96NrJ87SpCY44awvcYfZmU9I0WUVEyJF5ZLQphXxVTTP2z0fr7ay9BUe2C2ghqjTR0f5x73eIBilpJl1yEK7iLWIKarv_LLQqmpfjY9FoNahI4JNfZKaulh2QfSZUTqGNY/s320/%25234.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ4ZpY1e1vMMeH4wv6p75wUrgY9ZgdIrEJf7rkKem7Gn7oCtmlaxtxpPZQvbRGDp_qDe8qtmbeMrLgDloogRMLcQnGndJtUSzy9n2tO7ut3X1Et0l_IhCSQQN_4Zo_WxnNpOlnMJkw5tg/s1600/Screen+shot+2016-11-12+at+1.08.48+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ4ZpY1e1vMMeH4wv6p75wUrgY9ZgdIrEJf7rkKem7Gn7oCtmlaxtxpPZQvbRGDp_qDe8qtmbeMrLgDloogRMLcQnGndJtUSzy9n2tO7ut3X1Et0l_IhCSQQN_4Zo_WxnNpOlnMJkw5tg/s640/Screen+shot+2016-11-12+at+1.08.48+PM.png" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiutXT5qIqYvnxsuP5gHQ6YWlR4hdwYuNNuPrqatjviZCuk69DhjwixwIpJwBBw_F_5caX972S4ste1lEq5IiG4g8lHPt9p_N7h_kahEWH-rkqQHeRtRZKFv_uH0bUHq6QFzlMvHGbMjQU/s1600/%25236.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="275" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiutXT5qIqYvnxsuP5gHQ6YWlR4hdwYuNNuPrqatjviZCuk69DhjwixwIpJwBBw_F_5caX972S4ste1lEq5IiG4g8lHPt9p_N7h_kahEWH-rkqQHeRtRZKFv_uH0bUHq6QFzlMvHGbMjQU/s400/%25236.png" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMfPQtuOBKlvLHG9h_GKRW3nob5g0o6XqwlTUJABwOrINT0brsPuyBzhdsbS_BPcrui8ww4EbB1K8JqitbzwiLVMoBwZMp78mwQHdS_zHwZvoBEY4FIXCW8AV4Kq4ljwWCydCiOly-6mc/s1600/%25237.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMfPQtuOBKlvLHG9h_GKRW3nob5g0o6XqwlTUJABwOrINT0brsPuyBzhdsbS_BPcrui8ww4EbB1K8JqitbzwiLVMoBwZMp78mwQHdS_zHwZvoBEY4FIXCW8AV4Kq4ljwWCydCiOly-6mc/s400/%25237.png" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Trump can show some courage and make a loud statement to his
followers to end the hatred. Trump can demonstrate how tough he is by working
to reign in some of the venom he and his supporters have unleashed. Trump can
have some fortitude and be a leader who truly stands up for all Americans like
he said he would in his acceptance speech. Think he’ll do it?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Make America Great Again?!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">On Tuesday morning at 1 AM I woke up to a different America
than I ever knew or remembered. I woke up to an America where evangelical
Christians I know justify this election with their faith. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Really? I am proud to say that I am a Christian. But now I
feel the need to qualify it by saying that I am a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Red Letter Christian</i>. Because I do not belong in the same faith
group as the 80 (+) % of self-proclaimed evangelicals who supported Trump. Not
even close. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I’ve been complacent lately. In my white privileged way I
have not done enough to make this world a better place. Sure, I voted. But that
isn’t enough. I know this blog won’t do much good with its 50 or so readers
every post. But I will write. I will speak out. I will sing. I will remind us
in every way I can who we elected as president, who he was and who he is. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">If you read and you appreciate – please leave a comment. If
you don’t appreciate it, please leave a comment. If you want to rebut anything,
feel free. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
<o:AllowPNG/>
</o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:WordDocument>
<w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom>
<w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves>
<w:TrackFormatting/>
<w:PunctuationKerning/>
<w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>
<w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>
<w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>
<w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>
<w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/>
<w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>
<w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent>
<w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>
<w:Compatibility>
<w:BreakWrappedTables/>
<w:DontGrowAutofit/>
<w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/>
<w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/>
</w:Compatibility>
</w:WordDocument>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276">
</w:LatentStyles>
</xml><![endif]-->
<!--[if gte mso 10]>
<style>
/* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
{mso-style-name:"Table Normal";
mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt;
mso-para-margin:0in;
mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;}
</style>
<![endif]-->
<!--StartFragment-->
<!--EndFragment--><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I love my country. But right now, I am embarrassed by what
we’ve done.</span></div>
Tim O'Keefehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12653709506879101775noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5578299375433383985.post-48957507048594214002016-11-10T02:27:00.001-08:002016-11-10T15:29:50.977-08:00Here's Why We Grieve Today<h1 class="entry-title" style="background-color: white; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; clear: both; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="color: #2d2d2d; font-family: "lato" , sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: 1.2;">When I woke up yesterday it was to a different world, a different way of thinking about who we are as a nation. I was ashamed of us. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; line-height: 19.2px;"><span style="color: #2d2d2d; font-family: "lato" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">I recited the Pledge with my second graders - and it made me tear up. We - most of us - voted for a man we KNOW to be despicable, a man we wouldn't want our daughters to date or to teach our sons. We voted for a man who is outwardly a racist, who mocks those who are handicapped, who insults women and laughs about it. </span></span></h1>
<h1 class="entry-title" style="background-color: white; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; clear: both; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="color: #2d2d2d; font-family: "lato" , sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: 1.2;"><br /></span></h1>
<h1 class="entry-title" style="background-color: white; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; clear: both; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="color: #2d2d2d; font-family: "lato" , sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: 1.2;">I read this piece by John Pavlovitz and he said it so clearly that I reposted it here. Please read his words. His blog is on my scroll. Add it to yours.</span></h1>
<h1 class="entry-title" style="background-color: white; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; clear: both; color: #2d2d2d; font-family: Lato, sans-serif; font-size: 4.5rem; line-height: 1.2; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
</h1>
<h1 class="entry-title" style="background-color: white; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; clear: both; color: #2d2d2d; font-family: Lato, sans-serif; font-size: 4.5rem; line-height: 1.2; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
Here’s Why We Grieve Today<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSBKAkYfNoUl1ReaiI1XygndgXqknm_cc0hJoP9sXfEpwfA1B0WmeN7ZM_UeMeE5yJ6zKMq0TclS_EVy6w5XEHRJezvhEFrr-bHfWpXlicozthh4RK_Zx2JOhSG84D4s0bq2NfhSteBpc/s1600/Screen+shot+2016-11-10+at+5.26.59+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSBKAkYfNoUl1ReaiI1XygndgXqknm_cc0hJoP9sXfEpwfA1B0WmeN7ZM_UeMeE5yJ6zKMq0TclS_EVy6w5XEHRJezvhEFrr-bHfWpXlicozthh4RK_Zx2JOhSG84D4s0bq2NfhSteBpc/s1600/Screen+shot+2016-11-10+at+5.26.59+AM.png" /></a></div>
</h1>
<div class="entry-meta" style="background-color: white; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #999999; font-family: Lato, sans-serif; font-size: 1.4rem; letter-spacing: 1px; margin: 0.85em 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-transform: uppercase; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span class="posted-on" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-size: 14px; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><a href="http://johnpavlovitz.com/2016/11/09/heres-why-we-grieve-today/" rel="bookmark" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #999999; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-decoration: none; transition: all 0.2s ease-in-out; vertical-align: baseline;">NOVEMBER 9, 2016</a></span><span class="byline" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; display: inline; font-family: inherit; font-size: 14px; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="sep" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #dddddd; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px 5px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"> / </span><span class="author vcard" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><a class="url fn n" href="http://johnpavlovitz.com/author/johndpav/" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #999999; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-decoration: none; transition: all 0.2s ease-in-out; vertical-align: baseline;">JOHN PAVLOVITZ</a></span></span></div>
<div class="entry-meta" style="background-color: white; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #999999; font-family: Lato, sans-serif; font-size: 1.4rem; letter-spacing: 1px; margin: 0.85em 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-transform: uppercase; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span class="byline" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; display: inline; font-family: inherit; font-size: 14px; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="entry-meta" style="background-color: white; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #999999; font-family: Lato, sans-serif; font-size: 1.4rem; letter-spacing: 1px; margin: 0.85em 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-transform: uppercase; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span class="byline" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; display: inline; font-family: inherit; font-size: 14px; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br />
<h1 class="entry-title" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; clear: both; color: #2d2d2d; font-size: 4.5rem; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 1.2; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-transform: none; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span class="byline" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; display: inline; font-family: inherit; font-size: 14px; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<div style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #444444; font-size: 18px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 30.6px; margin-bottom: 1.7em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<strong style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">I don’t think you understand us right now.</strong></div>
<div style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #444444; font-size: 18px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 30.6px; margin-bottom: 1.7em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<strong style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span aria-hidden="true" class="blast tbn-flight-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">I think you think this is about politics.</span> </strong></div>
<div style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #444444; font-size: 18px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 30.6px; margin-bottom: 1.7em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<strong style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">I think you believe this is all just sour grapes; the crocodile tears of the losing locker room with the scoreboard going against us at the buzzer.</strong></div>
