Soft eyes aren’t enough. I told my daughter that just because you can see how events unfold, often you cannot do anything to affect them. She was surprised. 10 going on 40, but still 10. She did tell me she likes the Sims because she can mess with peoples’ lives.
Act, the A in OODA, is often given short shrift. I feel it is often taken for granted. That’s deadly. If you can’t implement what you want or need to do, the other steps don’t matter.
The hope is that one day, one will have the proper position and resources to actually do something. I’ve been lucky to have been in this position, often by chance and fate.
Sometimes though, the right move is to not act. The Taoist concept of non-action. Watch the enemy’s camp burn from across the shore.
I’m going to have to follow up on that conversation.
A few weeks ago, my daughter and I saw Pearl Jam at Madison Square Garden. A woman sitting next to us told her that I was a cool dad and this was special. The daughter didn’t quite get it but I think she will one day. Like most if not all soon to be teenagers, she was either pretending to be or actually was too cool to care. She does slip up at times and drops her guard, those are rare, precious moments. She did come alive during Once, the highly age inappropriate song that I’ve sung to her since she was 2 and Alive. She had enough intuition to stand up, sing along with me and the tens of thousands of those in attendance. I hope she will remember that one when I’m fertilizing the dandelions.
In any case, I once remarked to a church friend that some concerts reflected a worship service so much better than the ones at church and maybe this is what heaven could look like. The response I received was one of those cut and paste ones.
I’ve written about this previously but quite a bit of Christian songs aren’t all that well composed. There is a bit of an unwritten formula to follow and some are even theologically incorrect. But the point here is that often heaven is depicted as a place wheee we hover around the throne of God singing songs for eternity. Please no. Not with some of the mediocre ones out there. Also, an eternity doing the same thing cannot be terribly fun or exciting in any way.
Heaven is one of those concepts where it’s a caricature. When I was growing up, it is often described as a place where the streets are paved with gold. But who needs gold in heaven?
It’s also described as a place without sorrow or pain, and maybe that’s all good but it has to be more than the absence of things, but also the presence of the desirable.
I used to call NYC introvert hell because there was seemingly non-stop movement and noise. In fact, I would joke that my church made hell sound inviting- a cool dark place without anyone around. I kid.
But heaven – apparently Steve Jobs, no saint and a bit of a lapsed believer exclaimed in his last moments – Oh wow! And unless he was a sadist looking forward to eternal punishment, that’s a telling sign.
So I don’t know. We probably have previews in the earthly realm. I won’t go into all that but it’s all around if you know what you’re looking at and for.
It’s ok if you don’t understand what someone is about but never, ever mock or laugh at it. This principle applies in many facets of life, including and especially parenting. Do the wrong thing in this aspect and I guarantee you just increased the betting odds of you ending up not having your diapers changed or feeding tube still connected.
It’s simple and maybe even simplistic but that whole walking in another’s shoes is so true. Over the journey, and especially over the rough parts, I not only encountered those who did not inquire but also tried to minimize, trivialize, downplay, gaslight, even make accusations rather than actually try to discover or understand the truth.
Depth, breadth, scope, extent. All these matter in one form or the other.
Someone’s life cannot be told in a few sentences or anecdotes.
One of the most common phrases I’ve heard recently is “I didn’t know.” Well, “you didn’t ask and honestly didn’t care to.”
I once had a case wheee someone was kidnapped and had his genitals mutilated with a blowtorch, razor blade, and baking soda. And roughly 200 more with fact patterns such as this. And many had the gall to tell me what I experienced and felt. And worse, call me childish when I would deflect by not wanting to discuss or even worse, making it up (yes Boston peeps, that’s some of you ivort tower folk).
When my kids tell me stuff now, I listen, try to empathize, and enjoy it all.
My daughter told me once “Evert class has an idiot. Every class has a birch.” In my home and church, this would have been met with reproach, rebuke, and rejection.
But it is true. Even if that’s not polite to say out loud. You know whom they are – the ones you want to dunk in water at those carnival games.
In TH White’s Once And Future King, a young future King Arthur casually calls Merlin’s pet owl by a dismissive nickname. To which Merlin says – never make fun of the truly wise and something like that prerogative belongs solely to them. That is profound. As to exactly why, it’s probably something to do with hidden consequences. One thing I’ve learned is not only the power of words but also misinformation, misdirection, and silence.
