Lessons From the Past

• It’s no secret I was not a good student, especially as a college undergrad. So when I actually read an assigned book…. One of those resonated so strongly from the late ‘60s and is on my “20 Books that Changed Me” list.

• As I’ve observed history unfold over the past few years (as much as we can really see it in the moment), the nagging feeling that our path resembles that of Nazi Germany kept tapping me on the shoulder. Was I being an alarmist, overstating the danger because of the anathema I had toward Trump? Maybe my memory was selective. 

• Which is why I ordered the book calling me from over five decades past, Allan J. Bullock’s historical masterpiece, Hitler: A Study in Tyranny. It took only a few pages to confirm that the parallels I thought I remembered were, in fact, actually there, that the rise of Facism in Germany under Hitler is frighteningly similar in many ways to the rise of Trumpism, that Hitler and Trump are kindred spirits, conclusions ignored at our peril.

The underline at the top is From Hitler’s own writings, 

followed by Bullock’s analysis. 

Only willful blindness prevents a comparison to Trump.

• You don’t have to take my word for it, of course. Although out of print, the book is readily available, no doubt through your local library. Because it is an inconvenient narrative, however, I doubt that those who reject this observation out of hand will bother to actually do the reading. I can only urge them to remember that it wasn’t just Germans who, after the fact, wondered how such evil could come to power. 

Trump is not a Republican, never was until it was convenient (for him). 
The Party is just the means to an end, and that end is autocratic power.

As I progress in my reading, I may drop in other parallels and similarities. But for now, I’ll leave you with this: 

A Modest Non-Binary Proposal for Them

 Like most everything, language evolves. If you doubt that, just read Beowulf, Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, Canterbury Tales, etc. 

I remember when, almost 50 years ago, women (rightfully) objected to being categorized by honorifics that designated them by marital status. Thus the birth of “Ms.”, almost universally accepted now. But there was resistance in the beginning, although not from me. “Ms.” became my default, even if I was happy to accede to requests from those who preferred Miss or Mrs. 

Fast forward to today and a growing, not insignificant number of young people are objecting to gendered pronouns, resisting the inevitable stereotyping that they believe they project. Our English language (as well as others) fails them in this regard. I get, and respect, that. “Masculine” and “feminine” are both continuums, and not wanting to be pigeon-holed into someone else’s preconceived image is a worthy goal. 

I confess, however, that my grammarian soul struggles with the contortion of forcing “they” into the singular. And it’s not just that, to these old ears, “they” as singular, even if gender neutral, is akin to fingernails on the proverbial blackboard, even if the young people who want to use it that way have perhaps never seen, much less written on, one of those vestiges of days gone by. It’s also confusing, because now “they” can refer to either a non-gendered group or one member of that group, to say nothing of its traditional usage. Nor does the pronoun roll off my tongue or out of my brain, so even though I want to be supportive, I will inevitably fail more often than not, due mostly to 70+ years of usage (to say nothing of teaching).

So I offer an alternative, a new set of gender-neutral pronouns. There may be other options out there, and I don’t claim mine is better than any others that I haven’t heard yet. But I’m going to try to use mine, and welcome you to join me if you’re so inclined. Allow me to introduce, to any accompanying xylophone crescendo....

“Xye” (pronounced either Zee or Djzee, like the soft “g” at the end of garage): third-person singular human, nominative case.  I particularly like this because it also incorporates the genetic “x” & “y.”

Objective case: Xyem (“Zem”) 

Possessive case: Xyair (“Zair”)

I’m less enthralled with these (and they could be spelled with the “Z” for the sake of clarity in pronunciation and since when has the English language worried about consistency?), because they’re still kind of them and their, but I don’t see a better solution. Others might.

This modest proposal will no doubt be criticized, probably both kindly and unkindly, by those who see gender as immutable and binary. But I think that view is swimming against the tide and I’d prefer to find a solution that respects both the language and the people who feel constricted by it.

Language, and, consequently, grammar, will continue to evolve, and the pronoun battle is one we don’t have to fight, at least head-on. 

I will, however, resist to my dying breath, making “a lot” into one word!

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.