On the Riverbank

The photo of that father and daughter who drowned trying to cross into the United States, really touched me.

That could have been my daughter and I. She was also two when we began life in a single parent family. We would often go to play at the local parks, and would spend time on the banks of creeks and the shores of the lake. I remember when we first went wading into the water and how anxious she was, how she held tightly to me, trusting that I would keep her safe.

With this memory, I can imagine how scared that little girl must have been when they went into the water, and how her father tried to protect her and comfort her, before they were both swept away.

This tragedy brings the crisis at the border home to me, as I can identify with that father and daughter, and as the father of an Addict, I can also identify with the mother, who saw her loved ones struggling against the current, and could do nothing to save them.

Of course, the sorrow and suffering at the border extends far beyond that reedy riverbank. There are many families who have been separated, and many who are being held in (what has been reported to be) deplorable conditions in overcrowded and underfunded detention centers. Sadly, many of those who are suffering are children, who had no choice in the matter, and who have no place to go, even if they could leave these facilities “any time they wanted”.

Right or wrong, at least an adult could be sent back to their country of origin, a small child cannot simply walk out of detention and be sent ‘home’ alone.

And what’s going on now is very wrong…how we are treating these people is not who we want to be as a nation. Especially a nation that claims to hold Christian principles in such high regard.

I am a Christian, and as such, I believe that I am called to follow Jesus’ example, and by doing so, I am continuing his ministry in the world. While I am no expert (I only have a Master of Divinity degree, not a PhD), I believe that the Christ’s simple commandment to “love one another” means that we are to show compassion for all people, even if we disagree with them, even if they do not look like us…even if they do not share our faith.

I do not believe that there is anything ‘Christ-like’ about what is happening at our borders. When Jesus called upon us to show love and compassion to each other, he specified that we show kindness to children, the sick, the poor and…the stranger!

I cannot believe that Jesus would sit idly by while families are being torn apart, whole groups of people are being scapegoated and children forced to sleep on cold floors and not given proper care. Instead, I believe that Jesus would be weeping with us along the banks of the river, mourning for the loss of innocent life.

Angry at the sight of children being mistreated!

There are many who see this as a political issue, or these policies as a deterrent to other immigrants who may want to come to the US illegally; while I agree that our Immigration and Asylum policies need extensive overhaul, I see what is happening now as a humanitarian crisis.

A matter of common human decency.

As a Christian, and as a human being, I am appalled at how the poorest and most desperate among us have been de-humanized. I am also troubled that so many people appear to be okay with what’s going on…either accepting it as an unfortunate result of an illegal action, or simply not caring.

I am even more disturbed that people of faith have not spoken out more strongly against these practices. Those who do are often answered with the call for the immigrants and refugees to simply “go home” or that they should come here legally. This is part of the problem, as many are fleeing from desperate circumstances or even death, and cannot go home, meaning they do not have the time to wait for our broken system to start working.

They need compassion, and a bridge to a new home…instead of wall, either real or figurative.

No matter who you are, how you vote, or what faith you hold onto (even Atheism) our humanity calls upon us to stand up to the dehumanization of a whole population of people, and to say no to putting them in detention. This is a very slippery and steep slope, and has never had a positive result. Whether it’s called an Internment Camp, Concentration Camp, or a Reservation, nothing good has ever come from locking away people based on race or religion.

Instead, we need to call upon all those in power (regardless of politics) to work together to fix what is broken, to reunite families and to provide them with the basic necessities (food, medicine, soap) as well as dignity…while waiting for their day in court.

These changes will not be easy, nor will they be quick, but no matter what side of the aisle we are on, as human beings, we can all agree that change needs to happen…and if we cannot work together the solutions will continue to be elusive.

And it is our ability to work together that truly makes America a great nation..even if that is not easy.

As we seek these answers, we may find ourselves reluctant to work with those we disagree with, for those of us who are Christians, we can remember his command to love one another, and to care for those in need, and we ask ourselves: “What side of the river would Jesus be on?”

The Great Lady and the Long Bridge

This is just a story I want to tell…no overt learning opportunities, no attempt to pass on some great wisdom, though this story points out plenty of things NOT to do…it is just a story about something that happened to me a long time ago…when I got to start the Fourth of July on the top of the world, and end it at the base of a great bridge.