I wasn’t the type to laugh at others. I knew what it was like to be on the receiving end. But I did know how to hold my tongue and watch as the ship sailed head on toward the iceberg.
When I was in the hospital, only two parties other than my parents visited – my college roommate and one set of my daughter’s godparents. Others in the area knew I was there but other than a few friends not even a text or call for the three week stay. One individual speculated why my friends from Philadelphia, NYC, or even Boston didn’t visit. I wanted to respond- but you were here and you didn’t.
No need to go into the whys of all that. Frankly it was nice to have the peace and quiet. I’m also not really into get well balloons and teddy bears if you couldn’t tell by now.
A friend told me how he observed and detested the blatant careerism of the DC Metro area and he was correct. I won’t do the soapbox thing here but I wanted to compare this phenomena to an asylum. You have to leave it to see it for what it is. And it’s not just the DC area – it’s basically anywhere else where if you don’t somehow leave, you can’t see all the pitfalls of the place.
Plato teaches the allegory of the cave where someone who is preciously chained to a wall seeing shadows finally escapes and sees the real world that has been projecting those shadows. When the individual tries to tell the others who are still chained of this reality, they reject and even kill him.
That is the problem with the asylum mentality. All you can see are the walls surrounding you. And that’s how the perspective is truly warped. The talking in circles, the limited mindset, the infinitesimally small goals and dreams.
And that has its own costs and consequences. What ir exactly is, I can’t put my finger on it but I surmise it’s some type of emptiness that cannot be filled. That’s what happens when you spend too much time chasing and looking at shadows.
This one is about pride and arrogance. And how they will limit, hurt, maybe even kill you.
I have amazing children. I’ve taught hundreds of students of various levels and backgrounds for close to 30 years. This isn’t just a proud dad talking.
I know. Been around.
Mine are educated in the vein of the mob, law enforcement, and the church. Book, street, people, and God smart.
But that’s not where it’s at. Intelligence, charm, charisma, and even grit doesn’t make the man or woman. The world is full of those types that end up doing something less than worthy and even evil. Just look at the politician and financier class and that’s enough evidence for a lifetime.
This one is really about all those words that are plastered all over Hallmark cards like peace, joy, love, hope – but may as be throwaway scraps of fortune cookie inserts.
Meaning, fulfillment, legacy too I suppose.
True greatness – not just skill, expertise, accomplishments, etc.
When I reflect on the great works of art, music, literature, architecture, I often ask what separates the enduring ones from the good, even great. And other than genius or the hand of God, there is often a story of deep wistfulness, yearning, and often pain, suffering behind them. It’s not true of all but many. Only eyes that have cried can see clearly.
My grandfather figure told me about how Beethoven wrote much of his great pieces when he was in his darkest moments. That is a mystery- the relationship between exquisite beauty and what generates, inspires it. What truly resonates.
And that circle is only made complete with a humility and the knowing that follows from often the darkness that is the only womb that can form and birth it.
I spent much of my education and career studying leadership, power – and that concept applies greatly here as well as the other fields I’ve mentioned. So many of our “leaders” have no idea what it means to kneel. And that’s why they cannot lift up and even step on others.
There is no room for miracles or more when all you can turn to is yourself. When you are the center, the universe you operate and allow in will be limited.
One officer who was injured in the line of duty was assigned to my unit. Highly intelligent. honest, hardworking, he had a tough time on the force. He endured terrorist jokes from his colleagues. He was singled out for retaliation. When he finally resigned, he was both relieved and bitter. I remember him on his last day. Couldn’t wait to leave.
I’ve had to repeatedly tell him over the years that he was the best of the NYPD. That he lived up to his shield, his uniform, and all that they represent. Forget the others, no one will remember their names. He appreciates that although still justifiably angry.
I’ve had two shields – one I had to return (appropriate number, one short of the devil – 667) and one I kept. That one represents a lot – not only the official work, but the many years sleeping on a mattress on the floor, the thousands of miles driven, the hundreds of job rejection letters, living in not-awesome places, thinking of the girl I lit the candles for to get through, etc. It goes to the daughter. I also have a cap with NYPD command pins, a merit citation, and other pins representing what I actually did at work. It goes to the son.
I’ve been taking the kids to Washington Capitals games. Proving yet again that I’m not a perfect father. Why subject the ones you love to heartbreak, disappointment, and unfulfilled potential (we did win the big one once – not enjoyable, dreaded the collapse, relief at the final horn).