<div class=" ggnative" data-gg-vcache="x1478739844526" id="GGNA_1478739850291" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #444444; font-size: 18px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 30.6px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<div id="GGNA_1478739850291_NAC" style="background: transparent; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; overflow: hidden; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<div id="GGNA_1478739850291_IN_CONTENT" style="background: none transparent; border: none; box-shadow: none; box-sizing: content-box; color: black; float: none; font-family: arial; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: 1; margin: 0px auto; max-height: none; max-width: 601px; opacity: 1; outline: 0px; overflow: visible; padding: 0px; position: relative; text-shadow: none; vertical-align: top; visibility: visible;">
<img id="GGNA_1478739850291-btn-close" src="https://c.gumgum.com/ads/com/gumgum/close/new/close_dark_3x.png" style="background-color: transparent; border: none; box-sizing: border-box; cursor: pointer; height: 25px; max-width: 100%; position: absolute; right: 0px; top: 0px; width: 25px; z-index: 100;" /><iframe frameborder="0" height="100%" scrolling="no" src="about:blank" style="border-style: initial; border-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; display: block; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; height: 1px; margin: 0px; max-width: 100%; opacity: 0.01; outline: 0px; overflow: hidden; padding: 0px; position: absolute; vertical-align: baseline; width: 572px;" width="100%"></iframe></div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #444444; font-size: 18px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 30.6px; margin-bottom: 1.7em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<strong style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span aria-hidden="true" class="blast tbn-flight-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">I can only tell you that you’re wrong.</span> <span aria-hidden="true" class="blast tbn-flight-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">This is not about losing an election.</span><span aria-hidden="true" class="blast tbn-flight-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">This isn’t about</span> <em style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span aria-hidden="true" class="blast tbn-flight-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">not winning</span> </em><span aria-hidden="true" class="blast tbn-flight-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">a contest.</span> <span aria-hidden="true" class="blast tbn-flight-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">This is about two very different ways of seeing the world.</span></strong></div>
<div style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #444444; font-size: 18px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 30.6px; margin-bottom: 1.7em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<strong style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span aria-hidden="true" class="blast tbn-flight-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Hillary supporters believe in a diverse America; one where religion or skin color or sexual orientation or place of birth aren’t liabilities or deficiencies or moral defects.</span> <span aria-hidden="true" class="blast tbn-flight-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Her campaign was one of inclusion and connection and interdependency.</span> <span aria-hidden="true" class="blast tbn-flight-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">It was about building bridges and breaking ceilings.</span> <span aria-hidden="true" class="blast tbn-flight-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">It was about going high.</span> </strong><strong style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; line-height: 30.6px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">I don’t think you understand us right now.</strong></div>
<div style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #444444; font-size: 18px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 30.6px; margin-bottom: 1.7em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<strong style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span aria-hidden="true" class="blast tbn-flight-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">I think you think this is about politics.</span> </strong></div>
<div style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #444444; font-size: 18px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 30.6px; margin-bottom: 1.7em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<strong style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">I think you believe this is all just sour grapes; the crocodile tears of the losing locker room with the scoreboard going against us at the buzzer.</strong></div>
<div class=" ggnative" data-gg-vcache="x1478739844526" id="GGNA_1478739850291" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #444444; font-size: 18px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 30.6px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<div id="GGNA_1478739850291_NAC" style="background: transparent; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; overflow: hidden; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<div id="GGNA_1478739850291_IN_CONTENT" style="background: none transparent; border: none; box-shadow: none; box-sizing: content-box; color: black; float: none; font-family: arial; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: 1; margin: 0px auto; max-height: none; max-width: 601px; opacity: 1; outline: 0px; overflow: visible; padding: 0px; position: relative; text-shadow: none; vertical-align: top; visibility: visible;">
<img id="GGNA_1478739850291-btn-close" src="https://c.gumgum.com/ads/com/gumgum/close/new/close_dark_3x.png" style="background-color: transparent; border: none; box-sizing: border-box; cursor: pointer; height: 25px; max-width: 100%; position: absolute; right: 0px; top: 0px; width: 25px; z-index: 100;" /><iframe frameborder="0" height="100%" scrolling="no" src="about:blank" style="border-style: initial; border-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; display: block; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; height: 1px; margin: 0px; max-width: 100%; opacity: 0.01; outline: 0px; overflow: hidden; padding: 0px; position: absolute; vertical-align: baseline; width: 572px;" width="100%"></iframe></div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #444444; font-size: 18px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 30.6px; margin-bottom: 1.7em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<strong style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span aria-hidden="true" class="blast tbn-flight-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">I can only tell you that you’re wrong.</span> <span aria-hidden="true" class="blast tbn-flight-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">This is not about losing an election.</span><span aria-hidden="true" class="blast tbn-flight-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">This isn’t about</span> <em style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span aria-hidden="true" class="blast tbn-flight-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">not winning</span> </em><span aria-hidden="true" class="blast tbn-flight-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">a contest.</span> <span aria-hidden="true" class="blast tbn-flight-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">This is about two very different ways of seeing the world.</span></strong></div>
<div style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #444444; font-size: 18px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 30.6px; margin-bottom: 1.7em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<strong style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span aria-hidden="true" class="blast tbn-flight-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Hillary supporters believe in a diverse America; one where religion or skin color or sexual orientation or place of birth aren’t liabilities or deficiencies or moral defects.</span> <span aria-hidden="true" class="blast tbn-flight-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Her campaign was one of inclusion and connection and interdependency.</span> <span aria-hidden="true" class="blast tbn-flight-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">It was about building bridges and breaking ceilings.</span> <span aria-hidden="true" class="blast tbn-flight-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">It was about going high.</span> </strong><br />
<strong style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></strong>
<br />
<div style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Lato, sans-serif; line-height: 30.6px; margin-bottom: 1.7em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<strong style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span aria-hidden="true" class="blast tbn-flight-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Trump supporters believe in a very selective America; one that is largely white and straight and Christian, and the voting verified this.</span> <span aria-hidden="true" class="blast tbn-flight-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Donald Trump has never made any assertions otherwise.</span> <span aria-hidden="true" class="blast tbn-flight-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">He ran a campaign of fear and exclusion and isolation—and that’s the vision of the world those who voted for him have endorsed.</span></strong></div>
<div style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Lato, sans-serif; line-height: 30.6px; margin-bottom: 1.7em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<strong style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">They have aligned with the wall-builder and the professed p*ssy-grabber, and they have co-signed his body of work, regardless of the reasons they give for their vote:</strong></div>
<div style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Lato, sans-serif; line-height: 30.6px; margin-bottom: 1.7em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<strong style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Every horrible thing Donald Trump ever said about women or Muslims or people of color has now been validated.</strong><br />
<strong style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Every profanity-laced press conference and every call to bully protestors and every ignorant diatribe has been endorsed.</strong><br />
<strong style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Every piece of anti-LGBTQ legislation Mike Pence has championed has been signed-off on.</strong></div>
<div style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Lato, sans-serif; line-height: 30.6px; margin-bottom: 1.7em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<strong style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span aria-hidden="true" class="blast tbn-flight-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Half of our country has declared these things acceptable, noble,</span><em style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span aria-hidden="true" class="blast tbn-flight-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">American</span></em><span aria-hidden="true" class="blast tbn-flight-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">.</span> </strong></div>
<div style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Lato, sans-serif; line-height: 30.6px; margin-bottom: 1.7em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<strong style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><em style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span aria-hidden="true" class="blast tbn-flight-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">This</span></em> <span aria-hidden="true" class="blast tbn-flight-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">is the disconnect and the source of our grief today.</span> <span aria-hidden="true" class="blast tbn-flight-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">It isn’t a political defeat that we’re lamenting, it’s a defeat for Humanity.</span></strong></div>