And a day when I unwittingly touched my future…

It was the summer of ’86, and I was newly graduated from college, unemployed, and living in a rented room that I would soon be booted out of…but not before getting down less than a dollar to my name, half a loaf of stale bread, and peanut butter.

But all this happened before things got so bad.

I was still living in East Orange, and seeing this girl (on and off) whose dad worked in the AT&T building in Manhattan. As an employee, he got an invitation to watch the re-dedication of the Statue of Liberty from the roof of the building, on the Fourth of July, 1986, and I was invited to come along.

Now, I was drinking back then, and had to promise the girl that I would not drink too much and embarrass her and her dad. I agreed, understanding what a great opportunity this was, and how I would probably be stranded in the city if I did wind up getting trashed. Therefore, I was actually on good behavior that day…which is probably why I remember so much about the event.

As it was a holiday the drive to the city was pretty quick, and before long we parked and walked to the building, where we took the elevator to the roof, which was covered with that fake green grass that was not quite AstroTurf. There were balloons and music, as well as tables set up with food, soda, beer and the stronger stuff. There were also several grills set up and already being put to good use, although it was before 10am.

I was impressed by the set-up, but was amazed when I walked up to the wall at the edge of the roof, and looked out over the harbor!

We had a great view of the statue, which was surrounded by tall ships, fireboats, ferries, a couple of battleships, and numerous smaller boats. While we were too far away to actually see or hear the ceremonies, there were monitors set up on the roof, so we could watch the ceremonies.

It was a beautiful summer day, was warm and the skies were mostly blue, with a slight haze, and there was a good breeze on top of the building, making things pretty comfortable for us as we watched the festivities gearing up.

After a while, we could hear music coming across the water, as a band began to play. Then the monitors came on and the speeches began. I paid half attention to what was being said, even when Reagan came on and spoke, there was way too much going on around me.

After the speeches, the Blue Angels did a flyover, streaming red, white and blue smoke. During their flight a blimp hovered overhead, I assume to stay out of the way. While waiting they dropped a line down to one of the cooks, who took a basket filled with beer, hotdogs and hamburgers, and tied it to the rope, which was pulled back up into the blimp. When the airshow was over, there were fireworks. When the skies finally cleared, the blimp slowly moved away from the building and floated out over the city and into the harbor for a better view.

I can remember the food, and the beer, and trying very hard not to get out of hand. At one point I did catch myself about to let go, but made myself stop (promising that I would catch up later). I think the thing that saved me from getting completely plastered was that I stuck close to the girl, and stayed away from the whiskey that was calling my name from the open-bar!

I know we left after the fireworks, but don’t quite remember when, it could not have been too early, because I was back home in my small rented room by late afternoon. The girl and her father had gone off to a barbecue or something, and I was on my own, wishing I had been able to take some of the beer and leftover food back with me…as I had little at home, but I knew that this would not have gone over well…and I was so proud of how well I had behaved so far!

So, there I was, sitting at home, watching my old black and white TV, sweating in front of the fan when I got a call from my big sister, who invited me to come to Staten Island for an evening barbecue and fireworks.

The traffic gods smiled on me and I made the usually 40-minute trip in about 40 minutes, just in time for hamburgers and grilled sausages! Looking back, it was a good thing that I had not had too much to drink at the earlier event, or I never would have been able to make the trip…or have fun hanging out with my nieces, nephew and friends!

I remember watching part of one of the Nightmare on Elm Street movies on the VHS, and then…we piled into the Aerostar and drove down to the base of the Verrazano Bridge for my second round of fireworks of the day!

I was a big gravel covered lot, but it had a great view of Manhattan! We got there early enough to get a good spot near the water, where we could see the bridge and the fireworks clearly! I was there with my sister, brother-in-law, their kids, along with his Aunt Selma and Uncle Axel!

To be honest, I had a better time there than I had on the top of the AT&T building, especially as I did not have to be quite so careful there…but I still had to watch my drinking, not only did I not want my sister to see me wasted, but I did not want the kids to get upset either. At that time, I was still able to keep a happy balance, at least when I had to!

It is not that I spent that night completely Sober, but I was still able to function, and that is why I can remember the night as well as I can.

