Reality Check: Believe the Numbers

A recent online exchange that questioned the number of votes won by President-elect Biden in the 2020 election inspires these counterpoints as to why I believe the numbers are essentially accurate. I have little hope of convincing those who are certain that THIS time Trump is telling the truth, but having spent 50+ years in education, tilting at windmills is hardly a new endeavor. I do not expect agreement on all these points. May I respectfully suggest, however, that rejecting ALL of them may say more about your political beliefs than election integrity. This is my reasoning. Even if only one or two resonate, that should be enough to make someone think.

I will limit my thoughts to bullet points, in honor of the departing incumbent. You’re welcome. Some of you know just how difficult that is for me! 

• I didn’t like the outcome, but I believed the vote in 2016. Trump didn’t win the popular vote that year, either. If you believed (or still believe) Trump’s 2016 fact-free claims about the popular vote, the verdict of no fraud verified by his own appointed investigative committee, then why are you wasting your time reading this?

• I walk. A lot. In my suburban, once reliably Republican neighborhood (of Webster Groves), Biden signs outnumbered Trump signs by at least 20:1, not counting “Any Functioning Adult,” “ByeDon,” “Anyone but Trump,” etc., nor all the independent BLM and similar signs, usually indicative not being in the Trump camp. No argument this a focused snapshot, but it does show, if not enthusiasm for Biden, at least the depth of antipathy toward the incumbent in my area. It is reasonable to assume there are many similar enclaves around the nation.

• In 2016 HRC ran the most abysmal, arrogant, entitled presidential campaign in modern history. She didn’t deserve to win. In 2020 Biden ran a better one. Why doesn’t that alone explain the increased votes?

• And Trump ran a worse one; he lost Arizona because he disrespected John McCain. An unforced error.

• Trump never reached out past his base, never offered an olive branch to expand his appeal. He kept hammering (tweeting?) the wedge, deepening the divide. His constant tweets were more unforced errors.

• Most voters, and thus most of the votes, live in cities/suburbs rather than rural/exurban areas. Trump’s unceasing attacks on cities – yet another unforced error.

• There is visual evidence of long lines of people in those urban areas, waiting to vote. That’s more evidence than exists for “truckloads/suitcases of fake ballots,” or “fraudulent voting machines,” or….

• Trump is a whiny, immoral, unlikeable bully. We want to like our president. No one likes a bully. It should come as no surprise that the disaffected voted in greater numbers.

• Many of his supporters, maybe even you, recognize that he is a lightning rod, a deliberately polarizing figure. Why would that not inspire more people than ever to vote? But Trump does get credit for inspiring a record turnout in both his supporters and opponents.

• Don’t the unprecedented public Biden endorsements, defections, and attacks by prominent Republicans and office holders provide a clear enough signal of Trump’s lack of support, even within his own party?

• Trump doesn’t beat just one dead horse, he has a whole stable of them. They’re still dead, though.

• Trump’s approval ratings* have been underwater since he took office. Your approval of him does not change those numbers. Is it so inconceivable that such unpopularity translates into votes for his opponent? (*I actually tracked them for several months because they gave me hope. I have the chart if you’re interested.)

• Of course there can be small scale conspiracies. But large scale conspiracies, like those Trump and his enablers describe, have too many moving parts, require too many secrets, too many people, to succeed without being exposed and collapsing. Unrealistic and absurd. 

• But if it really were possible to cheat on that large a scale, why did the Democrat Party not bother to win at least one of the toss-up Senate races? (Personally, I’d have rather won 4 of those than the presidency, as much as a second Trump term would have made me cringe.)

• Trump’s fraud claims have been rejected across the board, across the aisle, and across the country. Trump appointed judges, Republican office holders, Republican appointees, all have refuted the fraud claims. And now the Trump dominated SCOTUS, at least twice.

• Claiming the other “team” cheated before you even play may make you feel better about losing but doesn’t change the score. And if you truly believe you’re going to win, do you claim cheating in advance?

• Even many of his supporters and 2016 voters recognize his multitude of character flaws. Just because that wasn’t enough to sway them (or you) in 2020 doesn’t mean it wasn’t enough to sway others.

• I don’t know how many supporters he lost by disrespecting them (e.g., “I could shoot someone on 5th Avenue....”) but it seems logical to assume that at least some moved out of the neighborhood (5th Avenue).

• Had Trump even once taken personal responsibility (for anything, ever), admitted he made a mistake (about anything) or was wrong (about anything), he’d be planning his (unmasked) inaugural balls.

• Both parties are represented with poll watchers. There is STILL no objective, verifiable evidence of fraud. That is not to say no “bad” votes were cast, but in terms of risk/reward, the penalty for manipulating even a couple hundred votes (again, no evidence that happened) far outweighs what a cheater might hope to accomplish. Even the close votes were not THAT close.

 • He’s been lying since inauguration, with easily verifiable photographic (e.g, inauguration), audio (denying saying things that were recorded), and first person accounts. He may be a blatant and prolific liar, but he’s bad at it. You’d think all that practice would have helped, but no.

• Oh, and I never believed he colluded with the Russians in 2016. Granted, it’s mostly because he lacks the character traits (discretion, patience, intelligence) and skills needed to collude, but still….