<strong style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"></strong><br />
<div style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Lato, sans-serif; line-height: 30.6px; margin-bottom: 1.7em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<strong style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span aria-hidden="true" class="blast tbn-flight-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">We’re not angry that our candidate lost.</span> <span aria-hidden="true" class="blast tbn-flight-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">We’re angry because our candidate’s losing means this country will be less safe, less kind, and less available to a huge segment of its population, and that’s just the truth.</span></strong></div>
<div style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Lato, sans-serif; line-height: 30.6px; margin-bottom: 1.7em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<strong style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span aria-hidden="true" class="blast tbn-flight-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Those who have always felt vulnerable are now left more so.</span> <span aria-hidden="true" class="blast tbn-flight-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Those whose voices have been silenced will be further quieted.</span> <span aria-hidden="true" class="blast tbn-flight-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Those who always felt marginalized will be pushed further to the periphery.</span> <span aria-hidden="true" class="blast tbn-flight-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Those who feared they were seen as inferior now have confirmation in actual percentages.</span></strong></div>
<div style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Lato, sans-serif; line-height: 30.6px; margin-bottom: 1.7em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<strong style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span aria-hidden="true" class="blast tbn-flight-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Those things have essentially been campaign promises of Donald Trump, and so many of our fellow citizens have said this is what they want too.</span> </strong></div>
<div style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Lato, sans-serif; line-height: 30.6px; margin-bottom: 1.7em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<strong style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span aria-hidden="true" class="blast tbn-flight-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">This has never been about politics.</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /><span aria-hidden="true" class="blast tbn-flight-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">This is not about one candidate over the other.</span></strong><br />
<strong style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">It’s not about one’s ideas over another’s.</strong><br />
<strong style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span aria-hidden="true" class="blast tbn-flight-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">It is not blue vs.</span> <span aria-hidden="true" class="blast tbn-flight-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">red.</span></strong><br />
<strong style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span aria-hidden="true" class="blast tbn-flight-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">It’s not her emails vs.</span> <span aria-hidden="true" class="blast tbn-flight-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">his bad language.</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /><span aria-hidden="true" class="blast tbn-flight-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">It’s not her dishonesty vs.</span> <span aria-hidden="true" class="blast tbn-flight-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">his</span> </strong><b style="box-sizing: border-box;">indecency.</b></div>
<div style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Lato, sans-serif; line-height: 30.6px; margin-bottom: 1.7em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<strong style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span aria-hidden="true" class="blast tbn-flight-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"></span></strong></div>
<div style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Lato, sans-serif; line-height: 30.6px; margin-bottom: 1.7em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<strong style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">It’s about overt racism and hostility toward minorities.</strong><br />
<strong style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">It’s about religion being weaponized.</strong><br />
<strong style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span aria-hidden="true" class="blast tbn-flight-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">It’s about crassness and vulgarity and disregard for women.</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /><span aria-hidden="true" class="blast tbn-flight-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">It’s about a barricaded, militarized, bully nation.</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /><span aria-hidden="true" class="blast tbn-flight-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">It’s about an unapologetic, open-faced ugliness.</span></strong></div>
<div>
<strong style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span aria-hidden="true" class="blast tbn-flight-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"></span></strong><br />
<div style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Lato, sans-serif; font-weight: normal; line-height: 30.6px; margin-bottom: 1.7em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<strong style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span aria-hidden="true" class="blast tbn-flight-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><strong style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span aria-hidden="true" class="blast tbn-flight-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">And it is not only that these things have been ratified by our nation that grieve us; all this hatred, fear, racism, bigotry, and intolerance—it’s knowing that these things have been amen-ed by our neighbors, our families, our friends, those we work with and worship alongside.</span> <span aria-hidden="true" class="blast tbn-flight-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">That is the most horrific thing of all.</span> <span aria-hidden="true" class="blast tbn-flight-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">We now know how close this is.</span></strong></span></strong></div>
<strong style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span aria-hidden="true" class="blast tbn-flight-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<div style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Lato, sans-serif; font-weight: normal; line-height: 30.6px; margin-bottom: 1.7em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<strong style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span aria-hidden="true" class="blast tbn-flight-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">It feels like living in enemy territory being here now, and there’s no way around that.</span> <span aria-hidden="true" class="blast tbn-flight-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">We wake up today in a home we no longer recognize.</span> <span aria-hidden="true" class="blast tbn-flight-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">We are grieving the loss of a place we used to love but no longer do.</span> <span aria-hidden="true" class="blast tbn-flight-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">This may be America today but it is not the America we believe in or recognize or want.</span></strong></div>
<div style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Lato, sans-serif; font-weight: normal; line-height: 30.6px; margin-bottom: 1.7em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<strong style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span aria-hidden="true" class="blast tbn-flight-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">This is not about a difference of political opinion, as that’s far too small to mourn over.</span> <span aria-hidden="true" class="blast tbn-flight-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">It’s about a fundamental difference in how we view the worth of all people—not just those who look or talk or think or vote the way we do.</span></strong></div>
<div style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Lato, sans-serif; font-weight: normal; line-height: 30.6px; margin-bottom: 1.7em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<strong style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span aria-hidden="true" class="blast tbn-flight-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Grief always laments what might have been, the future we were robbed of, the tomorrow that we won’t get to see, and that is what we walk through today.</span> <span aria-hidden="true" class="blast tbn-flight-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">As a nation we had an opportunity to affirm the beauty of our diversity this day, to choose ideas over sound bytes, to let everyone know they had a place at the table, to be the beacon of goodness and decency we imagine that we are—and we said no.</span></strong></div>
</span></strong></div>
<div style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Lato, sans-serif; line-height: 30.6px; margin-bottom: 1.7em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<strong style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span aria-hidden="true" class="blast tbn-flight-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">The Scriptures say that weeping endures for a night but joy comes in the morning.</span> <span aria-hidden="true" class="blast tbn-flight-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">We can’t see that dawn coming any time soon.</span></strong></div>
<div style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Lato, sans-serif; line-height: 30.6px; margin-bottom: 1.7em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<strong style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span aria-hidden="true" class="blast tbn-flight-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"></span></strong></div>
<div style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Lato, sans-serif; line-height: 30.6px; margin-bottom: 1.7em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<strong style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">And this is why we grieve.</strong></div>
</div>
</span></h1>
<span class="byline" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; display: inline; font-family: inherit; font-size: 14px; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
</span></div>
Tim O'Keefehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12653709506879101775noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5578299375433383985.post-7347145466850682712016-11-05T08:30:00.000-07:002016-11-05T08:30:00.367-07:00Trump vs. Emails<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM8ZBg44uAFiDxkVwy88qY8g341i5k9fepT_AzI5aTvUOizf38B9K0PgEa-4tBJJbM4YfvApQ_9fJfCVo_pZMdNZUZoZaEU_HuUJOgoWFwcBp8jNt7ztsRS60HBPAMvNkkGb2q2mYIBKw/s1600/Trump+Clinton.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM8ZBg44uAFiDxkVwy88qY8g341i5k9fepT_AzI5aTvUOizf38B9K0PgEa-4tBJJbM4YfvApQ_9fJfCVo_pZMdNZUZoZaEU_HuUJOgoWFwcBp8jNt7ztsRS60HBPAMvNkkGb2q2mYIBKw/s320/Trump+Clinton.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">As we near the election, I am as worried as ever about our country. Just can't help it. Too much at stake. I can hardly believe that his has become a contest. I received an email from my sister - written by her good friend Dan. here it is.</span><br />