The site was crowded, and really excited, with some in the crowd cheering when the lights on the bridge came on! Then, just before the show began, a police boat came up to seawall, stirring up a lot of activity…at first I thought it was because people were tossing fireworks into the water, but later found out that one of those small pleasure craft had capsized in the harbor, and this boat may have been a first-responder.

I forgot all about this, as soon as the fireworks started to go off!

It was an amazing show, but one thing that stands out for me was hearing the fireworks launch across the harbor, echoing off of the buildings, and then waiting a few seconds before we could see them exploding over the bridge! Those few seconds of anticipation made the show all the more exciting.

Then…it was all over, and we all marched back to the mini-van for the ride back to my sister’s. It seemed like it took hours to get out of the lot, which helped me to sober up, allowing me to be able to drive home safely that night.

It was one of the best Fourth of July’s I ever had, and one that had implications for my future, although I did not know it then.

A year later, after some major changes, including a brief period of living in my car, followed by time in a friend’s unfinished basement, I wound up living in Staten Island, and a year after that, I met my future ex-wife! And as we were getting to know each other, I found out that we had come very close to meeting, back on that Fourth of July. It turns out that she was there, at the base of the bridge at the same time I was…but this is a story for another day, one that is difficult to tell, but that deserves telling.

As for subsequent Fourth of Julys, some were good, and others were simply days to get through.

Six years after that day of fireworks, in 1992, my father lost his struggle with Parkinson’s disease, which kind of soured me on the holiday. Then, in 1996 my marriage truly began to disintegrate right after the Fourth, and I began to really dread the day.

In addition, after I found Sobriety, I lost my tolerance for drunk people and fireworks.

However, having my daughter to raise helped me to get back into the spirit, together we went to see the local fireworks, and even spent one year watching the event in DC with my older brother.

My long-term girlfriend has also helped…she is not wild about the holiday either, but it does help to have someone to share the celebration with, to build new memories.

Today, the first girl who took me to the top of the AT&T building is a distant memory, and my ex-wife and I don’t talk much (though the relationship is still amiable — getting divorced was the best thing to happen to that relationship), and I am coming up on thirty three years clean and sober…while time moves on, and a new history has been built, the memories linger…and I am grateful for them.

Seize the (Ordinary) Days

 

“Carpe Diem”, “Today is the first day of the rest of your life!”, “Make the most of every day!”, “This is the day the Lord has made; we will rejoice and be glad in it.”

I recently lost a friend. She was one of those people who was (almost) always positive. No matter what was going in in her life, she did her best to put a good spin on it, and keep a smile on her face. Being a natural cynic, I could have seen this as disingenuous, but as I got to know her, I realized that she was nothing if not genuine.

She was the type of person who would take these aphorisms to heart, whereas I am the kind of person who struggles with them…finding them easy to say and to repeat, but much more difficult to follow.

Of course, there are some days when it is easy to find reasons to rejoice…

For example, not too long ago, my girlfriend and I spent a few days at the shore. While there, we had a great time! We spent time in the town checking out shops, that evening we watched a thunderstorm rolling over the beach from the roof of the B & B, and then walking the boardwalk in the sunshine the next day.

On days like that it’s easy to find reasons to rejoice and be glad! When I was at the beach, I wanted to seize the day and hold onto it as tightly as I could. In the same way, the worst days can also inspire us to hope, turning us to our Higher Power and to each other for support in the midst of tragedy and loss. But what about the regular days? The days ground out at a job that is uninspiring, filled complaints, deadlines and stress, not to mention long commutes and having to deal with shopping and other chores once work is through?

How do we motivate ourselves to make the most of those days when we keep watching the clock and wishing it would speed up as we trudge towards quitting time? When we don’t feeling like savoring every moment and instead, want the time to go quickly?

I think this is a valid question: How to rejoice and be glad when faced with the monotony of ordinary days? It may be a good question, but there are no easy answers.

But then, when are there ever easy answers in life?

I don’t have any answers myself…if I did, perhaps I’d be rich enough so that my days wouldn’t be quite so ordinary; however, what I do have are suggestions!

You can take them for what they are worth (remember I have two degrees and still work in a call-center, so any suggestions can be taken with a large grain of salt).

We can start by simply, by being grateful for breathing. It seems like nothing, but just being able to breathe is pretty important to setting the tone for the day…even if those breaths are not always easy, it is a gift to simply be alive to enjoy an ‘ordinary’ day.