Trump Disconnect Syndrome (TDS II)

    Please apply the #StinkTest. Please. Had the election outcome been different and Joe Biden was mimicking President Trump’s words and actions and his campaign was waging the same kind of war against democracy, what would be your reaction? It is inconceivable to me that ANYONE, no matter how partisan and committed, could buy into his absurdity, his ludicrous opinion that EVERYONE except his supporters is out to get him (including multiple Republicans and, wait for it, Fox News). You don't even have to try to put the shoe on the other foot -- just look at it and you have to see it doesn’t fit. It is beyond irrational. The possibility of a conspiracy that vast, involving as many people as would be required, and with no credible evidence, is absurd. That Kool-Aid would have to be laced with LSD. Speaking of acronyms....

    I previously offered my thoughts on TDS (Trump Defense Syndrome), the projection by Trump supporters that any criticism of the president is also a personal attack on them. His followers continue to be triggered by ANYTHING that remotely smacks of criticism, so nothing has changed, nor, I expect, will change. A little while back I posted an admittedly snarky shot at the president post-election. It was intended as humor, pointed humor to be sure, but it hardly rose (descended?) to the level of comments and tweets from the president himself during the last four years. His defenders complained that it (among other things I wrote) treated him unfairly. Hello, #StinkTest. Although I have no hope of changing even a single mind, and have been letting this piece percolate for a few weeks for that very reason, it is exactly this kind of triggering that has motivated me to revisit the issue of TDS. 

I have no doubt I will regret broaching this topic, but you’ll have to accept me at my word that it comes from a place of genuine curiosity and a desire to try to understand. Is it a forlorn hope that it’s a two-way street? (Sigh) Probably.

I truly cannot understand the disconnect that I see between defending the president, seemingly no matter what, while completely ignoring the UNPRECEDENTED criticism that has come, and continues to come, from those who have worked closely with him, men (there may be women, I’m just not aware of any) who were part of “the best people,” who chose to serve, if not him, at least their country in his administration. These men are not anonymous sources, but high profile persons of estimable character (okay, not Steve Bannon), generally respected across the aisle. That doesn’t even count former Republican presidents, self-identified conservative and libertarian columnists, the true-believer Republicans who founded The Lincoln Project, or less well-known members of his administration. It is astounding how many prominent Republicans endorsed his opponent. Has that EVER happened before, and why now? Nor does it count John (Buy my book) Bolton. Nor Colonel Vindman, nor…. Well, you get the picture, although that picture ought to include that their competition is Rudy Giuliani. Seriously?

Speaking of pictures, I’m including a meme (no, my negative opinion of memes has not abated) only because it presents some actual quotes all in one handy visual. 

How can Trump defenders explain the withering criticism (This from Gen. Jim Mattis is just one example) from so many of his inner circle? How can they continue to defend him when so many who worked closely with him in his administration have little, if anything, good to say about him? 

I’m sorry, but it is just not credible to think it’s ALL fake news, that EVERYBODY is wrong except him, that EVERYBODY is lying EXCEPT him, that EVERY critic is a hater or “Never-Trumper,” even if he appointed them, that ALL these people, respected people, unquestionably patriotic people, are out to get him. And even if so, why? I am therefore adding Trump Disconnect Syndrome (TDS II) to the original Trump Defense Syndrome (TDS).

I am genuinely curious how this happens. I promise not to argue answers, although I will call out deflections that don’t answer the question. I may (respectfully) ask a follow up or provide an anecdote, because that’s just who I am, but, again, I don’t expect any mind changing to emanate from this exercise. And if “Biden is worse” is all you’ve got, well, okay, then let’s not waste each other’s time, because not only does it fail to answer the question, but, as I’ve said on numerous occasions, IMO no one could possibly be worse than Despicable He: A.Bad.Man.

Oh, and add the recently fired Mike Esper to the list: “God helps us.”

An Incomplete Analogy: The Road to Authenticity

    As I’ve been “stuck” with my own thoughts these past weeks, just “chillaxing” with not much else to do save watch the tide roll in, my ruminations have turned philosophical. The passage of time and the inevitability of mortality (COVID serves as a constant reminder) have also contributed to my retrospection, although I haven’t just been looking backward. An optimist (a realistic optimist, I think, but an optimist nonetheless), I firmly believe there’s a road ahead that stretches farther than I can see. But….

Here’s the secret (and it’s not really a secret because certainly I’m not the first to reach this conclusion). There is no road – at least no single road. And it’s also no secret that your road won’t look much, if anything, like mine. Some roads are narrow with clearly defined borders, while others are broad and expansive, like the Amazon River, constantly changing its channels, requiring endless updates for its pilots. I doubt that we share some predetermined and recognizable destination. At least that is my (non-conformist) hope.

Some paths appear smooth, well paved with a clear beginning and end, others filled with obstacles, potholes, hidden traps. Be warned, however; both may be illusory. Your perception of another’s road can often be, probably is, deceiving. That smooth road may be far more daunting than you can realize and that hardscrabble path an inspiration to its traveler. There is no manual, no road map; only with work and introspection can we discover our own road, the only road we can truly hope to know. And even that hard-earned knowledge, like the best of our highways, needs constant maintenance as we adapt to our lives.

Here’s another sort of secret. You don’t have complete control of your road and almost zero control of anyone else’s. Multiple factors, when, where, how, and to whom you are born place you on your road, provide you with your starting point. None of those factors, however, define your road’s final destination. In fact, few of us will ever quite reach the end of our road of self-discovery, of authenticity. It may become clearer in the distance, but, if we’re doing it right, our road will always be in flux, because there will be events on that road that force us to concentrate on moving from Point A to Point B without distraction. Those events may even require us, like a maps app, to “recalculate.” 

None of that changes our ultimate goal, however, if that goal is unearthing our authentic selves, living our authentic lives, true to our values and beliefs.