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Clinton emails. Trump admitting sexual assault. Clinton emails. Trump charity fraud. Clinton emails. Trump calls for nuclear proliferation. Clinton emails. Trump calls for national stop and frisk. Clinton emails. Trump violates trade embargo with Cuba. Clinton emails. Trump sued over Trump University fraud. Clinton emails. Trump bribes DA. Clinton emails. Trump doesn't pay taxes for 20 years. Clinton emails. Trump employs campaign manager involved in illegal corruption with Russia. Clinton emails. Trump calls for ban of an entire religion from entering US. Clinton emails. Trump lied about support for Iraq War over and over in debate. Clinton emails. Trump in court for rape of a minor. Clinton emails. Trump unaware of Russia's Crimea occupation. Clinton emails. Trump unaware of situation in Syria. Clinton emails. Trump penalized for racist housing discrimination. Clinton emails. Trump files for bankruptcy 6 times. Clinton emails. Trump goes 0-3 in debates by showing scant knowledge of world politics. Clinton emails. Trump slams people for being POWs. Clinton emails. Trump calls Mexicans rapists. Clinton emails. Trump questions judge's integrity because of parent's heritage. Clinton emails. Trump deletes emails involved in casino scandal. Clinton emails. Trump commits insurance fraud after Florida hurricane. Clinton emails. Trump has dozens of assault victims and witnesses come forward with allegations of abuse. Clinton emails. Trump attacks former Ms. Universe for being overweight. Clinton emails. Trump tweets about sex tapes at 3am. Clinton emails. Trump calls for US citizens to be sent to Gitmo. Clinton emails. Trump calls for more extreme forms of torture to be used. Clinton emails. Trump asks why cant we use our nukes if we have them. Clinton emails. Trump calls for offensive bombing attack on sovereign nations because someone gave the middle finger. Clinton emails. Trump calls to kill women and children of suspected terrorists. Clinton emails. Trump says women should be punished for having abortions. Clinton emails. Trump makes fun of disabled people. Clinton emails. Trump calls for end of freedom of the press. Clinton emails. Trump calls global warming a Chinese hoax. Clinton emails. Trump praises Putin and Kim Jong Un's strong leadership. Clinton emails. Trump openly admits to not paying his employees during debate. Clinton emails. Trump calls Obama an illegitimate noncitizen hundreds of times over 7 years. Clinton emails. Trump uses campaign donations to enrich his own businesses. Clinton emails. Trump says Ted Cruz involved in JFK assassination unironically citing National Enquirer. Clinton emails. Trump says laziness is an inherent trait in black people. Clinton emails.</span></i></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">
<b><i>Does that about sum up the last couple of months?</i></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">What has our nation come to when we consider a madman for president? If Hillary wins - which I pray for - What has happened to us that Trump has even gotten close to the nuclear codes?</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I honestly fear for our children's future.</span></div>
Tim O'Keefehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12653709506879101775noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5578299375433383985.post-42391942469320940952016-09-24T06:30:00.001-07:002016-09-24T06:30:24.436-07:00TouchI feel remiss that I haven't posted in a long while. I'd like to say that I am too busy. Nah. I just temporarily lost my writing mojo. I'll get it back.<br />
<br />
I've been thinking about my mom a lot lately. Here is a repost from a few years ago.<br />
<br />
<h3 class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="background-color: white; color: #686868; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 18px; font-stretch: normal; font-weight: normal; margin: 0px; position: relative;">
Touch</h3>
<div class="post-header" style="background-color: white; color: #a6a6a6; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.5px; line-height: 1.6; margin: 0px 0px 1.5em;">
<div class="post-header-line-1">
</div>
</div>
<div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-3949915218603679258" itemprop="description articleBody" style="background-color: white; color: #686868; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 1.4; position: relative; width: 578.182px;">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">There are several kids in my class who still hold hands. It seems like the most natural thing in the world. Interlacing your fingers with another’s must be one of the oldest human gestures. It says so much. That singular gesture is invariably positive. It demonstrates trust, compassion, comfort, and friendship. It is a sign of love.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">My finger, your finger, my finger, your finger, my finger, your finger, my finger, your finger, my thumb – your thumb. The webs between my fingers contacting yours. The bones of my hand entwined with yours. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">When we are little we reach up for the hand of the people we love – sometimes just to be sure of them. When we are big we reach down to show that we are there, that we care, that we must cross the street safely together, that we won’t get separated in a crowd. We reach down to grasp a little hand almost as a reflex. To express our love. To show simply that we are within reach.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><img alt="children holding hands" src="https://cassie86.edublogs.org/files/2008/02/children_holding_hands02.jpg" style="border: 1px solid rgb(204, 204, 204); padding: 4px;" title="children holding hands" /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Babies are born with an intense need for touch. Babies who spend a lot of time in hospitals and orphanages where they do not receive skin-to-skin contact fail to thrive. I read about <a href="http://library.adoption.com/articles/the-importance-of-touch.html" style="color: #d2a179; text-decoration: none;">this interesting study</a> where librarians were asked to alternately touch and not touch the hands of their students as they gave back their library cards. Those whose hands had been touched by their librarian reported “far greater feelings about themselves, the library and the librarians than those who had not been touched. This occurred even though the touch was fleeting and the students didn’t even remember it.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1px;"></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">In our classroom we touch pretty unselfconsciously. Certain kids zoom in for a hug every morning. Others opt for a fist bum or a hand slap. Some will come in quietly without checking in with me. I usually give them a noogie or a high five when we do catch up. But we touch.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">There are many girls who still hold hands in our classroom. They grab hold when we walk to the public library, or to the recess field or to the cafeteria. Some boys may still hold hands at the beginning of second grade, but by the end of third it is a rarity. There are a couple of guys who are always sitting close enough so that their legs touch when they are on the floor. And we do a lot of teaching and learning from the floor. Our girls often touch, run their fingers through or smooth out each other’s hair.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">This morning as my students took a big, high stakes test in our computer lab, the feeling in the room was one of intense concentration. This was the kind of test that pushed every child to the wall. <a href="http://justordinarythoughts.blogspot.com/2010/05/test.html" style="color: #d2a179; text-decoration: none;">I’ve written about this before</a>. It started out easy, but as they answered simple questions correctly, the subsequent questions were more and more challenging. Glancing over their shoulders at the answer choices, I was amazed at how difficult this must have been for them. And yet no one complained. No one whined. No one cracked under pressure. I walked around the room every few minutes just checking in with a touch on the shoulder or a pat on the back. To soothe, to connect, to praise them and to show my gratitude for their effort. It was a gesture that words can’t quite explain. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It’s sad to me that many of us become self-conscious about touch as we get older, especially guys. At some undetermined age, and it is probably a little different for everyone, little ones (especially boys) stop holding hands with their friends, brothers and sisters and parents. Girls are lucky in my opinion. They can hold hands freely with their besties. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I suppose holding hands for little boys is like crying when you hurt yourself. At some point we stop crying for physical pain. Comments like, <i>“big boys don’t cry” </i>probably help to extinguish it. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">When I was in Rwanda I saw men holding hands routinely. My friend Brandon took a picture of two very rough looking soldiers in camouflage, each with a machine gun slung over his shoulders, holding hands walking down a busy street. It was as natural as anything there. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Adult guys can still hug briefly if there is a manly slap on the back at the end of the embrace. Let’s not read anything too personal into this hug, right? Shaking hands is the norm. No weapons, right?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1px;"></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">At the end of my mom’s life I was blessed to have been there for her final week. We touched so often. The first night I was there in New Mexico at my sister Ruthie’s I spent in the office guest room. Then for the next several nights I slept with my mom. I needed her touch. And I think she needed mine. I think she needed grounding. I think she needed to be sure of me. We slept with our legs touching or my hand on her shoulder, or holding hands. And through the days and evenings when she was awake we sat close enough to touch. During her final hours, when she had lost consciousness, Ruthie and I stroked her hair and rubbed her back. We held her hand - <i>just as she held ours when we were little</i>, to protect us, to make sure we didn’t get lost or frightened, so we could be sure of her. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I can smile when I remember her touch now. But I miss that touch like nothing else.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I can think of my mom now and not cry every time at missing her. I expect that I will cry for a long time when I remember her and miss her touch. Even though </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">big boys don’t cry.</span></i></div>
</div>
<br />