If we can practice the joy of living on a daily basis, despite any challenges we may face during that day, we are ahead of the game!

During the midst of our busy day, we can stop and look at the sky, even if it’s raining or snowing. While it helps to get outside, this is not always possible, so just making that connection with nature, even if it is through glass, can make a big difference in our attitude.

In regard to work, even if it is not the job we want, or even like, we can be grateful for it. No matter how insufficient, having a steady paycheck and benefits are crucial. At least we are being paid, and not wondering where our next dime will be coming from (not an exaggeration, I have been there). This is something many do not have to count on. This means that your shitty job could be one that some people would feel lucky to have.

That said, we can also make the most of the day by doing something nice for others. We can help those who are struggling with the challenges of life, by simply offering them kindness and friendship. We can make our day better by showing compassion to those who may not feel as if they have many reasons to rejoice.

We can also remember the great gift of having other people in our lives…even those we do not like very much. Every person we come into contact with can teach us something, and therefore, enrich our lives. It is even more important to have people we share a deeper connection with, like family, friends, and/or a ‘significant other’. These are the people who can give us support and show us care when life can get a bit overwhelming.

It is these relationships that add value and meaning to our lives.

For those of us who are able to get up, and get to work or school, or just plain out and about, we can be grateful for our health, even if it is less than perfect. Any day we can get up and get active has the potential of being a good day…

No matter what else is going on in our lives, it is great to be able to be present for them, and to be able to ask for help.

Clearly, not every day is over-flowing with perfection, and there are many when the joy of living seems far away, we can do what my friend often did: ‘flip the switch’ and seek out the positive in the midst of the difficult…or ordinary.

This can enable us to grasp at whatever sparks of happiness that can light up the darkness, no matter how fleeting these sparks may be.

Each day gives us an opportunity to celebrate that joy of living, knowing that no matter what we are facing we are not alone, because we have a power greater than ourselves walking with us. That power may be a deity, it may be nature, science, the universe, or simply the power of compassion shared among those we care for. The point is that having faith can allow us to face the darkest…or even the most ordinary of days and still be able to see the light of hope shining brightly.

This light reminds us that this IS the day the Lord has made for us to rejoice and be glad in; and this is especially important when reasons to rejoice are not self-evident. Like with the friend that recently passed.

Although she not only sought out reasons for rejoicing during her struggle with cancer, long before she was diagnosed, my friend always sought out the positive in any situation…no matter how dark the day, she would always be able to find a spark of happiness, a reason for rejoicing, which gave her a smile that that would light up any room.

She shared this light with all of the people who knew her, and this light will stay with us…

Even on the most ordinary of days.

Sharing a Laugh With Dad

I have many good memories of my dad, from him carrying me up to bed at night (when I was very little) piggy back, when he “defended” me from my from my older brothers’ teasing, watching him paint the house when I was nine, multiple camping and road trips…and just spending time with him.

I also remember the last few years of his life, as he was being taken by Parkinson’s, and the time I got to spend with him as he faded into his disease.

However, one of my best memories, is of a day when we went out to the Reservation, a wooded area near where we lived. I’d been there before with the whole family and my older brothers, but this time it was just me and my dad!

I remember it was cold, and must have been late afternoon, as the sun was going down by the time we left.

We explored the woods together, as we hiked the trails, and he pointed out plants and

trees, and told me about reading the sky (he’d been a Meteorologist during the war), and as we walked along, I started quoting a Yogi Bear cartoon that I’d seen recently, where he was hit by a tree. I pointed to the trees, and repeated what Yogi said, when he was struck by the falling tree, and said “I thought I saw a Sycamore!” and my dad laughed!

It was some time later, when we were on our way to the Essex Green shopping Center, in West Orange, driving along in the old Ford Country Squire wagon, when I pointed to the trees going by and said “I thought I saw a Sycamore!” and he immediately caught on and burst out laughing!

My father was an incredibly intelligent person, who taught math and computers on the college level. He also had a deep faith in Christ, and lived that faith through being kind and compassionate in his life. He would never hesitate to speak for others or help those in need. In addition to all this, he had a devastatingly dry sense of humor! He had a dry sense of humor and the ability to enjoy a good laugh, even at the simplest things…this is what made him the person he was, what completely the picture.