You might ask: What about those who travel with us, share our journey? I confess the analogy sort of breaks down a bit here. But those loved ones, while perhaps even sharing the same mode of transportation, have their own awareness of the road ahead. My wife and I have discovered we perceive colors very differently (just one reason I pretty much let her decide on my wardrobe components), but if we are both/all on the road to authenticity, we’ll notice different landmarks in different ways and be impacted differently. Not that that’s a bad thing. Sharing those differing perceptions makes the journey richer, more joyous, in fact, for all the travelers.

I offer this because I have been, and imagine always will be, in some way, a teacher, a teacher who needs to share life lessons, with the full knowledge that my audience may not be interested or ready to learn, and that’s okay, because if that describes you, then you have your own road to travel and you’re free to ignore the billboards, no matter how valuable and enlightening, along the route.

I may no longer have a classroom (and under current circumstances I guess I’m kind of happy about that), nor even a playing field, from which to disseminate my random thoughts. So, in today’s world I choose to use social media to share my journey, my path, sometimes forcing personal reveals because I believe that the only way we can truly achieve authenticity is openly and honestly, prepared to accept that others may not understand, may not agree, may not even accept. And all that’s okay, because, in the end, I’m the only one who needs to fully see, and accept, what my authenticity really looks like, although having a travel partner who accepts my journey is definitely a plus.

I’m thankful that, after fits and starts based on fears that were more imaginary than real, I’m truly beginning to see, not the finish line, of course, because that’s a moving target, but a clearer, if still kind of uncharted, path to that destination. My hope is that by sharing these and other thoughts you can start on your path sooner than I.*

Best wishes to all on your respective journeys. May you find as much of the same peace as I have, although ideally with an earlier start!

* If you don’t know where you’re going, you'll end up someplace else. – Yogi Berra

Hollow Victory — No Joy in Mudville

I suppose I should feel better about the 2020 presidential election outcome than I do. I really wish I could. After all, it was Trump who struck out (probably primarily because of his tendency to lash out).

As the process unfolded, I had one, and really only one, overriding concern – defeat the incumbent, a man so despicable that I’m repulsed to be lumped in the same gender category as him. 

He was, from my perspective, the worst president of my lifetime – 72 years, so, since Truman, although I obviously don’t have any real memories of HST other than his post-presidency, but I do read and know, have even taught, our nation’s history. In my view, no previous modern occupant of the White House comes even close.

While I think Trump was a bad president (again, the worst in my lifetime), he was a worse person, one who brought out the worst instincts in both his supporters and opponents, who enabled and encouraged white supremacists, who made even our friends abroad ask, “What the hell, America?” It will take a long time to rehabilitate our reputation abroad, to restore the trust and leadership that once was ours, to, pardon the expression, Make America Great Again. You can discount the opinions of your enemies, your rivals, but when friends and allies roll their eyes (Hello, Lincoln Project), you might want to rethink your choice. 

Donald.Trump.Is.A.Bad.Man.

Being anti-abortion doesn’t change that; he stands behind cruelty. Not that his supporters will likely believe them, but the revelations that will flow from the toxic waste dump that was his administration will probably surprise even me. To be clear, I don’t want to see him charged with any crimes (there’s little doubt in my mind that there are multiple legitimate possibilities). But then I also supported President Ford’s pardon of Richard Nixon. Because Ford put healing the country ahead of politics, he may have cost himself the election of 1976. I hope President-elect Biden pushes all the tempting revenge scenarios to the bottom of his (necessarily lengthy, thanks to his predecessor) agenda, and encourages states’ attorneys general and governors to do the same.

Nor does the failure of the mythical “Blue Wave” to materialize discourage me, although I would have welcomed it. And I have little hope that Mitch McConnell will be anything other than what he’s been for the past 10 years, a Machiavellian politician with a private agenda to recreate a 1950s America (which was probably pretty good for a straight, middle class, white male, considerably less so for most everyone else). So I am resigned to a miserable stretch of at least two years, maybe longer if the 2022 elections follow recent patterns,  but I’ve managed to survive charting new depths of despair for the past four years....

So what disturbs me most about this election? The one thing it absolutely proves is that 2016 wasn’t an aberration. I had hoped, a false hope it is now obvious, that 2016 was a visceral reaction to frustration with the state of the country, to feeling ignored and invisible, to feeling like a pawn to be sacrificed. I conjured up various explanations, based on my own observations, based on what I thought I knew about those who voted for him. You know, “fine people on both sides.” I worked to understand why some of those people, people I knew to be decent and honorable, voted for Despicable He. I excused, rationalized, tried to defend their decision. Most of the people I knew weren’t 5th Avenue Trumpists; they may have been fooled once, or were so antagonistic toward his opponent that they voted AGAINST her, but these were good people who would come to their senses after witnessing the bullying, lying, and aggressive ignorance that consistently characterized our 45th president.

2020 has made it obvious that, once again, I’m a hopeless optimist not grounded in reality. 2016 is who we are, because in 2020, HALF of the American voters wanted to return this not very bright, incompetent, vulgarian bully to the White House. The most (and, quite frankly, only) charitable explanation that I can come up with (but recognizing my own blinders) is partisan blindness, a belief that only one political party cares about the future (and only their vision of that future) of the country. Trump’s rejection by a majority of the voters is a small relief, but that so many wanted the opposite, that so many continue to defend him, does not make me hopeful in the slightest about the future USA in which my daughter and granddaughter will live.