<br />Tim O'Keefehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12653709506879101775noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5578299375433383985.post-2673193244583535192016-08-12T02:37:00.003-07:002016-08-12T02:42:18.591-07:00Nuclear Football<span style="font-size: large;">Without any reference, after you read these actual words - you'll know who this is.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: #f7f7f7; color: #3c3736; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: 0.125px; line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><b><span style="background-color: white; color: #281b21; line-height: 28px;">Look, having nuclear—my uncle was a great professor and scientist and engineer, Dr. John Trump at MIT; good genes, very good genes, OK, very smart, the Wharton School of Finance, very good, very smart—you know, if you’re a conservative Republican, if I were a liberal, if, like, OK, if I ran as a liberal Democrat, they would say I'm one of the smartest people anywhere in the world—it’s true!—but when you're a conservative Republican they try—oh, do they do a number—that’s why I always start off: </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #281b21; line-height: 28px;">Went to Wharton, was a good student, went there, went there, did this, built a fortune</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #281b21; line-height: 28px;">—you know I have to give my like credentials all the time, because we’re a little disadvantaged—but you look at the nuclear deal, the thing that really bothers me—it would have been so easy, and it’s not as important as these lives are (nuclear is powerful; my uncle explained that to me many, many years ago, the power and that was 35 years ago; he would explain the power of what's going to happen and he was right—who would have thought?), but when you look at what's going on with the four prisoners—now it used to be three, now it’s four—but when it was three and even now, I would have said it's all in the messenger; fellas, and it is fellas because, you know, they don't, they haven’t figured that the women are smarter right now than the men, so, you know, it’s gonna take them about another 150 years—but the Persians are great negotiators, the Iranians are great negotiators, so, and they, they just killed, they just killed us.</span></b></i></span><br />
<b><i><span style="background-color: #f7f7f7; color: #3c3736; font-family: "open sans"; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: 0.125px; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></i></b>
<b><i><span style="background-color: #f7f7f7; color: #3c3736; font-family: "open sans"; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: 0.125px; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></i></b>
<span style="background-color: #f7f7f7; letter-spacing: 0.125px; line-height: 24px;"><span style="color: #3c3736; font-family: "open sans";"><iframe frameborder="0" height="330" scrollable="no" src="https://www.c-span.org/video/standalone/?c4546796" width="512"></iframe></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #f7f7f7; letter-spacing: 0.125px; line-height: 24px;"><span style="color: #3c3736; font-family: "open sans";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I only have two words to say.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Nuclear Football</span><br />
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
Tim O'Keefehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12653709506879101775noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5578299375433383985.post-53717701866761235812016-07-21T03:51:00.000-07:002016-07-21T06:41:40.675-07:00Lesser Evil<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I spotted this on line. I couldn't embed the video, but it is pretty revealing. I'll type out the transcript.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<a href="http://www.businessinsider.com/footage-things-donald-trump-claimed-did-not-say-hillary-clinton-2016-6"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">http://www.businessinsider.com/footage-things-donald-trump-claimed-did-not-say-hillary-clinton-2016-6</span></a></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Hillary Clinton gave a speech in early June in which she quoted Trump. It seemed a clever way to let Trump's own words reveal him to America. Obviously people have been listening, but lots of people aren't hearing.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi87nq4tIYvPU8oPxum7PE-5Z-o8u-nDBJygKQ99cLVYuMyI-v32Ul7HtmkAyMF4VLvYn9Alcdt-ZKHBez9Ng22V55c9lucvOxMUnoGj05TeKss0EdaXfs9dgqkhO38vDZwUmnGLBC-f0Q/s1600/Trump.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi87nq4tIYvPU8oPxum7PE-5Z-o8u-nDBJygKQ99cLVYuMyI-v32Ul7HtmkAyMF4VLvYn9Alcdt-ZKHBez9Ng22V55c9lucvOxMUnoGj05TeKss0EdaXfs9dgqkhO38vDZwUmnGLBC-f0Q/s1600/Trump.jpg" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">
</span>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>Clinton</i></b> (in her speech) - He says he has foreign policy experience because he ran the Miss Universe pageant in Russia.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">(cut to <b><i>Trump</i></b> speaking to interviewer) - I know Russia well. I had a major event in Russia two or three years ago. The Miss Universe contest which was a big, big incredible event.</span></div>
<div>
<b><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></i></b></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">After the speech <b><i>Trump</i></b> tweeted - In Crooked Hillary's teleprompter speech yesterday, she made up things that I said or believe but have no basis in fact. Not Honest! </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>Clinton</i></b> tweeted back - You literally said all those things.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>Clinton</i></b> - He says he doesn't have to listen to our generals or admirals, our ambassadors, or other high officials because he has quote, "A very good brain."</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>Trump</i></b> (on Good Morning Joe) - I'm speaking with myself number one because I have a very good brain and I've said a lot of things.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>Clinton</i></b> - He has said that he would order our military to carry out torture and the murder of civilians who are related to suspected terrorists.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>Trump</i></b> - (on Fox "NEWS") Torture works, OK folks? You know you have these guys [mocking feminine voice]..."Torture doesn't work." Believe me. It works, OK?... They asked me the question, "What do you think of water boarding?" Absolutely fine. But we should go much stronger than water boarding. That's the way I feel... When you get these terrorists, you have to take out their families.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>Clinton</i></b> - And he said if he were grading Vladimir Putin as a leader, he'd give him an A. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>Trump </i></b>- I think in terms of leadership, he's [Putin] getting an A.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>Clinton</i></b> - And he has the gall to say that prisoners of war like John McCain aren't heros.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>Trump</i></b> - He's not a war hero... [Host - He's a war hero... five-and-a-half years...] <b><i>Trump</i></b> - He's a war hero 'cause he was captured. I like people who aren't captured, OK? I hate to tell you.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>Clinton</i></b> - He also said, "I know more about ISIS than the generals do. Believe me."</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>Trump</i></b> - I know more about ISIS than the generals do, believe me.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>Clinton</i></b> - Or he says he'll stay neutral on Israel's security.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>Trump</i></b> - I don't want to be in a position where I'm saying to you - and the other side now say [sic], "We don't want Trump involve [sic], we don't want." Let me be sort of a neutral guy. Let's see what, I'm gonna give it a shot.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeE5xW6c_yqvcV6hwJLmo9e1sqFtqLQK6uPrMvbimImB1_zna9gJQ7UGyJgY9LyFCgsK16I3NwhwKeilb6xV63usC33MLphoM0Y2Xw6BFZlMe21K7Alfz9U8LTer3qYdQC0tKhl-jkXkY/s1600/clinton.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeE5xW6c_yqvcV6hwJLmo9e1sqFtqLQK6uPrMvbimImB1_zna9gJQ7UGyJgY9LyFCgsK16I3NwhwKeilb6xV63usC33MLphoM0Y2Xw6BFZlMe21K7Alfz9U8LTer3qYdQC0tKhl-jkXkY/s1600/clinton.jpg" /></a></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>Clinton</i></b> - And he said this about a war between Japan and North Korea, and I quote, "If they do - they do. Good luck. Enjoy yourselves, folks."</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>Trump</i></b> - And if they fight, you know what, there'll be a terrible thing. Terrible. Good luck. Enjoy yourselves, folks. If they fight, that would be terrible. Right? But if they do, they do.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">This is a serious question. <b><i>Do you think he really didn't realize he said those things?</i></b> Because if he really thought Hillary Clinton was lying on him - then we are in for some serious trouble indeed if he becomes president of the United States. Perhaps he doesn't realize that everything you say on camera is a permanent record. You can't unsay something you blurted out on FOX "NEWS", or MSNBC, or CNN. You can't pretend you can take back something you said on the TODAY Show. Or maybe he thinks HE CAN. Sort of the "BECAUSE I SAID SO!" thing.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">In David Brooks most <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2016/07/19/opinion/trump-is-getting-even-trumpier.html?_r=0">recent op-ed</a> for the New York Times he said, <i><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 26px;">Occasionally Trump will attempt a sentence longer than eight words, but no matter what subject he starts the sentence with, by the end he has been pulled over to the subject of himself. Here’s an example from the Mike Pence </span><a href="https://www.c-span.org/video/?412804-1/donald-trump-announces-governor-mike-pence-running-mate" style="background-color: white; color: #326891; line-height: 26px;">announcement speech</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 26px;">: “So one of the primary reasons I chose Mike was I looked at Indiana, and I won Indiana big.” There’s sort of a gravitational narcissistic pull that takes command whenever he attempts to utter a compound thought...</span></i></span></div>
<div>
<i><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 26px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></i></div>
<div>
<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 26px;">It’s hard to know exactly what is going on in that brain, but science lends a clue. </span><a href="http://jea.sagepub.com/content/34/8/1075.abstract" style="background-color: white; color: #326891; line-height: 26px;">Psychologists wonder</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 26px;"> if narcissists are defined by extremely high self-esteem or by extremely low self-esteem that they are trying to mask. The current consensus seems to be that they are marked by unstable self-esteem. Their self-confidence can be both high and fragile, so they perceive ego threat all around...</span></span></i></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">And one of his most important points...<i> </i><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 26px;"><i>This is a unique moment in American political history in which the mental stability of one of the major party nominees is the dominating subject of conversation.</i></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 26px;"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></i></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 26px;">I am not surprised that he has his followers, people who will look past his very apparent mental instability and side with him anyway. What surprises me is the sheer number of followers. Because he speaks his mind? Because he isn't politically correct? Because he speaks for the working stiff? Because he's not Hillary Clinton? </span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 26px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 26px;">None of this really makes sense to me. He seems to offend almost everyone. On purpose. I get that Hillary Clinton is not a great choice. Despite her experience on the world stage, she has truthiness issues. She can be caustic. She landed on the wrong side of the war in Iraq. There is a long list of ideas I can't agree with and foreign policy blunders on record. </span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 26px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 26px;">But she is not mentally unstable. </span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 26px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 26px;">Don't you hate it when an election comes and neither candidate seems appropriate? But this one for me is a no brainer. I love my country too much. </span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 26px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 26px;">This time - it's lesser evil.</span></span></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgje77jUOVdgCI9aITVrHjw2KcO6Zj2v2Q1hEwzqumPPT1SPeJ2jxfqAv_NZQ6jKGstDhvcp2mEGwwZUGyZSBYVEXwFK_qoBNINH8lWhAAxUSk_ObkeqYd1uENQ1xFnyXBTRakdJUvin7Y/s1600/two+evils.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgje77jUOVdgCI9aITVrHjw2KcO6Zj2v2Q1hEwzqumPPT1SPeJ2jxfqAv_NZQ6jKGstDhvcp2mEGwwZUGyZSBYVEXwFK_qoBNINH8lWhAAxUSk_ObkeqYd1uENQ1xFnyXBTRakdJUvin7Y/s1600/two+evils.jpg" /></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Tim O'Keefehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12653709506879101775noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5578299375433383985.post-13157018978230917162016-07-13T13:36:00.002-07:002016-07-13T14:17:37.993-07:00Life in the Woods<div style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.3333px;">
