I took the girl wall-climbing. She’s pretty good Mulan style – certainly neither my DNA nor example (as a child, I couldn’t even do the monkey bars). There was one wall, however, she simply couldn’t climb no matter how much she tried.
I just told her “Sometimes the wall wins.”
I have some very close friends experiencing major challenges. All you can really do at times is offer up prayers of hope, listen, walk together.
But sometimes the wall wins. A former student just died of cancer at the age of 37. The wall f______ won.
People can say things like keep climbing, don’t give up. Find another way to conquer the wall, go around, go under. True most of the time, not all.
Sometimes, you just go, ok wall, you win. I’ll come back when I’m older or stronger. Or I’m going to find something else to do.
One day, the kids will thank me for naming them. If my parents (who claim to be devout Christians) had their way, the boy would have been Peter Paul and the girl Mary Martha. Worse and this almost actually happened until I intervened, the Chinese names considered for the girl were many times more appropriate for how shall we put this nicely – ladies of the night.
Names matter. My understanding is that in some Native American tribes, a member doesn’t receive their name until later or they go on some type of spiritual test or journey. I think that approach makes a lot of sense – our names should reflect who we are. Also maybe give us something to aspire to. Jacob receives a new name after wrestling with God.
My daughter was always going to be——-. My son wasn’t a sure thing. I needed to see him pop out before deciding whether he looked worthy of this most blessed and problematic name (the backup was Elijah – also a great name belonging to my favorite Biblical character). To his credit, the boy looked like a mini Benedict Wong / Kublai Khan in the Marco Polo series and the deal was sealed.
A friend recently told me that I was a crusader for justice. I replied not at all, that’s not really me. I am not the marching at rallies, waving flags, chanting, willing to get arrested type. I value college football and the NFL on weekends too much to spend my time doing things like this.
But I will hold my ground. Something interesting about my son the following – it”s nearly impossible to bribe or force him to do anything. In fact, the more you try, the more he resists. Apples and trees, I guess.
At NYC Investigations, run by a man who embodied Napoleonic complex and had the indignity of being the first ever Investigations Chief ever in city history to get fired by the Mayor for overstepping his authority, I got written up for talking and then not talking. Kafkaesque. I just wouldn’t fudge, misrepresent facts, make haphazard policy recommendations for them. Or rubberstamp their politically motivated investigations of the NYPD. Or laugh loudly at staff meetings at unfunny jokes. Or clap loudly enough at the next Ivy League, ivory tower but totally devoid of common sense, street smarts plan.
During my last few weeks before I escaped to the NYPD, I would play a game at staff meetings to see how few words I could get away with saying. The last meeting, I was oh so close to not saying a word. My bosses ask me a question at the last minute and I so wanted the zero word record so badly, I just shook my head. They told me I had to say something. I think the final record was no more than 5 words.
I was thinking of getting a tattoo upon entering legal practice. Totally cliche, but it would have been one of Lady Justice. Not the boring stolid one you’ll see in courthouses or law offices. The one I had in mind was half clothed (tastefully), about to strike with her sword while dangling her scales over her target.
I’m so glad I did not go through with it.
I thought I would worship her. But she proved not to be a worthy or faithful lover.
I know that not everyone who reads what I write shares my faith. I’ve always prided myself on being moderate, independent, and open. My daughter’s godfather is a devout Christian while my son’s is an atheist. Nonetheless, I believe that at the end, God, a higher power, or the universe will ask – What did you bring?
In a prior life, I drove a lot. Been to 46 states (missing Alabama, Alaska, Arkansas, Mississippi). A ton of East Coast. I-95 corridor, NJ Turnpike, Mass Turnpike, so on and so forth.
And those Midwest drives. I would do the 10 hour drive between Maryland and Indiana in a straight shot. The Pennsylvania Turnpike would be scary, especially in the winter. Ohio is 220 miles wide on I-70. Those Springsteen type songs about steel towns and coal mining, all true.
I learned a lot on these drives. How to minimize bathroom, gas breaks, change CDs in the portable player while presumably keeping hands on the wheel and eyes on the road, handling thunderstorms, snow, hail. And dealing with the plain boredom and monotony. That’s how I almost died many times. To stay awake and alive, I prayed for the girl I lit the candles for.
But I learned mainly about myself. When you have no one to talk to for hundreds of barren miles, you talk to a combination of God and yourself. Figured out a lot about faith, life, calling, etc. My vehicle was a confessional booth, place of meditation, and a sanctuary.
I can barely drive more than a few hours these days. But once upon a time, the road was like home.
The story of David and Goliath is often narrated as an example of an underdog beating a stronger opponent. Or that God divinely intervened to ensure a miracle.
While those interpretations may hold weight, I see things differently. You see, the only person on the Israeli side that could conceivably defeat Goliath was David. You cannot defeat a much greater strength with conventional strength that is lesser by itself. Any other soldier would have been beaten mercilessly.
It takes a shepherd boy trained with a slingshot to win the day. That was the only real play. Several years ago, Serena Williams, arguably the greatest female tennis player of all time, faced an unheralded opponent in the final of a major tournament. No one gave her opponent a chance. Williams’ game was powerful, she served in the triple digits in terms of miles an hour. Her opponent served at a much slower speed.
Williams lost.
Her opponent, coached brilliantly, returned every serve and volley in a slow and soft manner, dropping shots so that Williams would have to run a distance to meet them. Williams did not adapt, hitting the ball harder and harder only to be repeatedly frustrated. Worn out, she graciously accepts defeat.
No TV show can exactly capture the criminal justice system and actors. Law and Order (in all its iterations) is pretty much the Disney+ treatment. The two closest in my opinion are Homicide : Life on the Street and The Wire. Both developed by a former Baltimore Sun crime reporter and a former Baltimore detective who became a teacher.