What can I do? My first action: abandon any hope that maintaining even FB relationships with those outside my belief system might open their minds. That was a fruitless and frustrating 4-year endeavor. So I will leave them to their hyper-partisan echo chambers, their Fox News, PJ Media, Daily Caller, Daily Wire, Breitbart, InfoWars, etc., etc. If that’s where they choose to live, so be it, but I don’t have to visit or even walk past their house, because my presence clearly changes nothing except to make me feel worse. 2020 has been bad enough – I don’t need to get burned by adding fuel to a dumpster fire.

Even if I think I know, I will not ask about your vote. I am not actively looking to shed connections, but if you insist of posting stupid, insulting, political memes, repeating absurd conspiracy theories, or echoing Doomsday/End of the World prophecies, sheepling (bleating) the words of others instead of your own, well, I have better ways to waste my time and fill up my feed. Bye, Felicia.

The Stuff of Memories

Patience, please, as I sort this out. I’m also digitizing slides from 35-40 years ago, so memories have been bubbling to the surface. But the primary motivation was....

As the Webster Groves softball girls reveled in their victory a couple weeks ago, securing our program’s first ever trip to Final Four of the state tournament, my friend, and the head coach, Bryan Gibson, handed me the game ball. Seventeen of the 19 girls on the team had played for me, and they graciously applauded the honor. It was a touching moment, one I appreciated, one that will stay with me for as long as I have my memory.

Shortly thereafter I passed the ball to the de facto team captain and tearily tasked her with collecting the girls’ signatures and returning the ball to its rightful place, in the home of the head coach who has committed himself to building an enviable program and is reaping his well-deserved reward, because teams don’t win championships so much as programs do, the trophy holders standing at the finish line on the shoulders of those who paved the path in previous seasons.

Don’t misunderstand, the last thing I want is to seem ungrateful or unappreciative. His gesture (and our friendship) made my heart happy, brought me to tears, especially when combined with missing our irreplaceable Tim Cerutti* and the heartfelt post-game hug (we’ve joyfully shared several hugs recently!), plus the many kind words from individual players and their parents as we celebrate this historic journey of our Statesmen winning the school’s first ever state championship in softball, only the second WG girls’ sport to accomplish such a feat. 

It would be silly to try to deny my sentimentality; it’s been on full display too many times in front of too many people. My WG softball girls know they can pretty much count on me choking up at least once or twice every season. Because I knew fairly early on that this year would likely be my last, the 2020 season had perhaps a few more leaky-eye moments than others. And if you ever given me a note, picture, or card, you can be sure I still have it. I’m on my second tote bag of storage.

But I don’t need stuff to keep my memories alive, although I’ve saved all of that, too. Over the years I’ve accumulated numerous mementos from appreciative students, players, and parents. Most sit in a crate in the attic. I have plaques galore, balls, gavels, pictures, a framed newspaper, and more, plus, of course, all the yearbooks I sponsored. Those, along with the cards, pictures and notes, can perhaps be repurposed by my daughter as decorations at my (not imminent) funeral party. While all are capable of stimulating joyful memories, those memories live on in my soul without any need for physical, tangible clues. 

The medal is great, but it's the people
I shall remember and cherish.

Bottom line, it will always be the people I remember, and almost all those memories are connected with specific individuals and/or groups. My fellow teachers and coaches with whom I’ve had the privilege to work at four different schools, all the students, the young men and women, several who are now personal friends, some who are no longer young, and too many who are no longer alive, endure almost immutably in my brain, an immortality which I hope I have been able to pass on to the those I have encountered on my life marathon.

The brilliant Isaac Asimov said human immortality is about the mark we leave on life, through our progeny and through those whose lives we have touched. That is a core component of my belief system, but it’s a two-way street. Because if I somehow touched you, you can be fairly certain that you touched me, changed me, as well. The interconnectedness of people and of this earth also lives in me as a core value. We are bound together, for better and worse. We cannot isolate or separate ourselves, we cannot afford to compete in a “Winner Take All” life. If my winning comes at your expense, I believe, in my soul of souls, that it’s a zero sum equation in Life’s Big Picture, and, therefore, no real victory at all.

I cannot, will not try to predict what new memories await, but my cup runneth over (a mess in which I reside happily) from those with which I’ve already been blessed. While I’m not yet ready to live in the past, as we age our minds naturally tend to wander backward more frequently (and, really, Facebook, you’re not helping having all those “Your Memory on this Day,” uh – stuff pop up multiple times a week). 

I know, and express frequently, that I’ve lived a blessed life, and while I don’t need “stuff” to remind me of that, the abundance of so many joyous memories keeps the awareness of my bounty alive.

Many thanks and much love to all with whom I’ve been so lucky to share this journey.

*We have confided among ourselves, and the feeling has been reinforced, unsolicited, by several players, the comforting belief that, somehow, Tim was able to share this joyous journey with us.

Another Chapter Ends

All good things must come to an end. If you’re lucky, you can choose your own ending. I chose my exit time when I left my classroom behind and now I’m choosing my time to exit the field. And that time is now.

Part of life is leaving it behind, and endings are always bittersweet. I will undoubtedly miss working with my friends and players. I have yet to address the nagging worry that with nothing to do that is exactly what I will get done. I’ll save the “inside softball” thinking about the decision and its timing for the end if you’re interested, but, if you know me at all, you know I espouse multiple causation and reject simplistic answers in favor of simply complicated. So it will not be a short section.

What I want to share today is simply a reflection on another aspect of my life where I have been blessed beyond what I deserve. I’ve detailed elsewhere the accidental/serendipitous path I took to becoming a coach, a path I’ve traveled for 35 years now, a path that has afforded me true, lifelong friendships, joy and purpose. 