The girl likes the game and has a good grasp, even catching the time the defense screwed up and allowed the overtime game winner. The boy just can’t wait to go to post-game McDonalds.
I really like hockey. If I could skate, I would play the ice version. One time at a church event, the kids would be in circles around me when on my behind. The girl I lit the candles for would skate over and be kind. That’s why the candles.
I taught a good number of college players. Had the starting and third string goalies, key players, and the problem child.
Hockey also allowed me to bond with several officers. Many played and their kids did too. They’d be surprised when I would tell them one of my favorite players was Rod Langway (the Caps’ captain and Minister of Defense, helmetless, rarely scored, a force of nature).
Musically, I appreciate the relationship between the game and heavy metal. Not a metalhead, but I like the genre, especially Metallica. I emphasize Enter Sandman to the boy, which is often blaring in games. My favorite song though is Wherever I May Roam – those lines “Rover, Wanderer, Nomad, Vagabond, Call me what you will” and “Under wandering stars I’ve grown, by myself but not alone.” Never really expected to live some of that out.
The NYC jobs were brutal. One was a snake pit, the other a shark tank. At the tender age of 36, I develop shingles from the stress. I woke up one morning and half my body is on fire. No need for additional details on these places, I’m just glad to be away.
To somewhat make it through the day, I would put photos of the beautiful places I’ve visited on my PC monitor as wallpaper (a ton of Prague). My daughter’s school picture where she appears to be making a gang sign; son looking like a thug. And some sayings and poems.
When I left, I would take everything down except the poem “Belisarius” by Longfellow. An “I was in this daytime prison cell” memento and also maybe to inspire the next prisoner.
Belisarius was a great commander. He repeatedly wins for his country, saves them from invasion, etc. And for all that, he was not only ignored, but punished. Unfortunately for him, he had the misfortune of serving an insecure emperor, who would demote or imprison him.
Perhaps an apocryphal story, but at the end of his life, he is blind and begging under the gate commemorating one of his greatest victories. Oh, and his wife (one of those political types) cheated on him with some high priest. The last line of Longfellow’s poem, however, chronicles this powerful man’s courage and strength. Despite it all, he still issays “This, too, the unconquerable will can bear. I still am Belisarius!”
I explained this poem to a colleague and he was moved.
My daughter and I had a conversation about school. I asked her whether she liked it and her response was expected – not really. I was like that too. For someone who has gone to quite a bit of school and taught, sitting in class wasn’t that appealing. I asked her what classes she didn’t like and she replied art and math. The two favorite subjects of the girl out of left field/with the short fuse. I then told the daughter that back in my day, we had home economics and something that I’m not sure would fly these days – shop. I told her how a bunch of 12 year olds were given access to band saws, heavy machine tools, and other cutting implements. I also told her I secretly carved a dagger. She said she could see that and she would have done the same – much better than crocheting. I never worried that she’d join a gang – the concern is she’ll lead one. We then pretended to tase her little brother.
This one is about seeing possibilities where there appear to be none.
There is a primer on strategy authored by Lawrence Freedman. It is majestic. The definition of strategy can be elusive. To me I keep it simple – getting to where you need to be with what you have. Freedman’s is more elegant – the art of creating power where there is none. It is often the province of the underdog – although this is a dangerous idea that makes little sense. The powerful ignore strategy at their own risk.
An insightful way to think about problem solving is the scenario posed by John Boyd. What do you create in a snowstorm to survive with the following – a bicycle, motorboat, and a tractor? A snowmobile. The handles from the bicycle, engine from the boat, and treads from the tractor. It’s the same way with many challenges. We have to draw from different sources.
I’ve also been having these father-daughter talks per Vito and Michael. They are both similar. Their decision to kill an enemy that seemed impossible is a landmark moment in their journey. They read the board differently than others and saw the weakness that weren’t apparent at first glance. They also knew how to piece together facts and resources to accomplish their goals. Many times, the pieces that are important aren’t so apparent initially.
It took me a while to carve that dagger. The teacher knew but he turned a blind eye. He was cool – Lynyrd Skynyrd fan and I think he secretly approved. Probably better than carving a cat. He just told me to hide it. Good teachers are worth their weight in gold.
To be fair, I also did like home economics. To show I’m not a thug, I did sew a tote bag and learned to bake snickerdoodles.
Songs of Pain and Hope 