Songs of Pain and Hope

A detective in my command and I used to discuss this concept.  The ability to see with a wider, deeper, and clearer lens.  The ability to understand what is really going on.  Absolutely essential for many professions and even in normal life.  Observe, the first O in OODA.

Truth gets absorbed by soft eyes.  

It bounces off hard ones.

Eowyn and a few kids were at a park with several deer.  The other kids spotted three.  Eowyn quickly says, no there are four.  My daughter.

We now use soft eyes to look for parking spots.  They blame my hard eyes when I cannot locate McDonalds.

There is a song that goes “Open the eyes of my heart, God, so I can see You.”

And if not the religious type, “Only eyes that have cried can see clearly.

In kindergarten, my daughter’s teacher and I had a talk about her behavior.  She would deliberately do the opposite of his instructions, sometimes immediately after it was given, in front of the whole class.  She was also the first kid scolded on a field trip.  I know the teacher also wanted to scold me.

Mystery aside of where she learned all that from, I had to teach her “Obey in your body.  Disobey in your mind.”  Knowing when and how to disobey is an essential life skill.  During the younger years, there is a thought that kids who argue with their parents / authority figures are less likely to be susceptible to negative peer pressure when older.

As adults, I know this is tricky in the workplace.  A former boss once said about me that I would do anything he asked.  Was embarrassed and resolved to be different from then on (and no, I wasn’t all that compliant at that job, I have witnesses).  I disobeyed more moving forward – after great thought and at warranted occasions – especially when given nonsensical, unethical orders.  Also necessary for a minority to hold their ground.

At the end of WWII, when the Nazis were on the brink of defeat, Hitler in his vindictiveness ordered the general in charge of Paris to burn it down.  To his credit and the eternal gratitude of the world, he disobeyed.

I grew up a Baltimore Orioles fan.  Ripken, Hoiles, Mussina, Anderson, Gomez, Devereaux.  How I loved them.  Went to one of the last games at old Memorial Stadium and many at Camden Yards.  I’ll always have a soft spot.

So judge me, but I converted to Red Sox Nation.  How can you not in Boston?  It’s like witnessing Jesus perform a miracle and somehow not believing.  I had to keep this a secret in NYC.  At one staff meeting, the agency commissioner (a Mets fan) goes around the table and asks each squad member who their favorite team was – some definitely lied to win brownie points, many replied the Yankees.  When it came to my turn, I knew this would be a potential minefield.  Wanted to say the Red Sox, but just told the white lie and said the Orioles.  They really sucked back then, so threat level reduced.

The Red Sox were fun to watch.  The 2007 World Series team was special – Ortiz, Youk, Pedroia, Beckett, Lester, Ellsbury, Paps, etc.  My favorite player though was Jason Varitek, the catcher and team captain.

By the 2007 season, Varitek wasn’t a serious power hitter or had a high batting average.  His major contributions were as a leader.  One of the rare captains in baseball, he wore a “C” hockey style on his jersey.  He knew his pitchers inside out and how to handle them, calm them down.  I watched many games where you could tell that they respected him.  Such a commanding presence.  And he fought Alex Rodriguez who was being his usual entitled self.  This scene would become my laptop’s wallpaper.

Varitek’s qualities as a captain were rare.  He illustrates the principle that often the captain isn’t the best offensive player or the star.  There’s an insightful book “The Captain Class” that describes the qualities of great captains in sports history – many not what would be initially imagined.

The Red Sox were a religion.  Their spring scrimmages against college teams would even be televised.  One of my students hit a home run off Lester, one of their star pitchers.  I still love that dirty water and miss Fenway.

Chinese people are not one-size-fits-all.  Depending on the region of China one is from originally, there are cultural differences.  This variation shows up in food, dialect, personality.

For example, those from Shanghai are known for financial acumen (I’m ¼ through dad); Hakka for fighting / leadership (¼, dad), and Hokkien for business savvy (½, mom).

And swearing.  

Probably the most colorful of the Chinese dialects, I didn’t realize this until my late 30s.  There are websites dedicated to this phenomenon, including a Wikipedia page.  It is profane.  Not sure whether to be appalled, amused, or proud.

I recognize so many of these phrases uttered by family members and others growing up in Malaysia.  I’ve also drawn to swearing, quite good at it actually.  Can hold my own with the best of any ethnicity.  Got talked to several times at church about this.

Swearing, however, is not only tolerated in police work, but understood as a necessary component of maintaining order.  Even in the NYPD’s Patrol Guide, this is memorialized.  I also think this is applicable to other avenues of life.

And hey, blame the culture right?   I just blame the Hokkien in me.

My high school years were ok, even good.  Fond memories, and while I haven’t attended a reunion since the 10th, many treasured friendships.

But I had bullies.  I told my Spanish teacher several years ago for the first time.  She was surprised to learn it was the super-smart kids who were the worst.

Mine hunted in a pack.  Typical of the weak and insecure, but I didn’t realize it back then.  The worst was a wealthy one who couldn’t leave me alone for whatever reason.  And he was smarter, more athletic.  I dreaded the start of each semester when we learned the composition of our new classes.  I held my breath hoping he wouldn’t  be in any of them.  Lucky sometimes, not all.