And hope for the future of my community and nation. I’ve been touched by so many remarkable young women, been privileged to share a segment of their lives that reinforces my faith in humanity and the future. No matter what was happening in the world around me, I always had “my girls.” As politically incorrect as it may be, they will always be “my girls” no matter how successful and accomplished they have, or will, become.

Thank you ladies (and your parents), for allowing me to share with you this small part of your life journey. I love you all.

Why now? 

• Although not identical, the reasoning behind my departure from a regular classroom is parallel to my decision to give up my own classroom. (Click here to read that analogous piece.) 

• 2020 – For better and (maybe) worse, my style, such as it is, was up close and personal. I like to think my most effective coaching (softball and otherwise) came on the bus rides and conversations from the games. My girls tolerated sharing a seat as we talked about their game that day, and anything else that surfaced. Obviously, 2020 precluded that; we didn’t TAKE even a single bus. Close-in conversations were rare to non-existent. (I would be remiss if I didn’t offer a special note of thanks to my last squad for their compliance with masking; I took their care and concern personally and appreciated it accordingly.) While the thought of retiring had been percolating for some time, 2020 was certainly a disincentive to continuing.

• I was blessed to have been befriended by Tim Cerutti and to spend five years working together. Being in the same (age) cohort and sharing a philosophy of life and temperament made the relationship special. His death this spring created an unfillable void. Tim was actually the third coach/friend/mentor to die during my career, but I’m following his (and our shared) mantra of “Choose Happy” – my Rule #1: “You don’t get a discount on the Happy Meal just because you’re not.” But it just wasn’t as much fun without him. That was no surprise.

• Thanks to the leadership of our head coach, Bryan Gibson, and the commitment of many community leaders, Webster has built a softball program that expanded to 3 full teams even as other communities were and are struggling to field even a JV team. 2020 also shelved the WGBSL rec league this spring and the “Feeder” team that funneled girls into the program. I feel safe in predicting we won’t have sufficient numbers for three teams next year (I’d love to be wrong about that). We’ve recently added some new, young, female coaches who may represent the future of the program. It’s time for me to get out of the way and not block their development and connection with the program.

• My wife and I have things we want to do and places we want to go that are best done either during the Fall softball season or the Summer pre-season. Not that we didn’t know it before, but 2020 has reinforced doing what you can while you are still physically able. 

• We’ve been making a conscious effort to de-junk, even before the inspiration of the COVID-quarantine. I’ll be passing along most of my coaching wardrobe, thus freeing up significant closet/storage space, because Bryan Gibson and WG always reinforced the belief that looking good was part of good performance). 

• But mostly I’m tired, struggling to summon the energy the prepare for games and practices. To be clear, it was never the kids, never the parents, never the administration, never the varsity or JV coaching staff that wore me out; on the contrary, it was those groups that energized me to continue as long as I did. In many ways this was the longest short season, but even last year Tim and I both were forced to admit that our energies were not always sufficient to meet the demands to do the job in a way that would live up to our standards. As those who know me can attest, modesty is not a dominant quality for me. I know what I can bring to the party on any given day. While I might fool some people with my 80%, it’s not good enough, not good enough for me to be satisfied and continue. Even if I still have (or ever had) an “A Game,” I can’t always bring it. Time to move aside.

I may not have been all that mindful when I started the job, but the least I can do is make a mindful decision about when it’s time to go. So it’s time to say good-bye, and thank you, thank you for 35 years and close to 50 different teams in two school districts, Hancock Place and Webster Groves.

Apropos of nothing, as I typed this I realized that every school with which I have been regularly associated had at least two names.

#Blessed.

                                                          -30-

Redefining Normal Revisited*

   Mortality and friendship have forced themselves to the front of my consciousness lately.

As the 2020 softball season tries, fitfully, to start, with so many more questions than answers to this point, my mind meanders to memories of my late friend, Tim Cerutti, with whom I was privileged to enjoy the past (too) few seasons, and I wonder what he’d be thinking about how we’re trying to redefine normal in an increasingly abnormal world. I know he’d find a way to “choose happy,” because for Tim that wasn’t just a glib phrase but the maxim he modeled for those of us lucky to have shared the warmth and light of his presence, no matter what adjustments to normal he was forced to face.

This may seem like a non-sequitur, but bear with me. I am a terrible golfer. Once, as I was talking about golf and my multiple golfing deficiencies, another late dear friend of mine, Rick Smith (who, for those who were not lucky enough to know him, was forced to {frequently but successfully} redefine normal for himself in ways that were unfortunate and unfair), shared his wisdom. He said, in essence, “Your par doesn’t have to be what the scorecard says. You get to decide what par (average, normal) means for you [on this hole].”

Why should that apply only to golf (which, with apologies to my golfing friends, isn’t really all that important)? I’m sure that working in a school helped me create a flexible definition of “normal;” even the expression “normal day” was oxymoronic, to say nothing of “normal week,” “normal month” or “normal year.” And that was BEFORE the pandemic!

What is “normal” anyway? If it means average, is that really what anyone aspires to? Is being “run of the mill” much of a goal? Does anyone aim for “nondescript?” Is anyone, in fact, actually normal? Aren’t we all at least a little bit weird (and if we’re not, aren’t we mostly boring)? 

Self-satisfaction, and I’d even argue happiness, comes from accepting who we are (including embracing whatever weirdness helps define us) and where we are in life. That requires a constant redefinition of “normal.” Are any of us the same person we were       years ago? Why would we ever think we’re going to stop changing, just because now we’ve reached the age of      ? 