<br class="Apple-interchange-newline" /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp4FNdZ_oOmw6N7SIYXTQdWOqTRfbNGZ34noL6wjQ6QkHxavXR0SmMJTzKu0lA9XCwIIu9QuYPoqiBGEh7SyJRUgEpfsA6mqpNnKjlXBC2JNNefgXssBcjuHptI5t4fNs9nrs9Sr7JIVU/s1600/swallowtail.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp4FNdZ_oOmw6N7SIYXTQdWOqTRfbNGZ34noL6wjQ6QkHxavXR0SmMJTzKu0lA9XCwIIu9QuYPoqiBGEh7SyJRUgEpfsA6mqpNnKjlXBC2JNNefgXssBcjuHptI5t4fNs9nrs9Sr7JIVU/s400/swallowtail.PNG" width="225" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Living in the woods is the wild place to be. You never know what you're going to see when you walk outside. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQVdd_7c2SfKjnkdG5W14apS59quOt_kBsJ441-p-0xrk3p5gIOjA056uUsXVmlPCERTRYVZmOxewIDINPqSVP1ey4ChZavuUduiX5wOr0gtbt9ZUvuvFXCn08LOtb09tAculz7AgpDZA/s1600/box.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQVdd_7c2SfKjnkdG5W14apS59quOt_kBsJ441-p-0xrk3p5gIOjA056uUsXVmlPCERTRYVZmOxewIDINPqSVP1ey4ChZavuUduiX5wOr0gtbt9ZUvuvFXCn08LOtb09tAculz7AgpDZA/s640/box.PNG" width="360" /></a><span style="font-size: large;"></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCY2gakKmvgpYbLNuKoMfJbHE-IjewLX9L-KCERKlVHg0HgYOcdc3wszCPX3LJyp_KcMGbpM3auRB42iIP3dLoJ-xoIiK9DhNjRIakkbLAhYg0wVHI5KU5W_e6v-u3CAh8F51fosLX4DQ/s1600/lynx+spider.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCY2gakKmvgpYbLNuKoMfJbHE-IjewLX9L-KCERKlVHg0HgYOcdc3wszCPX3LJyp_KcMGbpM3auRB42iIP3dLoJ-xoIiK9DhNjRIakkbLAhYg0wVHI5KU5W_e6v-u3CAh8F51fosLX4DQ/s400/lynx+spider.jpg" width="225" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_JikMPEbehFvm67TJxyTJHUv2zGrSrxudznzlYrT181uwgA66UFwhQXiWy57akL68palFE2Zgl3ler-2z84uwUkdR1b3S_Whn28aHnQ9mnFoiznVKsGPFTd5HE_gVbA3Jr05hSR2Ec_M/s1600/blue+tail.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_JikMPEbehFvm67TJxyTJHUv2zGrSrxudznzlYrT181uwgA66UFwhQXiWy57akL68palFE2Zgl3ler-2z84uwUkdR1b3S_Whn28aHnQ9mnFoiznVKsGPFTd5HE_gVbA3Jr05hSR2Ec_M/s1600/blue+tail.PNG" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioBeo8BJJ1quk29uAAGm6LBHn79oZSDeSyk7p_c0bd9TYj53TPkDJ-LE-9-au51_w35p5JFoODwI47ZvPoKUdO9o_wrujLrTc-fOuVmCu-dtplHNSKVjOJTIkckPgWKqxIpB8aLAt2XRg/s1600/broadhead.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioBeo8BJJ1quk29uAAGm6LBHn79oZSDeSyk7p_c0bd9TYj53TPkDJ-LE-9-au51_w35p5JFoODwI47ZvPoKUdO9o_wrujLrTc-fOuVmCu-dtplHNSKVjOJTIkckPgWKqxIpB8aLAt2XRg/s400/broadhead.PNG" width="225" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilAd_0JCeP8nl3rcnY1XrjSXNRbX3hx-85CeKG6QtaJzhQheie41q0UqosHfS4JNMGKq2_QAwfOz0WlH6eBCkUNyeZG9DZpE1F6CeF-huJGIb8BjsifdiEhRFgV84pTKNfy1Y_mHni13w/s1600/lizard.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilAd_0JCeP8nl3rcnY1XrjSXNRbX3hx-85CeKG6QtaJzhQheie41q0UqosHfS4JNMGKq2_QAwfOz0WlH6eBCkUNyeZG9DZpE1F6CeF-huJGIb8BjsifdiEhRFgV84pTKNfy1Y_mHni13w/s640/lizard.PNG" width="360" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj33CgdE-7iDeLABtejtzI0kbbvfVDyNzHnIq4XAmkn1FAF_AQuswWvEjuk5MGQ5B5sILMFEb-xuw5_HZ-ZfN0xo0RtGu7u3oj4oc9kJv_lPhNbbwNVxWWuJ593IQonKwekGNeAS1IYQsQ/s1600/bug.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj33CgdE-7iDeLABtejtzI0kbbvfVDyNzHnIq4XAmkn1FAF_AQuswWvEjuk5MGQ5B5sILMFEb-xuw5_HZ-ZfN0xo0RtGu7u3oj4oc9kJv_lPhNbbwNVxWWuJ593IQonKwekGNeAS1IYQsQ/s400/bug.PNG" width="224" /></a></div>
There is incredible diversity of animals and plants in this small area. There are spiders, frogs and toads, lizards and all different kinds of birds and insects. Every day is different than the day before. </span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT4lnUb1iAAYb7xUOcbLGB0-tmRCvmJCo6SrbqoaV_NJq4OOYjVECY1bRGOaHMBhevZic5Q3dLPUfmoZTOccfEv4cIHw9i3hIAACTv0WV8BoyLSTnsGnlD7GLs96XGMvCdx6uiLFl-jhg/s1600/argiope.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT4lnUb1iAAYb7xUOcbLGB0-tmRCvmJCo6SrbqoaV_NJq4OOYjVECY1bRGOaHMBhevZic5Q3dLPUfmoZTOccfEv4cIHw9i3hIAACTv0WV8BoyLSTnsGnlD7GLs96XGMvCdx6uiLFl-jhg/s1600/argiope.PNG" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg47UQfQcgRlmMhP2Zjusspc2wZ2jYsTJvvYr1gVjQ4NrZriBKaWjnUrdTkUVaitWBB4ZkzGxlY1wANrVAiMyqm_3zd3iriNV7CGRbaydlWEA8vsjQ_6ZkjzA9pJhb1ztDp1VDdR9KmAk4/s1600/bug+3.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg47UQfQcgRlmMhP2Zjusspc2wZ2jYsTJvvYr1gVjQ4NrZriBKaWjnUrdTkUVaitWBB4ZkzGxlY1wANrVAiMyqm_3zd3iriNV7CGRbaydlWEA8vsjQ_6ZkjzA9pJhb1ztDp1VDdR9KmAk4/s320/bug+3.PNG" width="180" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: large;">This morning I saw a garden spider, I think it's called an argiope. She had the coolest zigzag pattern in the middle of of her web. When I was watering the garden this great big America</span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOgppMiuMJXeAFZDC2qKNHYfrqaLwKRJQaK_J6ZO4AlX01sUTqKhhdL4ldkJFydQe5cmxlbYm1bcGbkQkBYL7UdT1y70h0zVsZKFC9K4ku12YI_ChOwzUxMs4ETL8B9-0zq8omxSdKB-Y/s1600/swallowtail+3.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><span style="color: rgba(0 , 0 , 0 , 0.701961);"><span style="font-size: large;">n toad seemed to</span></span></a><span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHnBLITm6Mc6wD1H1b3lZkLWNBrYrR_m3OJSgeuEtMwM448tdhPTr17wM-NjUUAgNsCDC3W5X_OVUFIges2grid7CnyF0nGpH0WOgwRb5yfcBok5wT6tY64_DIrR9KaSh1P8i15evGPIg/s1600/toad.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHnBLITm6Mc6wD1H1b3lZkLWNBrYrR_m3OJSgeuEtMwM448tdhPTr17wM-NjUUAgNsCDC3W5X_OVUFIges2grid7CnyF0nGpH0WOgwRb5yfcBok5wT6tY64_DIrR9KaSh1P8i15evGPIg/s1600/toad.PNG" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXAKqhyphenhyphenpOOVeC6qa9aJWtuzIxx99f7jlwwv-DPJtqVdsgqnl77A_SzUNRggRONgpLphi579ZbHhPeDKmh3rk8ELwpLtD3CFNmPRZgW_Vs5b5aR7gGO3S0EMRqf9KOXkYgczJpj_DrfmFM/s1600/baby+b+birds+2.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXAKqhyphenhyphenpOOVeC6qa9aJWtuzIxx99f7jlwwv-DPJtqVdsgqnl77A_SzUNRggRONgpLphi579ZbHhPeDKmh3rk8ELwpLtD3CFNmPRZgW_Vs5b5aR7gGO3S0EMRqf9KOXkYgczJpj_DrfmFM/s1600/baby+b+birds+2.PNG" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxbT5z_3V7e4FU3OEcHYe7fs1uzUVuK3lCC-dcNF_P1vgm-JLh0IC2j7zKKIctalZz1nyMf9T_Mw2C1PKKBLLiouXnfk4Y3ZuYyDuaPTIzyMFdH3Nr6Lvh2rAi6NPcubmMk1_OGjAB6mc/s1600/baby+birds.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxbT5z_3V7e4FU3OEcHYe7fs1uzUVuK3lCC-dcNF_P1vgm-JLh0IC2j7zKKIctalZz1nyMf9T_Mw2C1PKKBLLiouXnfk4Y3ZuYyDuaPTIzyMFdH3Nr6Lvh2rAi6NPcubmMk1_OGjAB6mc/s400/baby+birds.PNG" width="225" /></a></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">
just soak up the water that I was splashing around. I think it was grateful that I was watering. When I checked the bluebird box there were four little ones </span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6cCIGUzSvJSKq6IB4Bo8zxT-YoH1hs3dJbNUw58GcR1mOOWnTOt23vl9WcjnNu3uRnXOjAXVY_ZHznrB_xDJCFft8XGEx16TwrRBhcwJmxF5297OcFbU3N8uMUoap2a2Pu5ypg9WBorc/s1600/fritillary.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6cCIGUzSvJSKq6IB4Bo8zxT-YoH1hs3dJbNUw58GcR1mOOWnTOt23vl9WcjnNu3uRnXOjAXVY_ZHznrB_xDJCFft8XGEx16TwrRBhcwJmxF5297OcFbU3N8uMUoap2a2Pu5ypg9WBorc/s640/fritillary.PNG" width="360" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
craning their necks trying to get food they thought I had brought. And all of this took place in the span of about five minutes.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioPMo9nkf0MQ0c-4fkosLHmrCbSp74m8J4qs-FSLRtolabWTCk7vt_LEY6T5zqLo9vOeYivdYhC5Tdmika8LUmpdNt-P8loHNyCxlJd78dIkTo0HSaOvknKEhnEKZP58Gms0t9ngypSf0/s1600/bug+2.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioPMo9nkf0MQ0c-4fkosLHmrCbSp74m8J4qs-FSLRtolabWTCk7vt_LEY6T5zqLo9vOeYivdYhC5Tdmika8LUmpdNt-P8loHNyCxlJd78dIkTo0HSaOvknKEhnEKZP58Gms0t9ngypSf0/s400/bug+2.PNG" width="225" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
<br /><br />I know some people who hardly ever go outside. These people are afraid of every kind of animal. Even the thought of a mosquito bite or a bee sting makes them fearful. I don't know how people like that can enjoy living here. I mean they could be anywhere. They could be in Minnesota or southern Florida it would all </span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmGo-2Lvn91A_mdhyAKv5i2wHU7hUjDPfTNNIq_n2QaJOceP4BPrBTseSHswl0lvpjSSV6evuRwL75NofhXLzmjmLFlO44Pr4QPspauk2aIbbkP8NKAdhXNC3dh9pBr3KH4bqyTUmeFN0/s1600/black+racer.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmGo-2Lvn91A_mdhyAKv5i2wHU7hUjDPfTNNIq_n2QaJOceP4BPrBTseSHswl0lvpjSSV6evuRwL75NofhXLzmjmLFlO44Pr4QPspauk2aIbbkP8NKAdhXNC3dh9pBr3KH4bqyTUmeFN0/s640/black+racer.PNG" width="640" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
be the same because all they would see are the four walls around them. The only air they would breathe would be conditioned.<br /><br />When the weather is hot I'm sure my shirt is going to stick to my back and sweat is <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOCzj12AZli2Ojp5KcDoEPqwD4XuN9FzxPoidq25CNUUXr3nJDp3k1IXTqYswmlL8S67PY6mgWpNFsY0xipVm5HvuqsBOQvyKPad8tYawRqmarZKtUSQc80zhw9g1Ozlel4UEwvU8TixE/s1600/racer+2.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOCzj12AZli2Ojp5KcDoEPqwD4XuN9FzxPoidq25CNUUXr3nJDp3k1IXTqYswmlL8S67PY6mgWpNFsY0xipVm5HvuqsBOQvyKPad8tYawRqmarZKtUSQc80zhw9g1Ozlel4UEwvU8TixE/s320/racer+2.PNG" width="320" /></a></div>
