Signing the guest book at the Pentagon's 9/11 Memorial
Last weekend my dad called from Connecticut Avenue in Washington, DC. Our conversation was quick. “Do you hear that?” he asked. The background noise was easy to pick out. Roaring engines on Memorial Day weekend could only mean one thing: Rolling Thunder. For 24 years, thousands of war veterans from around the country and their motorcycles have converged on our nation’s capital in an awesome display of solidarity. Their name was taken from Operation Rolling Thunder from the Viet Nam War, and their mission is to bring attention to, and advocate for, soldiers who are prisoners of war (POW) or missing in action (MIA).
Read on…
Not everyone is cut out for military life, including, and especially, me. But I do think everyone can learn a thing or two from the military—or at least about the military. Read on…
Sophia doesn't seem to care if her faith is cool.
In our book, Helping College Students Find Purpose: The Campus Guide to Meaning-making, Robert Nash and I highlight a student we call, “Harold.” Harold’s story opened our chapter on our religio-spiritual resources for making sense and meaning of our experiences. As a 19 year-old, Harold asked a question that I couldn’t answer then and can’t answer today, but, I must admit, that spoke to my soul and exposed a little part of me t I’ve been trying to hide. Harold’s question: Why can’t my religion be cool?
Now I’m not sure I would express the sentiment in exactly the same way, but I am well into my adult years and often feel that our culture does not support people of faith very well. I first realized that I had a lot to learn from Harold when I was out to dinner with a friend whose faith and spirituality inspire me.
Confronting My Hidden Desire to Be Cool
My friend asked if we should bless the meal. Of course, I said yes, and bowed my head for a quick silent prayer as I do at every meal. Instead my friend first crossed herself and then vocalized the classic Catholic mealtime prayer. Then she crossed herself again. I was astonished. We were in public. In that moment, I shamefully recognized my tendency to closet my faith practices for fear they might offend… Whom? Some stranger two tables over? Read on…
Believe me, I was NOT smiling.
Without reason or logic—the meaning of “random selection,” I suppose—the TSA agent pointed me away from the usual metal detector and toward the holding pen. In a previous post, I outlined my objections to the full-body scanners—sentiments I continue to harbor—so it will come as no surprise that I chose the pat-down/feel-up. I guess if the TSA is that interested in what might be inside my clothes besides me, I want them to work for it.
Never mind that the TSA agent who designated me for special review did so without saying much of anything or giving me the courtesy of looking me in the eye, but people in the holding pen before me seemed to carry on as if waiting for a quick blast of radiation at the airport was the most normal thing in the world. Where is our collective sense of disgust?
Ticket to your future?
You know the scene: A jubilant young person emerges through the doors of the auditorium waving a ticket to a brighter future in her hand. She is so overcome she can barely speak between the peals of giddy laughter and the streams of tears causing her cheeks to shine. Her family and friends share in her good fortune and are similarly rendered incapacitated as if thunderstruck by Lady Luck herself.
Have the scene in mind do you? In your scene, what’s the coveted ticket this lucky young lady holds in her hand? A chance to go to Hollywood with American Idol, perhaps? Or maybe an invitation to dance with the nation’s most creative choreographers as part of the So You Think You Can Dance cast? In my scene, the girl jumping for joy at the doors of the auditorium is ecstatic for the opportunity to have… wait for it… a decent middle or high school education.
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Its last trip to work.
Hoop·ty or Hooptie ’hüp-tê n.; pl.hoop·ties têz. [poss. fr. hoop-de-doop] : an old, beaten-up, dilapidated car, orig. exclusive to large American cars from the 1970s or 1980s, e.g. “Did you see Angus ride by in that hooptie?” (Knock Knock. “Slang Flashcards.”)
The minute I first learned this term two years ago, I exclaimed with pride, “A hooptie… I have one of those!”
My Honda and Me
My 1991 Honda Accord has been my constant traveling companion since I drove it off the lot 20 years ago with its then brand-new-car smell. It has seen me through a lifetime’s worth of adventure and at one time or another has safely carried just about everyone I care about in this world. To the extent it’s possible to “love” an inanimate object, I love this little car. But this has not always been the case.
Read on…
It seems almost counter-intuitive: Breathe out first. Yet that’s what the yoga instructor says each time we begin class. First, breathe out. Then begin. Why, I have wondered, does the instruction to exhale first seem simultaneously problematic and like the answer to a deeply-held question? Read on…