Studies, however, show that is exactly what we do think! They also show we’re wrong, a great example of “stinkin’ thinkin’,” because when we assume we’ve stopped changing, we get stuck. Even if we did stop changing (and, to reiterate, I don’t believe we do), clearly the world around us is constantly mutating, whether we approve or not. If we’re stuck in an obsolete definition of normal, if we refuse to redefine what is normal for us, for our loved ones, for society even, we have trouble adjusting, and, by extension, finding joy, contentment, happiness, etc. I’d suggest there are multiple, glaring examples of that self-imposed anger, unhappiness, even misery, available to those without blinders.

Normal is relative, and different for each of us. I may be, peripherally at least, in the same profession, but I’m certainly not the same person I was almost 50 years ago when I started my teaching career (the anti-jock who became a coach); I’m not the same person I was 15, 10, 5 years ago, probably not even the same as last year. I certainly know my body is different, that what I’m physically (and even mentally) capable of today has changed. My choice? I can bemoan my encroaching decrepitude, or I can redefine normal.

There is no universal normal; would we even want there to be? What does exist, for all of us, is our ability to define par for ourselves, to forge our own path to achieving the best possible result (instead of fixating on the best result possible {Berndt’s Rule of Life #4}). 

While I believe this to be true, what will be more of a challenge is accepting the changes and limitations that are inexorably making their way in my direction, seemingly emanating from constantly shifting sources. I hope I’m up to the task. But if the challenge is too great, I can always redefine normal.

* A recasting of a previous piece 7+ years ago, updated for 2020, clearly not a normal time.

Voting By Mail -- A First Person Experience

While it will come as no surprise that I support vote by mail, this is less an advocacy piece than a recounting of my wife’s and my experience with the process in the August primary election today.

When MO offered vote by mail as COVID roiled the country, we requested ballots for the elections in March, August and November. Carolyn and I are of a certain age, which puts us at risk. While our choice protects us, even more importantly it reduces the risk we could pose to our immune-suppressed daughter and immune-compromised granddaughter. We are grateful to have that choice. Supporting the process was also (a small) part of our motivation.

We returned our August ballots last week. Both ballots were mailed at the post office in the same box on the same day at the same time. I used the QR-code to track the ballots; mine arrived and was registered. Carolyn’s, however, was noted as “being processed by the USPS.” My daughter tipped me off to 1-866-OURVOTE helpline, so I called them this morning, expecting it would be more of a report than solution. However, this (national) organization walked me through the steps we could take to try to make sure Carolyn’s vote would count.

Complicating things, Carolyn’s back picked this time to act up and she wasn’t able to stand in line or probably even walk into the polling place. I went to the polling place and explained the situation in all its complicated glory. The local election officials would get a 5-Star Yelp review if that were a thing.

After explaining the situation to the poll workers through our masks, they called HQ, which tracked down her ballot. Apparently the ballot arrived but missing an important check mark in some box. HQ claimed to have called yesterday and left a message, but I’m skeptical, given that there was no recording in our inbox. In any case, we were offered two options. Go to HQ, claim and cast her ballot, or come to our polling place, claim a lost ballot and vote. To accommodate her (temporary) physical challenge, we opted for “curbside voting,” and her replacement ballot was brought to the car.

So this trial run gives us food for thought. I can only speak to our experience here in Missouri. I am sharing these observations. 

• If you’re going to mail in your ballot, double and triple check that all necessary boxes have been checked (we thought we had). 

• Give yourself time to track your ballot. The USPS is in the process of being defunded; the system and the workers are being set up for failure. 

• Understand you must weigh the competing risks of your votes not being counted and exposure to a potentially fatal disease.

• After all the hoops we had to jump through, we came to the conclusion that any fear of massive voter fraud, at least in MO, is unfounded. The Republican poll worker agreed with that assessment, as we chatted while Carolyn filled out her ballot.

• The (bi-partisan) poll workers we met and worked with were dedicated to ensuring that everyone who wanted to vote was able to do so, despite the difficulties of our times. I mean, “curbside voting,” who’d have thought?

• It’s pretty easy to make a mistake that could cost you your vote.

• There is help available. Again: 1-866-OURVOTE

Final anecdote from the day. As the election officials (one from each party) came out to the car, I explained, again, how the muscle relaxers Carolyn had taken for her back made walking and standing an unsafe activity. This good-natured exchange followed.

The (Republican) poll worker said, “So she’s on drugs?” 

I answered, “I told you she wanted a Democratic ballot.” 

“Of course, thank you.”

Another Plague – TDS – Trump Defense Syndrome

This was written a few weeks ago, long before former Secretary of Defense James Mattis offered his rebuke (Click for Link)

Although I’ve been called a “hater,” I do not “hate” Donald Trump. I certainly do not hate those who still support him. Yes, I have no respect him for him, certainly not as a person, but also not as a leader. He must however, be given credit for effectively stoking anger, fear and division. 

Hatred, however, would require more of my energy than he deserves or time than I have for someone of his ilk. So, no, I do not hate him; that’s my choice, albeit one that requires constant mindfulness.

Of course, that will not satisfy those who suffer from Trump Defense Syndrome, TDS. Never mind that many of those same people “hated” Obama (personally) for their own reasons which need not be addressed here. 

The difference, however, is that those of us who felt many of the attacks on President Obama were unfair or unwarranted, did not take those calumnies personally. Just because some believed him to be a bicycle-helmet wearing Kenyan-born Muslim socialist/communist in a tan suit did not get interpreted as a personal attack on those of us who either supported him or did not find him nearly as threatening or abhorrent as Fox News and fake memes wanted us to believe.