These are many of the qualities that I admired about him, and those that I remember the most when I think of my dad, and the ones I try the hardest to emulate in my own life, and my own journey as a father…though I will never be the man he was, I would be honored to be considered as half as good a father and person as he was.

And I am the person I am today in large part due to his influence, gifts that I hope I have passed on to my own child as I have raised her to the best of my ability.

Milo’s Dad

 

I remember how the old train car rattled and creaked.

It still had the old wicker seats, the ones where the backs moved so you could change the direction you sat, either facing the front or the back on the train. It also had the globe lights and faded brass fittings. Fortunately, the windows also opened, which was our only source of ‘air conditioning’ as the fans mounted along the ceiling were ineffective.

Milo’s dad took this train every day during his commute to his Publishing job in New York City (almost the same commute as I would be taking about 15 years later), and he explained that this was one of the old Eerie Lackawanna train cars, untouched since the 1920’s (fifty years in the past); I was impressed, but I think he was being sarcastic. We were on our way to Hoboken, where we would visit the famous (though I did not know it then) Clam Broth House, where we would feast on steamed clams!

I was disappointed that there were not fried, until I got a good taste of the fare.

I am not sure if we made it into Manhattan that day…though I do not think so, as the point was to make it to Hoboken, where Milo’s dad had some errands to run, and to visit the restaurant.

“Milo” was one of my best friends.

I had known him so long that I do not even remember when we met, although we knew each other from church, where our parents had become friends. Milo and I would hang out a lot together, both at church and when we could get rides to each other’s houses. He lived in West Orange; I was in East Orange. Although he lived in a nicer neighborhood, he had smaller house. I remember the he shared a room with his sister, there was small partition between the rooms, closed off by a curtain, but she had to walk through his room to get to the hall, bathroom and stairs. This was annoying for them both, but irrelevant in terms of this story, except that it did lead to some Barbie and GI Joe interaction from time to time (always platonic) when I was over there playing.

I also remember that Milo had a great comic book collection, and could skateboard better than me (not really difficult to do).

During the winter, we would sometimes go to the sledding hill at South Mountain, until it was closed for safety (at the bottom of the hill was a busy street, and there were no fences, which led to some unfortunate results), during the summers we’d sometimes go to the YMCA, Vacation Bible School, or just explore the neighborhood with the other kids.

But mostly, we saw each other at church. In fact it was after the service one day, during the Social Hour, that Milo and I were wrestling, when he pushed me, causing me to crack head on a step…leading to yet another trip to the ER and another cool scar!

This did not hurt our friendship at all, as I never thought to blame him, it was only an accident, just like when I broke my toe while playing Batman and The Joker with another friend.

However, our friendship did end a short time later, very suddenly during a summer vacation trip.

Because my father was a College Professor, we would often take long summer vacation trips to see friends and family of to go camping. As this was before the internet or smartphones, when on these trips, we were out of the loop in regard to news from home.

Therefore, every few days my mother would call home and talk to one of my older brothers to check on the house, dogs, etc. It was during one of these calls that she found out that Milo’s dad ‘came-out’ to his mom, which was not well received after 20 years of marriage, and she abruptly took the kids and moved home to Iowa.

I never knew my parents to engage in gossip, but this was pretty big news…especially for the mid-seventies, and being friends, my parents were worried about the impact on the whole family.

I was shocked when I heard the news, and found it hard to understand what had actually happened. Remember, I was a kid and I really did not k now a lot about what it meant to be Gay back then…only what I saw on TV and heard from my friends.

With this as a reference, I thought that this was terrible news, and felt so sad for Milo, his sister and their mother…and I was sad that I had lost a friend.

By the time we got home from vacation, the rumor-mill was in overdrive, and it was not kind to Milo’s dad as no one was feeling a whole lot of sympathy for him. The focus was on the rest of the family, and he was seen as being selfish and cruel to have been ‘living a lie’ for so long.

As if he had a choice.

Despite all the talk, and the occasional dirty look, Milo’s dad continued to come to church, but was kept at arm’s length by most of the kids who had known him through Milo and his sister. Although it was never said out loud, and there was never any reason for it, there was the vague perception he might be a threat to us…especially the boys.

While this was very ignorant of us, we were kids, the sad thing is that it was not just kids who felt this way.