going to drip for my eyebrows and onto my glasses. But I get to see the beautiful creatures that live naturally all around us. I get to be a part of the same existence since we share the forest. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_jsKK1KmLV-hxaw5wjKtowgtUHTpnf-3HN7GGCk6Iy54HXNcGhauh0TxHXqvDm1KZHQ8Q4V_9FTb3jH7zynUmMDnx-c_uWxwjbtzQpCGAyBViuhVF0u-jrbT4UnWCYkb23PvRU2Q3v0M/s1600/monarch+2.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_jsKK1KmLV-hxaw5wjKtowgtUHTpnf-3HN7GGCk6Iy54HXNcGhauh0TxHXqvDm1KZHQ8Q4V_9FTb3jH7zynUmMDnx-c_uWxwjbtzQpCGAyBViuhVF0u-jrbT4UnWCYkb23PvRU2Q3v0M/s1600/monarch+2.PNG" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihTch-JiovZ_VwF15fP2uQHsMeWJ-9efgPWy0FJE7V9CkpCGG1yD8_sJoGBnuRyuCWgpcLmBYTMcu5ZvBcbiLL-R7sz5XBwYpJunY55K6wczAlz7KnM92hwDXmJceLhV3PHNwP6AUcpcE/s1600/bumble.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihTch-JiovZ_VwF15fP2uQHsMeWJ-9efgPWy0FJE7V9CkpCGG1yD8_sJoGBnuRyuCWgpcLmBYTMcu5ZvBcbiLL-R7sz5XBwYpJunY55K6wczAlz7KnM92hwDXmJceLhV3PHNwP6AUcpcE/s320/bumble.PNG" width="180" /></a><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-hbsRcJvdYqwgZPLwyGj9aVX3TwpeWAsGdih-WxBbs-n2fRa9ZBlJsGABmueHSkf-a3GpG-bcGfSKGSBPumiok67WIs6_Yw10YziHmfHwHR7yC5IX3F7yfjCi0aoxQ09URk0Yoy_MKI4/s1600/monarch+3.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-hbsRcJvdYqwgZPLwyGj9aVX3TwpeWAsGdih-WxBbs-n2fRa9ZBlJsGABmueHSkf-a3GpG-bcGfSKGSBPumiok67WIs6_Yw10YziHmfHwHR7yC5IX3F7yfjCi0aoxQ09URk0Yoy_MKI4/s1600/monarch+3.PNG" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEswGbYGUsbljzEdib4KLEddEwztymnxDJTIL1ZbVgOn7YctZZnG89f_DCOJFBg90yTz9VCLnmA2M-SRyFx7TmU19kBCcKmBqlxoV2lTScL9_r1kjDL0E9IlxZt1bHJudfi4ixY3YSbBo/s1600/bumble+3.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEswGbYGUsbljzEdib4KLEddEwztymnxDJTIL1ZbVgOn7YctZZnG89f_DCOJFBg90yTz9VCLnmA2M-SRyFx7TmU19kBCcKmBqlxoV2lTScL9_r1kjDL0E9IlxZt1bHJudfi4ixY3YSbBo/s320/bumble+3.PNG" width="180" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizinAWdv81cYpx8nBwauoy95X2i8sIeZxb1olc1IIqCx0KghOXsOys7vt5rVwtXYoSLon_1iPH3uO_MznR094pRiJsHmaHx49abYhc5gTIpZcd1HEr10mlUNMQfgJBKkU0Mcr4nV6OMQY/s1600/monarch.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizinAWdv81cYpx8nBwauoy95X2i8sIeZxb1olc1IIqCx0KghOXsOys7vt5rVwtXYoSLon_1iPH3uO_MznR094pRiJsHmaHx49abYhc5gTIpZcd1HEr10mlUNMQfgJBKkU0Mcr4nV6OMQY/s320/monarch.PNG" width="180" /></a><span style="font-size: large;">I feel so blessed when I'm out and I get the chance to see a bumblebee buzzing around, knowing that our existence depends largely on that animal doing its job. When I see a hummingbird going from flower to flower in our garden I know we have provided some little treat, some small bit of sustenance for that beautiful creature.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDx3tD7W3SkGEb1njWLuV8cQ5arGKsaUKcs8Ml2dqCDAHKCReUq1ARZkUg9yg3NFlNVFBr-5bQZrC03k8BOMKUxeoJ1ztnu-PHeck8H1QCVYiGa-ir7-BBldQFf_nmYQoWMWy7oYXUE6I/s1600/wolf.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDx3tD7W3SkGEb1njWLuV8cQ5arGKsaUKcs8Ml2dqCDAHKCReUq1ARZkUg9yg3NFlNVFBr-5bQZrC03k8BOMKUxeoJ1ztnu-PHeck8H1QCVYiGa-ir7-BBldQFf_nmYQoWMWy7oYXUE6I/s200/wolf.PNG" width="112" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQe4hZKHWK57GWd24attVgPSasQg7CzbOY0-FSICzx93ylwbV8ZQ4kamuFaBg0fx5S06cbK1uv_Jlq0pHVBVHIT2z9Z2spj_JbXmb3xFcVkRQ1LkBFulj5PF2tM7hd-q7rKUCf-Qk23I8/s1600/bumble+2.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQe4hZKHWK57GWd24attVgPSasQg7CzbOY0-FSICzx93ylwbV8ZQ4kamuFaBg0fx5S06cbK1uv_Jlq0pHVBVHIT2z9Z2spj_JbXmb3xFcVkRQ1LkBFulj5PF2tM7hd-q7rKUCf-Qk23I8/s320/bumble+2.PNG" width="180" /></a><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The pictures in this post I took with my phone camera. They may not be great works of art, but now I have pictures of many of my neighbors, some of my best friends, right here in my pocket.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf-Ctynk0pl-Wbuzmc3D8i9CQdXQ35k4EFeAqRTHbXtJuKl9xiXaatW_KHWo1t824LLmg0ba1rCcbc5VoXkFtDZI4asj_SX58n4I6qaqO7-fH5SChVUo1T4hmVbgxG407ydMvKrjm0UmQ/s1600/cicada+shell.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf-Ctynk0pl-Wbuzmc3D8i9CQdXQ35k4EFeAqRTHbXtJuKl9xiXaatW_KHWo1t824LLmg0ba1rCcbc5VoXkFtDZI4asj_SX58n4I6qaqO7-fH5SChVUo1T4hmVbgxG407ydMvKrjm0UmQ/s1600/cicada+shell.PNG" /></a></span></div>
</div>
Tim O'Keefehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12653709506879101775noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5578299375433383985.post-77072508402085197632016-07-10T10:48:00.000-07:002016-07-10T10:48:25.715-07:00The Confederate Flag - The South is Gonna Rise Again!<span style="font-size: large;">It was just about a year ago that the Confederate flag came down off of our State House here in South Carolina. We had just suffered the tragedy of the Charleston Nine. While Governor Nikki Haley wanted to come out the hero on this one, it was clear that she had no choice. The emails that she received left it clear that the vast majority of South Carolinians had to have it down. </span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK4qSInKxQHtp0tu0rhpjoAMpvNwBaeS233QtmEk8IDFYltKuGusrnnBmpK9q8z1oB2Ohalr1z1pgaqrO6MJSXhkEwl2tsSKZxI1pl0wKUBor5-7HTaapblAhxEJM6NKaDN1c68e1bnIc/s1600/Haley.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK4qSInKxQHtp0tu0rhpjoAMpvNwBaeS233QtmEk8IDFYltKuGusrnnBmpK9q8z1oB2Ohalr1z1pgaqrO6MJSXhkEwl2tsSKZxI1pl0wKUBor5-7HTaapblAhxEJM6NKaDN1c68e1bnIc/s320/Haley.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<i><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></i>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Lyon, Georgia, serif; line-height: 25.5px;"><i><span style="font-size: large;">"First, I am a member of the Sons of Confederate Veterans. Many of my ancestors served in the Southern Confederacy ... For many years I have been a supporter of keeping the flag in place on statehouse ground. However, the murder of the Rev. Clementa Pinckney along with 8 other of my Christian Brothers and Sisters changed my heart ... My Christian duty requires me to call for the removal of the Confederate Battle flag from statehouse grounds."</span></i></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Lyon, Georgia, serif; line-height: 25.5px;"><i><span style="font-size: large;">Randolph from Myrtle Beach, South Carolina</span></i></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Lyon, Georgia, serif; line-height: 25.5px;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></i></span>
<div style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Lyon, Georgia, serif; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<i><span style="font-size: large;">"About 2 weeks ago there was a shooting at Emanuel AME church. When I heard about this, I was sad as can be to know there are people out there against Black People."</span></i></div>
<div style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Lyon, Georgia, serif; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<i style="line-height: 1.5em;"><span style="font-size: large;">Handwritten note, with a smiley face stamp and hearts, from Amayah, age 10</span></i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<i style="line-height: 1.5em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXeTOlqQ_Mu0HePVSm3_pyqHOg35rR1EylGACTeY3SaXj7ScDFykjbdvvkA-z4oDbtB2rfwsu4Lzr1zO2fSYVFqOSQMMeLhoq2N_oLPXXz-VZw17G62cxxxYJ-btPrWvXXJHv6io3kJeA/s1600/black+kids.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXeTOlqQ_Mu0HePVSm3_pyqHOg35rR1EylGACTeY3SaXj7ScDFykjbdvvkA-z4oDbtB2rfwsu4Lzr1zO2fSYVFqOSQMMeLhoq2N_oLPXXz-VZw17G62cxxxYJ-btPrWvXXJHv6io3kJeA/s320/black+kids.jpg" width="180" /></a></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Lyon, Georgia, serif; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<i><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Lyon, Georgia, serif; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<i><span style="font-size: large;">"The current flag needs to come down either way. It has been allowed to be hijacked by hate groups. Those that revere it while being upstanding Americans will suffer unfairly."</span></i></div>
<div style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Lyon, Georgia, serif; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<i><span style="font-size: large;">Larry from Charlotte, North Carolina</span></i></div>
<div style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Lyon, Georgia, serif; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<i><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Lyon, Georgia, serif; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Of course there were many responses condemning Haley for her actions to take down the flag...</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Lyon, Georgia, serif; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Lyon, Georgia, serif; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<i><span style="font-size: large;">"While I do not minimize the tragedy to the families of the seven [there were nine] Negros [<u>Negros</u>, really?!] who lost their lives nor condone the actions of Dylann [sic] Roof, I consider you a disgrace and a traitor to America, to the state of South Carolina and to your race."</span></i></div>
<div style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Lyon, Georgia, serif; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<i><span style="font-size: large;">Mark from Middleburg, Florida</span></i></div>
<div style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Lyon, Georgia, serif; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<i><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhifp5IjQ4poYkNzCUy-6qx428osIriZzz9PDfwaeyQvoAs5ZlB5Gc9xjGFb2ezQQCvIdj113kbioJ3zrC6pnQ3cp4qMJjdkVlOKKfAE85jGTUegRGdcKc3cvwWkt10s2aVhS7IXGhVIAQ/s1600/what+is+the+loving+choice.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhifp5IjQ4poYkNzCUy-6qx428osIriZzz9PDfwaeyQvoAs5ZlB5Gc9xjGFb2ezQQCvIdj113kbioJ3zrC6pnQ3cp4qMJjdkVlOKKfAE85jGTUegRGdcKc3cvwWkt10s2aVhS7IXGhVIAQ/s320/what+is+the+loving+choice.jpg" width="180" /></span></a><i><span style="font-family: Lyon, Georgia, serif; font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 1.5em;">"The rebel flag means to me home. Southern pride. Wheat fields, sunflower fields, deer hunting, hard work, trucks, racing, family and pride in where I am from. Born and raised here and damn proud of it. Ignorance 'flies' both ways. An item can not be racist, unless you are an easily offended person, or racist yourself." [Stanley seems to be </span><span style="line-height: 25.5px;">easily</span><span style="line-height: 1.5em;"> offended to me. Just saying.]</span></span></i></div>
<div style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Lyon, Georgia, serif; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<i><span style="font-size: large;">Stanley from Greenville, South Carolina</span></i></div>
<div style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Lyon, Georgia, serif; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<i><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Lyon, Georgia, serif; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">It was a no brainer. She got out in front of it and made it seem like it was her brave idea. And she got a lot of credit for it. Who cares? It came down. We were there at the protest. Heidi and her class took time away from their studies to walk down to the State House to witness the historic furling of the flag. That flag that stood for states' rights to be sure. Mainly for states' rights to own other people like property. Then later for states' rights to keep a group of people down, to keep in their lower place, to keep them from voting, from drinking at the same water fountains as whites, from swimming in public pools and eating in the same spaces. </span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Lyon, Georgia, serif; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Lyon, Georgia, serif; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Whatever. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRHMzOUgIY817I7NoQY7ng7At4Flri25uH-il2jNScO1VCrv7tOhM1RjmpxI5F9ZPR-D4-pWoosAnWcjOQJclU4tyF9OC2KckPFFqFozpuLPSbD2LuARFHIWfCeg1zpAAHss5l8pCD4U4/s1600/let+the+healig+start.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRHMzOUgIY817I7NoQY7ng7At4Flri25uH-il2jNScO1VCrv7tOhM1RjmpxI5F9ZPR-D4-pWoosAnWcjOQJclU4tyF9OC2KckPFFqFozpuLPSbD2LuARFHIWfCeg1zpAAHss5l8pCD4U4/s320/let+the+healig+start.jpg" width="241" /></span></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Lyon, Georgia, serif; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Lyon, Georgia, serif; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">It came down. </span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Lyon, Georgia, serif; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Lyon, Georgia, serif; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">And it seemed like the beginning of a new era in South Carolina. And maybe a new era in our country. If that flag could come down, then maybe other symbols of racism could be removed. Maybe the Nine wouldn't have died in vain. Maybe Dylan Roof would have started a new beginning of lives lived in peaceful understanding and celebration of our differences. Maybe our kids could grow up in a world where we learned from our mistakes and we put racism behind us. Maybe the Confederate flag would be a relic, a symbol of a bygone era before we were sensitive to the hateful memories it stirred. Just maybe...