But what I’ve noticed, for the many suffering from TDS, is that ANY fault-finding of the president, no matter how rational or justified or even trivial, is taken as a personal affront, a personal attack on them and their values, and is responded to in like manner. That parallels the reaction of the president himself, of course. Any stricture, even any question that he interprets as negative is viewed as a personal attack, because EVERYTHING is about HIM.

I won’t deny that some of those “attacks” on him are personal (although often, IMO, well deserved), but many, if not most, others are just questions that he seems incapable of answering in any objective manner or opposition to his ideas based on political or philosophical differences. His midnight tweets evidence how personally he takes ANY criticism. I find it ironic that a person who revels in personal attacks on his opponents is so thin-skinned when the mirror reflects in his direction. But isn’t that the way bullies typically operate? And yes, that is a personal attack on a despicable being, but not on you. But if you think this is personal, you may be, whether you recognize it or not, infected with TDS.

Why I Reject Conspiracy Theories

Conspiracy theories may be spreading faster than COVID-19, but I don’t buy them any more than I buy brussel sprouts. Maybe not for the reasons you might want to believe, however.

I view myself as a pragmatist. I don’t expect my words here to offer a blinding flash of (en)light(enment). I don’t expect to alter people’s beliefs or behaviors. Even when I do engage on social media, it’s generally to either ask a (pointed) question or to provide factual, or at least contraindicatory, research from a reliable source. My only real hope is to plant a seed that might grow into a “What if I’m wrong?” tree (or shrub). While I don’t expect many of my seeds to actually germinate, I am, at least so far, willing to keep sewing them, even as my patience wanes.

No, the main reason I don’t believe in conspiracy theories is because, if those theories are true, then what’s the point? Of much of anything.

If there really is some dark state cabal manipulating the levers of government, our pathetic little posts will have no impact. We don’t have near enough power, even if our followers are legion. Our (well, your) mini armory is no match for any forces of evil. If there is some secret cell in charge of the economy, we’re powerless against it. We’re nothing more than an expendable pawn in a 3-D chess match, and we started playing on move 42. 

You can watch Fox News or MSNBC for the rest of your life, but if there are forces at work in the shadows, they’re well-entrenched, well-funded, well-orchestrated, and inextricably woven into the fabric of our world. You’re toast, we’re all toast. 

Therefore, I refuse to believe in conspiracy theories — because if those of you who DO believe in them are correct, both you and I have zero real control over our lives, and the decisions we are permitted to make cannot, will not be allowed to, change the big picture. I’m left with where to go for dinner and what to order (when that becomes possible again). Which is the same place you are, except you can’t even enjoy that dinner, because you’re too worried about the conspiracies manipulating your world and your life — while futilely waiting for your social media memes to move the needle. 

Of what value is a life without meaning? If my life is to have any meaning, I need to believe that what I do matters, that the decisions I make matter, and not just for me. 

Decades ago I had visions of changing the world; I even accumulated a certain level of power in my small corner of that world. When I realized my pinch of power amounted to, at best, a scrap of thread in the grand tapestry of life, I refocused, desiring to change ever decreasing acreage (for the better, of course, was my hope). Eventually I realized that only those whom I could touch directly could benefit from what I brought to the party. (#mixedmetaphors!)

Which brings me to today, with my family . I will do everything in my power to make their lives better, to protect them however I can. If, along the way, I can make things better for others in my life, I’m happy and more than willing to contribute to and model living a life where that can happen.

If I’m wrong and there really are conspiratorial forces of darkness in control of our lives, then what’s the point? Because none of what I do matters. I cannot, will not, live my life like that. I’d rather be delusional than powerless.

Oh, and if you celebrate the conspiracist who mirrors your world view but dismiss inconvenient whistleblower revelations, it may be you who’s delusional.

What Does Your Doctor Say?

I recently shared an Axios story (click for link) — only one of every three Americans believe the published death statistics for the current pandemic. To my way of thinking, that in itself is concerning – trust is clearly in short supply. It is even more concerning to me that our distrust is fueled and magnified by our political beliefs. In short, lefties think the numbers are too low while righties think they’re inflated. 

An expanded reply to a response re: that article follows. Because I think the reply has some merit on its own, I edited it and gave it its own blog entry. As I mentioned in the original post, the article ought to give anyone pause, although not necessarily hope. 

“My takeaway from this article is that it had absolutely nothing to do with which side is right or wrong, because it’s irrelevant (to the article). My takeaway is that perception is trumping reality and what people believe is based, for two-thirds of the populace, on 1) where they sit on the political spectrum and 2) where they get their news, offering conclusive evidence that people don’t believe what they hear and/or see, rather they see/hear what they believe.

As for me, I’m trusting the advice of MY doctor (if I don’t trust him, I need a new doctor), to whom I pay a lot of money, not some “expert” on cable news or You Tube or Facebook. I wonder how many of the people sharing memes, supporting protests, posting articles or videos, have actually consulted THEIR DOCTORS?

I think that’s going to be my standard response: What does your doctor say?

My doctor says it’s too soon to know anything for sure, because this crisis is unlike anything we’ve experienced before. He says it’s too soon to stop being careful and smart; neither is it wise to stop trusting science. Yes, I talked to him directly, personally, after he responded to my email with a phone call and 15-minute conversation. Additionally, he suggested that the CDC, Dr. Fauci, and even Gov. Cuomo are worth listening to; that letting other people be the guinea pigs who test the safety of dine-in restaurants is probably a smart strategy;* and that he felt safe in agreeing that cancelling our cruise this summer was the right call, although other travel this summer might be considered, given new safety protocols.

“You can’t eliminate all risk, you can’t shut the country down for the next 18 months; you can use common sense.”

