Told to go home to my country (which one? the one that didn’t want me or the one I’ve barely been to?)

C—-k

G—-k

Slanty-Eyed

Office Boy (heard at DAs Office)

Chinaman (heard at NYPD)

Bruce Lee (although why this is an insult is beyond me)

Asked whether I could read a sign in English at the grocery store (yes I can, I teach Legal Writing at the law school)

Told I’m not a “real” minority

Ignored

Overlooked

Underestimated

Investigated

Undermined 

Feared

Rocks thrown at my head

Spat on

JD, PhD, Philadelphia Assistant DA, UN, NYC Secret Police, NYPD, Teacher, Guide, Protector

Still standing, still alive

Child of God

And that jumpshot

In NYC (and in society at large), there are probably too many participation trophies.  When my daughter previously received a “medal” for completing a swimming class, she was allowed to wear it at home and then to discard it.  She also used to take chess lessons and reluctantly play in a few tournaments. As you might imagine, these were competitive. Very very stressed out kids and probably more so, the parents. Daughter wasn’t a young Magnus Carlson by any means, but she could hold her own. I think she had around a .500 record. I remember thus one time where she lost and left the room with a bit of a shell shocked look. She just ran to me and I gave her a hug. I was glad she gave it her all – I don’t think I would have lasted more than a few moves.

Once, she did receive a trophy for sportsmanship. She was gracious in victory and defeat.

A few friends have remarked you learn a lot from losing, maybe more so than any other events.

I think this is fundamentally true. It’s definitely more than learning moves, bouncing back, trying again, etc. A lot of it is about endurance and absorbing.

Especially disappointment, discouragement, discomfort. That’s what may set us people apart in terms of truly great accomplishment and achievement – and I’m not talking the usual suspects.

Instead, I’m referring to the ones that make history – overthrowing a regime, resisting injustice, restoring all that is right.

Those are all costly.

Those are all painful.

In basketball, I was solid playing on a team but not a great one-on-one player. I had a neighbor who was a year older than me. He beat me every single time he played me.

Except for the last time we played.

After dozens of losses, I wanted it so badly. And I somehow managed to pull it off – and by accident (I swear) giving him a bloody nose.

It felt like a word that doesn’t exist- a combination of relief, vindication, joy, resolution.

Like the first time I crossed the Longfellow Bridge over the Charles to see the beautiful Boston skyline.

My son’s godfather made the observation that at some point intelligence, talent don’t matter so much as pure perseverance. When one looks at the great struggles of history, there is a ton of losing. Another insightful friend made the point that evil often seems so overwhelming at first until the forces of good gain their footing and pushes back.

We love our winners.

But maybe we should love our endurers instead.

I wrote for a living. Most of the time, it felt like, unsurprisingly, work. It had purpose and meaning, but my heart and soul weren’t completely there. I joke that most of what I wrote started off with the following sentences:

“Defendant did so and so.”

“The NYPD is such and such.”

“My daughter isn’t a bad kld, no really. She’s just strong willed.”

There’s only so much of that one can take of all that before zoning out. Forget the party line and the suppression of common sense and even at times, honesty.

But starting from early last year, I started to take this endeavor a bit more seriously. I wrote one story (on my jumpshot) and the next and the next and the next. A few poems here and there.

And it became close to 800 pages of hiddenness emerging.

Finally.

Writing is a bit of a throwback these days but J was always an old soul. I’ve alluded to – the way I shot a basketball and firearm was old school.

As I’ve also mentioned before, God or a higher power is holding the pen in the vein of Led Zeppelin writing Stairway to Heaven. By no means are they perfect. Like all things, they are cracked and flawed.

But like my baseball glove, guitar, shield – all dented, they are mine.

But this is about allowing God to enter the seams to work His magic.

That’s how the light gets in.

If it helps or blesses others, then it is ab added gift but per the late professor Randy Pausch, this is ultimately for the kids.

It is their protection and preparation. It is, in part, the payoff and vindication for the challenges and lessons of the journey.

What should a father wish for his children?

The answer is probably different for everyone but at least for me, a great destiny. People may laugh at that, but that’s what they will do.

What did I go for?

Adventure.

Meaning.

Impact.

Legitimacy.

Justice.

Defiance.

Belonging.

Love.

Home.

All I hope is evident, at least a little bit, in what I’ve written down.

This is my book.

One story.

One man.

One life.

At least it wasn’t boring.

I once used this exercise with a church men’s group I started.  Name a fictional character who you feel reflects who you are or aspire to be.  I remember Coach Eric Taylor from Friday Night Lights and Aragorn from Lord of the Rings.  

When my turn came, the group was somewhat surprised when I said Vito Corleone, the Godfather.  Years later, another church friend pretty much told me how evil that choice was.  I beg to differ.