It was not that we meant to be mean, we just missed our friend, and we didn’t get it…we did not understand.

A few years after the break-up and divorce, Milo and his sister came back for a visit. Unfortunately, I did not get to spend much time with my friends. I only saw them once after church, and due to the circumstances and gossip, it was awkward – no one knew what to say and it was as if they were strangers. Within the week they were back on their way to Iowa, and I never saw them again.

As far as I remember, my parents did not buy into all this talk. They continued to show friendship and support to Milo’s dad and offered their support. Any time they caught me repeating gossip or expressing any other Homophobia, I would be chastised and told to learn more about the subject, instead of listening to rumors.

I would like to say I listened…but learning would take some time.

It wasn’t until I was well into my high school years, that my thinking began to change. That was when I found out that (gasp) I knew more than one LGBTQ person, and once I really got to really know these people, I realized that they are just that: people!

It was one of those real ‘duh’ moments.

As I continued to grow up and learn, I began to see the challenges that LGBTQ people have had to face in their lives, simply for being themselves, and looking for their own happiness in life. They have been denied housing, education, jobs, marriage, parenthood, and they have been marginalized, imprisoned, beaten and killed.

While in Seminary, I got the opportunity to spend time with people who were struggling with, and dying from, AIDS. I also got to see how many other people were suffering due to this new prejudice (on top of all the old ones), which was caused by the fear of this disease. I had the opportunity to listen to their stories and I was moved by them.

This is how I learned, and learning opens minds.

Today, I will sometimes remember Milo’s dad, and wonder about what it must have been like for him, how difficult it must have been for him. So many of us were focused on Milo, his sister and mom, and tended to think of his dad as a ‘bad guy’ for up-ending their lives.

Yet, he paid a heavy price for coming out. His confession broke his family, his kids were taken away from him, he lost friendships, which took away a lot of the support that could have seen him through these difficult times. I remember him as a good person, kind and thoughtful, and he did not deserve the treatment he received.

It is easy to excuse my behavior, by saying I not know any better, that I was just a kid, but to do so ignores what I was taught, both by my parents and by my church.

Every Sunday we heard preaching about the Grace of God, which was given for ALL people through the sacrifice of Christ. We heard how Jesus reached out to those who were homeless, imprisoned, marginalized, and embraced all people as God’s children.

We learned that Jesus was concerned about how we treated each other, calling upon all his followers to treat others with compassion, with love.

From all that I learned, I do not believe that Jesus would have been joining in on the gossip and recrimination, but he would have embraced Milo’s dad with understanding, and offered him comfort in the midst of his struggles and pain.

What I should have learned (if I was paying attention) was that none of us have any business throwing stones, but that we should be following the example of Jesus, who spoke out for those who knew injustice and prejudice.

The truth is that we should have known better, I knew Milo’s dad for most of my life, should have been able to see him as the person he was, and not as a label.

Looking back, I realize it took real courage for him to stay involved in our church and community after he came out. It might have been easier for him if he had moved away, and started over somewhere new, like Manhattan, which was a little more welcoming, and closer to his work.

Yet, he stayed long enough to find some small measure of acceptance once again.

Recently, there has been some controversy about the Pride events being held in June, with a few saying “Why do THEY have to make a big deal out of it, why can’t they just live their lives?” There was even a call for a “Straight Pride” march in Boston!

These calls miss the whole point of the Pride events…

It would be great if “they” could just live their lives as choose, in peace, without having to face prejudice and scorn. However, even today it is not that easy. LGBTQ people are still facing grave injustice and stereotypes, and they are still being beaten and killed for being who they are.

It certainly wasn’t that easy for Milo’s dad.

I liked him and looked up to him when I was still friends with Milo, before he told his truth. Today, I can admire him for his courage, and am sorry for how I treated him and others before I grew-up and learned better.

Knowing better is helpful, but I am no saint, and still have so much to learn (or unlearn), I still struggle with many prejudices, but at least I am aware of them and am trying to be a better person.

I am also looking forward to the time when we won’t give a second thought to who anyone chooses to love and care for, because what really matters is LOVE, expressed and shared!

For in this broken and divisive world herein lies our hope: that we follow the call of Christ to Love one another above and beyond all the other bullshit that can get in the way.