We also concurred that while common sense, like trust, is, and has been, in short supply for quite some time, far too many people who think they have it, don’t.

* Carry-out to support your favorite eateries is very low risk, however. That is what we're doing to keep our favorites alive until the time when WE feel it's safe to start dining out again. That will be OUR call (after consulting OUR doctor), no matter the decision of any politicians to open up the economy based on some arbitrary, but politically motivated, date.

Random Reminders On Civil Disobedience

No, this is not an analysis of Thoreau’s essay in Walden. Just some quick random thoughts on that venerable protest strategy.

• Thoreau went to jail.

• Mahatma Gandhi went to jail (and worse).

• Rosa Parks went to jail.

• Martin Luther King, Jr. went to jail. 

If you want to join that admirable group and practice civil disobedience, you have my respect and I support your right to do so, whether or not I agree with your POV or stance. You are joining in an honorable tradition – but only if you don’t whine if/when you face the consequences of your actions.

You don’t get to claim civil disobedience AND immunity from the ramifications of your actions. The above-named historical heroes all believed they were on the side of the angels, but, and this is key, they were willing to pay the price of standing (or sitting, in the case of Parks) on the “wrong” side of authority in order to challenge the injustice they saw around them. These masters of civil disobedience actually invited arrest to bring their cause front and center, rather than use cowardly intimidation tactics to avoid any consequence.

You want to grab your gun and march, that is your right. I don’t care what name you want to give your cause or your actions, but you can’t claim civil disobedience. That phrase is reserved for the courageous men and women who stand up for their beliefs without trying to avoid the consequences of their actions.

While it shouldn’t be necessary, let me point out that Thoreau, Gandhi, Parks, & King were non-violent protesters, not gun-toting rowdies. Armed protest threatening violence isn’t civil disobedience, it’s rebellion and insurrection and carries the potential of far more severe repercussions than jail. We had one civil war; it didn’t work out so well for the instigators – and, sadly, the defenders of the country and Constitution who shared the horror of that conflict also paid a steep price. Ironic that so many of the participants are waving flags of history’s losers (Swastikas, Stars & Bars) as they protest.

Dark Days

Just a reminder, most of my writing is really done for myself, as sort of therapy and a way to organize my thoughts. That especially applies to this piece.

I’m not that tough. I haven’t had to be. My experience with (true) adversity has been minimal. Even events that were cataclysmic didn’t really affect me personally that much. In terms of grief, I think it’s safe to say I’ve had less than my share.

I try to be aware and empathetic, so I’ve never been ignorant of world events and how they impact others; I’ve never belonged to the Libertarian school of thought that says, “If it’s not MY problem, it’s not a problem worth society taking a role in solving.” 

I was in high school when President Kennedy was assassinated; I thought it was awful, but it didn’t affect me like some of my classmates (or my wife, whom I was a long way, in terms of both time and distance, from knowing at the time). I understood why people were upset at the murder of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., but its only direct impact on me was relief that the class I cut wouldn’t count against me because the professor was so distraught he cancelled it. 

I legitimately failed my physical (which I took, no doctor’s note for me) after being drafted during the Vietnam War, and I darkly joked that for me to boycott classes after the Kent State massacre would have required I actually go to class. The floods in the district in which I taught were more impactful on my students than me. Student deaths are an unfortunate fact of life; I always tried to be supportive, but I felt far worse for my kids than myself. I knew that 9-11 was world changing, but I was always confident that we’d adapt and recover – and we did, even if such a recovery required redefining “normal.” 

I guess what I’m saying is that none of the above were really all that personal. Even my personal grief has been generally muted and not exactly tragic. Deaths of too young friends and co-workers were sad, but not devastating. The one unexpected death that I did grieve faded and didn’t resurface until well after the event itself, sitting with my wife having a drink, when the tears blew in like a summer storm. But like a storm, they, too, passed quickly and my life returned to normal.

But this feels different. This C-19 pandemic doesn’t seem like a temporary inconvenience, but more of a permanent upheaval in life as we know it, or at least I know it. Maybe things will truly get better, but at the moment I have almost no hope of an only slightly modified new normal, like 9-11. And I don’t feel well positioned to deal with it. Not tough enough, if you will. 

Part of that is based on my complete lack of confidence in the president of my country. I didn’t feel that way after 9-11. I’ve never felt this way, and I’ve lived under 11 previous presidents of both parties, 10 of whom I remember with some, if varying degrees of, clarity. I may not have been happy with the country’s direction or presidential leadership, but I viewed those administrations like I viewed some of the school administrators for whom I worked: “I’ll be here after you’re gone.” 

Congress, with its obsession on tribal victories, is only a little better. That toxic combo of presidential incompetence and irresponsibility and tribal, winner take all, congressional warfare, is just part of the problem, though. 

Another part, and related to my lack of confidence in the chief executive, is that mitigation compliance has become political, almost perverse. “If I support Trump, I must oppose any action to tamp down the pandemic. If I support Trump, attempts at mitigation are a plot against his re-election.” Interestingly this has even become a bit separated from political party; in Missouri there’s a protest planned against a Republican governor who was late to the party and an unenthusiastic guest but eventually joined in issuing a “Stay at Home” order.

Right now the disease is winning, even if far too many people are in denial, which threatens to make it even worse. I have little hope of a return to my comfortable, privileged life, and I, myself, am so much better off than people who are truly suffering, who have lost not just livelihoods but loved ones. For perhaps the first time since my early 20s, when I sort of enjoyed wallowing in negativity and angst, I am struggling to channel my inner Polyanna.