The Godfather (the movie and the book, need to watch and read both for the complete picture) is one of the best works on leadership and life out there.  One of the auditors I supervised even told me I was right when a management seminar he was sent to opened with “All that you need to know about management you can learn from Godfather 1 and 2.”

I’ve mentioned this before – Coppola said it was the story of a great king with three sons, each embodying a different aspect of his character – passion (Sonny), child-likeness (Fredo), and cunning (Michael).

I really could go on and on about how much I learned and put into practice from him.  That scene in the garden where Vito has a father-son conversation with Michael about his vision, disappointments, life path, and the future.  That itself is a whole lecture or discussion.

I never got to teach the work officially in class.  I would probably have been censured.  But if I could do it, I would break each lecture down by the main characters and some supporting ones (Genco the consigliere is fascinating; also Mama Corleone).

And how I wish to perform that scene in Cuba between Michael and Fredo with several people.

1. The grace is found in between all the things that you think matter but really don’t.

2. When I wrote my dissertation, I dedicated it to my family, the cats (but not the turtle), and God – whom I described as the Master Strategist and Tactician.  Strategy, among many qualities, is in huge part about creating a better position from weaker components.  I had to do this so much – so many cracked and broken pieces – but God is truly the Master.  To be able to piece together all the parts- not just as new but better.

3. Many years ago, a former student said the following – “God’s love is bigger than our lies.”  Struck, I asked her what she meant.  She said she didn’t know but it sounded true.  I have long reflected on what she said and I think it is one of the most profound things I’ve heard.  Would be a great song lyric.

4. At the Minnesota Pearl Jam concert, they closed with Purple Rain – an unexpected and fitting tribute to Prince in his hometown.  The crowd went wild.  One of my daughter’s childhood stuffed animals is a purple bear – aptly named Purple Bear.  I used to sing to her “Purple Bear, Purple Bear, I only want to see you laughing with the Purple Bear.”  When Prince died, someone said that all his songs were either foreplay or a prayer.  One of the greatest musicians and guitar players of all time.

5. “A man who conquers himself is greater than one who conquers a thousand men in battle.” There are several variations of the quote above attributed to others like Plato, Ignatius, and Lao Tzu.  Also one of the most challenging truths out there.  In my early 20s, I worked in a laboratory setting and had some form of this on my bench space.  It is roughly 20 years later and while I’ve made progress, am still working on this.

In an episode of the original Law and Order, Executive ADA Jack McCoy has a conversation with a defense attorney he is up against.  She pulls up to him in a limo just after having dinner at a swanky restaurant.  After discussing the case, she asks him why he just doesn’t join her in defense work where he would be paid handsomely.  Gesturing at her limo, she says all this is waiting for him.  McCoy, a career public servant, replies “No thanks, I made peace with my path a long time ago” before riding off on his motorcycle.

Path to me is interesting.  Issues of free will and predestination aside, I find it fascinating to see how lives turn out and are influenced by seemingly random or unconnected events.  The example of the butterfly effect in chaos theory is one such example where the flapping of a butterfly’s wings can cause a momentous event thousands of miles away.  In my life, some of the events that had the most impact seemed small at the time (the unsolicited letter, the chance meeting at the library, the decision to not eat dinner at home).

Like the fictional McCoy, I realize making peace with the path is so important yet so difficult.  One of my favorite authors makes this point about path – If you marry one girl, you forsake the rest.  When I look at my own path, it wasn’t easy both by fate and choice.  I definitely wish some parts were smoother, but strangely, some of the times I was most alone and where the future was uncertain were the fondest.

A friend mused on why some paths are harder than others.  Not to downplay the very real pain and challenges, but sometimes it’s the difficult journeys that yield more beauty and knowledge, even if it’s costly and doesn’t seem like it at the time.

This story is also about dragons and monkeys.  The daughter is born in the year of the dragon, son the monkey.  Both archetypal animals in Chinese culture.  Both animals appear to be mortal enemies.  Google dragon and monkey fighting and you’ll find some interesting pieces of art depicting this enduring conflict.  My favorite picture is the dragon breathing fire while the monkey throws his poop back.

Dragons in Chinese culture are sacred and valued.  The dragon is powerful and good.  In fact, the description of the pinnacle of a great person’s life is many dragons, no head – power and humility coexisting.  Dragons, however, can be feared and reviled in Western culture.  

Like the black knight.  

Nevertheless, I taught the boy to be a black knight instead of a white one.  After a movie, he asked me “Are black knights good or bad?”  I replied “Good but some think they are bad.”  I’ve always seen the black knight as independent, principled, unbound, unfettered.  A real force with deep mystique and great reserves of strength, power.  I’m actually quite wary of the white knight types – to me, they were the pretty boys who showed up to take the credit after the conflict is over.

Strangely enough, in Malaysian culture, there is a similar trope – Panglima Hitam or the Black Commander.  Just like the different views of the dragon by culture, the Black Commander is valued and revered in Malaysia, considered the model for a warrior.  