My worst memory was at a track meet.  I threw the discus because I couldn’t do anything else.  At the meet, there were no throwers on the opposing team.  I would have won – a cheap win, but my name would have been mentioned on the morning announcements.  Our coach, however, instructs him to throw and he beats me.  The coach praises him.  He rubs it in – in front of the entire team.  The last straw.  I go ballistic and start throwing my disci against a fence while cursing out the coach.  On the long humiliating bus ride home, the kind assistant coach sits next to me and tells me about his Navy experiences and how these things happen in life.

He ends up Ivy League for college and law school.  A legal star, he represents Mohamed bin Salman among other clients.

Decades later, I can admit I was afraid.

Of him.

And the darker truth.  What I wanted and could do to him.  Do not ever f___ with Malaysians.  Ever.

I saw him at the 5th when he started to take a familiar condescending tone.  I calmly ask him where he went to law school.  His tone changes and he stammers out an answer.  He realized something had changed.  I also saw him at the 10th.  A friend who had similar experiences with him gets upset.  I stay away.  He didn’t look happy – an ugly wife will do that.

I often quote from Pearl Jam’s seminal song Alive.  It’s actually the first of a trilogy of songs telling the story of a killer.  Alive is about his abusive childhood, Once is about his descent into crime, and Footsteps is about his execution.  I’ve written about this elsewhere but the song’s meaning and impact has changed significantly over the 30 years since its release.  It’s the only song that the band plays in all its concerts.  For me this is a perfect, flawless song up there with Stairway to Heaven.  A gift.

This one is about how God answers.

One of the biggest badasses in the Bible is the prophet Elijah.  My son’s original name was to be his but he would have been a duplicate of someone at church, so he got the name of one of the most deadly men in history.  We shall see whether he lives up to that – right now he likes writing and illustrating books such as the Dumb Fox, Dumb Cat, Dumb Penguin.  And also The Dad Who Curses a Lot.  He got his sense of humor from you know who.  

But back to OG Elijah.  Homey is so confident and tough, he confronts 950 false prophets all by himself and is vindicated by God.  He then calls on the onlookers to slaughter them.  A pastor I once knew said we have to reinterpret some of these violent scenes.  I call BS on that.  These false prophets were involved in some major nonsense, including child sacrifice.

But here’s where it gets twisty turny.  After one of his career highlights, Elijah flees and gets scared to the point of despair, even wishing for death.  This one is either easy or hard to explain – I can’t decide.  I think he was just emotionally drained.  I remember feeling low after playing a great game after initial satisfaction.  How God responds is interesting and telling.  Instead of giving Elijah a sermon, telling him to go read the Bible, pray, fast, etc.  He does something way more practical and fitting. 

He feeds him.  With ravens.  And then tells him he’s not alone.

I saw and experienced some really bad things. Almost all of my case fact patterns were brutal and unfit to repeat.  Especially at the potluck gatherings and small groups at church.  Definitely not first date materials as well.  And I now  just repeat that line from Alive that the protagonist utters after a self-serving, inane conversation with his abuser, who happens to be his mother – Who  answers?  Who answers?

I start to realize that most if not all human answers are imprecise and inadequate.  It’s not that people are complete buffoons.  They are just limited – in skills, experience, power.  Some situations can only be resolved through magic.  

When people ask questions such as why did this happen, I don’t think they’re looking for answers because they are often quite simple and ultimately unsatisfying.  Why do bad things happen to good people?  It’s because there are bad people out there.  Why do bad people prosper?   Because good people stay silent.  It’s not answers that people want – it’s a good response and resolution.

After I lost my church family after vainly attempting to bring the predator at church to accountability, how I thought God responded was interesting and powerful.  Boston – my favorite US city where I spent the best years of my life.  A Philadelphia Assistant DA and NYPD till the day I die but these places felt like stops along the byway.

God answers in many ways.  Food.  A sunrise, a sunset.  Unexpected gifts.  Understanding.  Realizations.  Faith.  Hope.  

Alive.

In band one day, my fellow musicians were vigorously debating what was most important about a song.  When I say the lyrics, most protest and go, obviously the melody.  As I’ve alluded to, I was the least talented one, so I deferred.

But words matter and here’s the thing – their meanings may not be static.  And I don’t mean in the context of pure linguistics or culture, but more in songs.

One of my favorite songs of all time is Pearl Jam’s “Alive” – a true rock anthem, the dynamic opening, the guitar solo a masterpiece.  Semi-autobiographical of lead singer Eddie Vedder’s life – him finding out that who he thought was whis father wasn’t his biological one, his real one dead, the song conveys a darker story – one involving abuse and the devastating impact.

Vedder used to describe the song as a curse, but after seeing so many fans sing the chorus “I’m still alive” with deep conviction, passion, even falling over to express themselves, he too changed his attitude toward the song.   Now the meaning has evolved – it is a song of hope, defiance, triumph, grace, gratitude.

I’ve been fortunate to watch Pearl Jam live several times.  To me, this is what heaven will look like.  I watched a tribute band recently and when Alive came on, I sang along with the crowd, tears streaming down my face.

Read some of the song’s YouTube comments, you’ll see what I mean.  Powerful story after story of how this song inspired, helped, chronicled lives.