In Boston, I even attended a lecture on The Wire at Harvard. Several of the main actors and the real life inspirations for the characters were present, including the real life Omar (Look up YouTube Orioles closer Felix Bautista). A few civil rights leaders were there and the eminent attorney and professor Charles Ogletree. I will say this though – I’ve never heard so many uneducated dumbass questions asked at such a unique forum.
The two questions that I would ask someone when I find out they are a fan of the series are the following:
1. How would you rank the seasons of the series? (3, 1, 4, 2, 5)
2. Who is your favorite character?
For me, it wasn’t one of the cops, judges, or prosecutors. It was Stringer Bell, the second in command of a drug enterprise. Intelligent, organized, pragmatic. Reached for things beyond his grasp.
Too much of a gangster to be a businessman. Too much of a businessman to be a gangster. At the end (apology for spoiler), he gets cornered by two hitmen who want to kill him for different reasons (one is Omar). He is so badass that he briefly tries to negotiate for his life, realizes it is futile, accepts his fate, and goes down giving his killers the order to shoot him.
When the cops search his home, they find a well-furnished apartment with business literature all around. They wonder to themselves who this man really was.
In my casework, I did not see too much evidence of high level thinking or planning. A good number of my cases involved poor impulse control, spur of the moment actions, and other premeditated evil motivated by vengeance or lustful depravity (including against children, and also by children – don’t ask). But once in a while, I saw something that made me go wow. A Hmong gang in Minnesota had a big brother-little brother program for mentoring – including firearm training and forgery. In this case, I also saw someone take his last breaths on this planet.
But back to Stringer Bell (played by the inimitable Idris Elba). I identify with him a lot. Probably not as ruthless, but I get him and why he did what he did. When the game is stacked against you, your mind is your greatest asset, weapon, and shield. Ironic that his death was hastened by his caution – always insisting that doors should be locked/closes, this detail prevents his escape.
Guitars sometimes have names, especially female ones. George Harrison (one of my favorites, the author of While My Guitar Gently Weeps, inspired by a line from the I-Ching) named his red Les Paul Gibson, Lucy, after redheaded actress Lucille Ball. BB King named all of his black Gibsons, Lucille, after a dance hall fight between two men fighting over a woman with that name. The fight knocked over a barrel filled with kerosene and a fire ensued, engulfing the hall with fire. Realizing he left his beloved guitar behind, he rushed in to retrieve it and the legend was born.
I’ve had four guitars, but only named one. Jet black, I acquired it after watching Antonio Banderas play the opening song in Desperado with a similar model (he is one talented singer).
I named her Maria. She wasn’t a top model, but she sounded good. And looked the part. I never played her in concert, only in practices. She still made her presence known. I performed with her in my pseudo-philosophy class my senior year of high school with a friend (Clapton’s Wonderful Tonight, Gin Blossoms’ Allison Road – miraculously with the soto, and a song I wrote). I was so shy and unconfident, but I get through. To my surprise, my classmates applaud at the end. A few girls come up to talk to me after class.
I gave Maria to a student at church who I taught guitar to. It was special for him as his sister shared the same name.
I really should name my red one, the guitar I’ve had the longest and played the most, and the one I hope one of the kids will pick up. Just never gave too much thought to it
For someone interested in strategy, I’m really mediocre to bad at board games. I do enjoy learning the concepts behind them and the frameworks of the best ways to handle games.
A former colleague once told me that I was playing the equivalent of 3D chess against her colleague who was playing checkers. She even called me a grandmaster (not sure if deserved, but one of the nicest things I’ve ever been told). I replied not any form of chess, but rather I was playing Go.
Chess is a game of attrition and confrontation. Grind your enemy down. Lose a major piece early and if your opponent is competent, you’re as good as dead. A very Western concept.
Go, on the other hand, is based on different principles. More about time and controlling space, I call it the water game – surround, envelop, drown your opponent. In Go, when a situation looks dire, unlike chess, a few key well-placed moves, sometimes even just one, can change the course of the game.
No board game can precisely mimic life. Life isn’t turn based, constrained by rules, and the pieces aren’t set. But Go is a good one. I have a book that explains its connections with the 36 Stratagems – Chinese in origin, based in Taoism and extremely insightful. It pretty much summarizes a good portion of human strategy.
The focus of fluidity in Go versus a more confrontational style also probably works better in the real world. There is a place for direct conflict, but the fluidity of human beings and the costly nature of fighting makes it impractical.
Originally intended to teach the kids this phrase – “Visit the Dark Side but do not linger.” I can’t take credit for this one, it’s by Cass Sunstein, a famous law professor who authored a book on Star Wars and life.
A friend would make the joke that it meant hanging out with Darth Vader. The best jokes have quite a bit of truth in them. Mr. Vader could teach us a lot – listening to your teacher, don’t fall in love with someone off limits, beware old creepy politician types, and yeah, never forget how the high ground works.
Jokes aside, the point is valid. We all have dark sides whether we acknowledge or admit it. Must understand, learn to control, someone even wrote make love to it.
Notwithstanding individual concerns, how does one address the Dark Side (in any context) without understanding it? I find the Harry Potter universe to be surprisingly insightful (side comment – who in the world would want to be assigned to Hufflepuff? They just seem average plodders. A law school friend would derisively refer to them as “ham and eggers”).
Sorting Hat questions aside, the concept of a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher is brilliant and necessary. Without that teaching, Harry and friends wouldn’t have prevailed against the formidable Voldemort and company.
When I taught, I included a portion on defense for my students. I wish I had understood it better.
And one time, someone did hum the Imperial March, Vader’s theme song when I entered the classroom. I swear I was nice, really.
Songs of Pain and Hope 