I’d also refer here to the Dark Knight movie where there is a dichotomy between DA Harvey Dent (white) and Bruce Wayne (black).  One is the hero that the people need, the other they deserve.  The ending of the Dark Knight where Batman chooses to take the fall for Dent and be hunted is profound.

I once slipped in a white knight chess piece in a gift to the girl I lit the candles for.  I’m not even sure why I did that, it seemed poetic.  If I were more confident, I would have given her the black one.

The anniversary of the 9/11 attacks is a special milestone in my life. When it happened, I was in my first few weeks of law school and unclear, uncertain about the future. Watching the devastation pushed me further into wanting to address evil in all its forms.

I used to have picture of the firefighters hoisting the flag amidst the rubble in my Philadelphia office as well as the little girl waving the flag while sitting on top of her father’s shoulders.  I never once imagined that I would end up in NYC, having the honor and privilege of serving and protecting it in my own small way as a member of the NYPD.

Getting to stand at the sites made infamous by that event. Having colleagues who served on that day.

Always NYPD.

Always heroes.

The Department observes the day annually at the exact times when the attack occurred.

It is solemn and sobering.

It is powerful and humbling.

The country and world has mostly forgotten.

Memories fade and maybe that’s a good thing. And maybe it isn’t.

But for some of us, we remember.

I see you Mary in the garden
In the garden of a thousand sighs
There’s holy pictures of our children
Dancing in a sky filled with light
May I feel your arms around me
May I feel your blood mix with mine
A dream of life comes to me
Like a catfish dancing on the end of my line

Sky of blackness and sorrow
Sky of love, sky of tears
Sky of glory and sadness
Sky of mercy, sky of fear
Sky of memory and shadow
Your burning wind fills my arms tonight
Sky of longing and emptiness
Sky of fullness, sky of blessed life

Come on up for the rising
Come on up lay your hands in mine
Come on up for the rising
Come on up for the rising tonight

Kid soccer in NYC is competitive. Especially with the Wall Street crowd. Hardcore competitive.

My daughter had to tryout for the 7 year old squad. And as she got older, they ranked the kids by talent and skill. There were A, B, and even C teams. Needless to say, parents really got into it. Jockeying for position, playing time, and placement. If you think national politics is brutal, try youth athletics.

I won’t lie.

I wasn’t immune to it.

On some days, I’d wish that there was less Hufflepuff in the daughter and more Cristiano Ronaldo, but we don’t choose our parents and apparently neither our kids as well. At least, however, I wasn’t as bad as this one dad who videotaped his daughter at practice. One time, she got hit in the face by a ball and had to leave the game. When she refused to return due to shock and pain, her dad berates her on the sidelines for being weak, as she is crying. After the practice, she trails behind him as they leave the field, as he refuses to hold her hand.

Most parents were actually quite nice. I couldn’t resist poking fun at the absurdity of the NYC competition by cheering for individual players by their parents’ workplace instead of names – Go Goldman Sachs! Go Shake Shack! Go JP Morgan!

The team actually did quite well. They somehow managed to win their division even though they were matched up against teams with players a year older. They even played all boys teams and held their own.

My daughter rarely scored, but was a good defender. Because of her size and personality, she’d knock quite a few others down and was the best tackler on the team. Once, we discussed how to disrupt an opponent’s decision cycle with defense. Observe – Orient – Decide – Act can be thwarted, obscured, intercepted at every stage.  This works for all types of scenarios – sports, work, relationships.

The real life Law and Order Special Victims Unit commander once told me how he taught his division to disrupt the decision cycles of sex offenders – to swiftly interdict and investigate, preventing them from quickly lawyering up. Bruce Lee’s intercepting fist concept is also applicable here.  An opponent is often most vulnerable when he is striking mode; this is exactly the best time to strike at him.

Private school in the city cost somewhere in the 50K a year vicinity even for kindergarten. No way the daughter would get anywhere near that. But I’d like to think this was her real education or at the least a supplement.

(From the DA years)

So I got my weekly assignment and this time it wasn’t a serious crime (a nice break I suppose).  Turns out someone who made a right turn on a red light when he wasn’t supposed to wants to appeal his ticket (I can’t believe I got assigned this case).  He wrote the appeal himself (always a trip).  His main argument – that he wasn’t “Supperman” (yeah that’s how he spelled it) with “Ex-Ray” vision to see all the signs in the city.  

Cost of paying ticket = $104  

Cost of him filing appeal = About $100 

Commonwealth time (me working on this) = About $200-$300 

Court Time to decide the appeal in our favor = About $200-$300 

Sorry, no priceless punchline.  What a waste of time and resources.  Just pay the damn ticket.

Postscript – So I actually met the defendant at oral argument. He had a crutch and a cast. I couldn’t tell if they were props or for real. I could barely contain my laughter when it was my turn to approach the judge panel. Could not get out the one sentence that basically said I had nothing further to say.