</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Lyon, Georgia, serif; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Lyon, Georgia, serif; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I remember that time when the flag came down as one of hope. I love South Carolina. I love the soft drawl and the wide open hospitality. I love the way people down here ease into conversation with sincere questions about family. I love the unhurried lifestyle and the gentility. I love the fact that people let you in if you are stuck in traffic - even if it means they make themselves a little bit later. I love the "please" and "thank you" and the way people hold doors for each other. I love seeing mixed race couples and the beautiful children in these families. I love teaching in a classroom where children of all races come together to talk about how to make a better world. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgphOWVt-EMDhBBns6G9RwBzGrQg584J_HQgoE_vrZfRWR2eWqS6O-oIc17NQxEA6EJW95v9HUsjiEjdQ6HXlrQ5ikamji9Oc-_A5rFzPYoTXB1yyQUtbd9Zec8JbWha5Yb-5HEpJP85sU/s1600/flag+close.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgphOWVt-EMDhBBns6G9RwBzGrQg584J_HQgoE_vrZfRWR2eWqS6O-oIc17NQxEA6EJW95v9HUsjiEjdQ6HXlrQ5ikamji9Oc-_A5rFzPYoTXB1yyQUtbd9Zec8JbWha5Yb-5HEpJP85sU/s400/flag+close.PNG" width="225" /></span></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Lyon, Georgia, serif; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Lyon, Georgia, serif; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">And then I see this as I am driving through the country. Then I wonder how far we've come. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDiRSVd5dx1JJsvF0zV5jaVR3lWZPYK7LOghac7Nq5PRfnWv2Pk7YlEIjnxS-GyMrHASxLKAYjOBm4SXKOfdpRu3kP649BOxqmg19AhYPOIzjXiv3cAT_sueGGYtYskOfHMzVrKRk0EVo/s1600/flag+car.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDiRSVd5dx1JJsvF0zV5jaVR3lWZPYK7LOghac7Nq5PRfnWv2Pk7YlEIjnxS-GyMrHASxLKAYjOBm4SXKOfdpRu3kP649BOxqmg19AhYPOIzjXiv3cAT_sueGGYtYskOfHMzVrKRk0EVo/s400/flag+car.JPG" width="300" /></span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhLLIy3UfM9RHmIezoPfHwk-1iYy4BI3e07bHn5CsLvsJ0QDK-r1IthrpiMP7z8uMvD_iyPc8obHsshdYePHkeApdicVdgF-kJq7zSBtlovjKzrRdEkYli6vGg0exL1xtvdyiJFacwKMA/s1600/Flag+mailbox.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhLLIy3UfM9RHmIezoPfHwk-1iYy4BI3e07bHn5CsLvsJ0QDK-r1IthrpiMP7z8uMvD_iyPc8obHsshdYePHkeApdicVdgF-kJq7zSBtlovjKzrRdEkYli6vGg0exL1xtvdyiJFacwKMA/s320/Flag+mailbox.jpg" width="302" /></span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Lyon, Georgia, serif; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Lyon, Georgia, serif; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 10px;">
</div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="box-sizing: border-box; color: black; font-family: sans-serif; font-stretch: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; height: 1px; line-height: normal; overflow: hidden; text-align: left; text-transform: none; width: 1px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Read more here: http://www.thestate.com/news/politics-government/politics-columns-blogs/the-buzz/article88057212.html#storylink=cpy</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Lyon, Georgia, serif; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 10px;">
</div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="box-sizing: border-box; color: black; font-family: sans-serif; font-stretch: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; height: 1px; line-height: normal; overflow: hidden; text-align: left; text-transform: none; width: 1px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Read more here: http://www.thestate.com/news/politics-government/politics-columns-blogs/the-buzz/article88057212.html#storylink=cpy</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Lyon, Georgia, serif; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Lyon, Georgia, serif; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 10px;">
</div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="box-sizing: border-box; color: black; font-family: sans-serif; font-stretch: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; height: 1px; line-height: normal; overflow: hidden; text-align: left; text-transform: none; width: 1px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Read more here: http://www.thestate.com/news/politics-government/politics-columns-blogs/the-buzz/article88057212.html#storylink=cpy</span></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="box-sizing: border-box; color: black; font-family: sans-serif; font-stretch: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; height: 1px; line-height: normal; overflow: hidden; text-align: left; text-transform: none; width: 1px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Read more here: http://www.thestate.com/news/politics-government/politics-columns-blogs/the-buzz/article88057212.html#storylink=cpy</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: sans-serif; font-stretch: normal; height: 1px; overflow: hidden; width: 1px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Read more here: http://www.thestate.com/news/politics-government/politics-columns-blogs/the-buzz/article88057212.html#storylink=cpy</span></div>
Tim O'Keefehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12653709506879101775noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5578299375433383985.post-5541530475056855252016-06-14T05:02:00.000-07:002016-06-14T05:02:01.131-07:00The NineAs we approach the anniversary of the tragedy in Charleston, I thought I'd put this out there. I wrote it last summer. While it recounts some of the terrible events, I like to think there is hope here too. <br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/JWLHFqrmIw0" width="420"></iframe><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The Nine – Tim O’Keefe 7-15<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Charleston
in the month of June<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">At
Mother Emmanuel<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Good
people met to share their prayers<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">But
one man came to kill<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">They
invited him to share their time<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">To
pray, to learn, to teach<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">They
welcomed him with open arms<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">But
his heart was out of reach<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">(CHORUS)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Maybe some
good will happen<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Maybe some
kind of spark<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Maybe we’ll
move a little closer to the light<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Maybe come in
from the dark<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Maybe we’ll
seek some honest answers<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">That would be
so fine<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Maybe we’ll
speak some truth to power<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">We owe so much
to The Nine</span></i></b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">He
shot and killed those precious ones<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">To
start some kind of war<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">He
thought his hate would conquer their love<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">But
he’ll get no reward<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Cause
when the families of the victims spoke<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Their
strength came from their faith<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Forgiveness
was the message they shared, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“There’s
no room in my heart to hate.” <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">CHORUS</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">It
was no trouble for that young man<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">To
get himself a gun<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Like
chains and whips and ropes of old <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">He
carried a Glock .41<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">They
prayed and talked that mid June night<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">A
young stranger in their midst<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Singing
those old Halleluiah songs<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">They
couldn’t know what to expect<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">BRIDGE<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">We met this evil man before<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">His face was there on
Africa’s shore<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">In the Dark Middle Passage
and Hate’s awful course<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">We’re familiar with his
terrible face<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">His gun and his rope and his
hanging place<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">His Jim Crow laws, his
higher race<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">We know this wretched man
all right<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">His tired flag, his speeches
trite<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">His endless battle against
Civil Rights<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">His chains, his whip, his
hate, his gun<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">He’s been in this land since
we’ve begun<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Now let us pray that his
time is done <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Along
with the Birmingham girls<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Mississippi
and young Emmett Till<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The
Freedom Riders back in ‘61<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">We
remember their stories well<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Come
Ye That Love The Lord,” they sang<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">And,
“We are marching to beautiful Zion”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">We
sing their songs, we raise our voices<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
<o:AllowPNG/>
</o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:WordDocument>
<w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom>
<w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves>
<w:TrackFormatting/>
<w:PunctuationKerning/>
<w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>
<w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>
<w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>
<w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>
<w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/>
<w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>
<w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent>
<w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>
<w:Compatibility>
<w:BreakWrappedTables/>
<w:DontGrowAutofit/>
<w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/>
<w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/>
</w:Compatibility>
</w:WordDocument>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276">
</w:LatentStyles>
</xml><![endif]-->
<!--[if gte mso 10]>
<style>
/* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
{mso-style-name:"Table Normal";
mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt;
mso-para-margin:0in;
mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;}
</style>
<![endif]-->
<!--StartFragment-->
<!--EndFragment--><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">To
the memory of The Nine<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<br />Tim O'Keefehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12653709506879101775noreply@blogger.com2