Bullies

Bullies…

They’re not just for kids.

Even as adults we can run into them:  On the road, at work, stores, sporting events, when we are out trying to have a good time with our friends or families. We can also find them on Face Book, Instagram and other forms of social media…especially today, as we are in the midst of an election season.

We see bullies both celebrated and vilified in our culture, with some becoming very famous and powerful, mostly based on building themselves up while bringing others down. However, this also reminds us that most bullies lack any real substance, they are mostly bluff and bluster, but they can still have an impact.

Sometimes, all we need to do is look in a mirror to see a bully….as none of us are without sin.

This is a good thing to remember when others fall short, it can help us to be more forgiving, just as we too have been forgiven.

And we all have our own bullies to face.

Like my friend Harold. He was often bullied, for his weight, his stutter, lack of athletic prowess, and the fact that he was socially awkward (which was not helped by being bullied).

Now Harold became used to being bullied, and found the getting angry didn’t help as it often got physical, and that would get him into trouble – and his anger only seemed to embolden the bullies; that was what they were looking for.

In time, he learned it was best if he didn’t rock the boat.

Instead, he came up with other ways to cope with it…mostly by doing what he could to avoid conflict. If kids started to pick on him, he would sometimes often join in with them, and make a joke out it, like if someone called him ugly or stupid, he would agree with them in order to take some of their steam away. Often though, he would just find a way to walk away.

Then, one day, when he was between classes at High School, Harold came upon a crowd of kids blocking the hall! His instincts told him to turn around and go another way…as that many kids gathered together was usually meant trouble for him, trouble he did not want. Curiosity got the better of him though, and he stopped to see what was going on.

As Harold moved to the edge of the crowd, he saw one of the school’s bullies tormenting a kid named Jack.

Jack was a little bit ‘different’ with a dry sense of humor that was often misunderstood, and he was even more awkward than Harold. Because of this, most of the kids thought he was a little weird and definitely a bit of a nerd, long before shows like The Big Bang Theory made it almost cool to be dorky.

So, Jack was a frequent target of the bullies, who thought it was fun when they could make him angry, or even better…cry!

Because they were both bullied on a regular basis, Harold and Jack became friends, and gave each other support in the face of the taunts and teasing.

Harold saw that Jack was on the verge of tears right now, his face was getting red, he was shaking, and trying very hard not to lose control.  The crowd saw his vulnerability started laughing harder, with a few more of the kids moving from being spectators to actively teasing.

Harold saw what was happening and knew he should do something…

He knew what it was like to be bullied, and while he felt bad for his friend, he was also glad that he was not the target this time. Harold wanted to help, but was afraid that if he spoke up for Jack, he would wind up at the mercy of the bullies!

Just then one of kids pointed at Jack and called out: “Oh no, he’s starting to cry!”

Sure enough, the tears came, and everyone started to laugh and shout at him, including Harold!

When he realized what he was doing, Harold felt horrible!

How could he turn on his friend like that?

That was when Harold finally decided that he had to do something, even though he really didn’t want to, because he was afraid.

Putting his fear aside, Harold pushed his way through the crowd, walked over to Jack, and yelled at everyone to “Stop!” He told them that Jack did not deserve to be treated so badly…no one did, not even the bullies!

The crowd went silent for a moment, and then one of the kids pointed out: “You were just laughing too!” “You’re right, I did, and I was wrong…now I want to do what’s right.” Harold admitted, and then he turned to Jack and said “I’m sorry, I got caught up with the crowd, I shouldn’t have joined in!”

Jack just stood there looking sad and broken…

Some of the kids continued to laugh, but many just turned away without saying anything, looking embarrassed.

Then a teacher walked over to see what was going on…and with that, the rest of the kids walking away as well.

For a moment, Harold felt proud of himself for standing up for Jack, and he put his arm around Jack’s shoulder. Jack moved away from him and asked, “What took you so long?” and then walked away himself.

While Jack eventually forgave Harold, he soon transferred schools because the bullying just got too much him to handle…and this left Harold wondering if things might have been different, if he had spoken up sooner, or more often.

From then on, Harold made an effort to speak out and stand up to bullies, but it was still difficult for him, because he was afraid that if he said anything the bullies would turn on him, and sometimes they did…but as he got older, he did begin to speak out more often. Speaking up did not always work out well, but it did make a difference, it did get some people to think about how they were treating each other. On a few occasions those who were doing the bullying changed their ways, but more often, those who stood by and watched began to speak up more often themselves.

Speaking out also helped Harold to feel better about himself, and it assuaged some of his guilt, as he never wanted to let someone down, like he had done to Jack…ever again.

Through these experiences, Harold has learned that sometimes all it takes is a little bit of courage, to stand up for what is right.

Which Way?

John 10:1-10; May 3, 2020

Jesus the Good Shepherd

 

These days, it is hard to know what direction to take in our lives…

We are sheltering in place to keep ourselves and others safe, because it is the right thing to do!

However, even those of us who are most committed to Social Distancing, can find ourselves questioning…

“Is quarantining ourselves is really worth it?”

“Is it really helping?”

Like others, we may find ourselves wondering if the ‘cure’ is worse than the disease.

Many have been put out of work, and are struggling financially, relationships have suffered, both from too much distancing, or too little.

Educations have been disrupted, sports, concerts and family gatherings cancelled or postponed…including weddings and funerals.

Times when we most need to be together, to get a good hug, a warm hand…and we are advised to stay at least six feet apart.

We have many ways that we can connect remotely, through the internet and phone, but it is not the same, and in many ways we feel as if we are farther apart than ever before.

We wonder if it is okay to go to the store to buy food, clothes or other necessities?

When do we wear a mask?

Is it alright to go to the park, the lake, for a run, hike or bike ride?

Or just to walk the dog.

Can we go and visit a friend who is down, offer comfort to those who mourn? How do we take care of people who are sick, with virus or any other disease?

Are we doing enough?

And we can find ourselves asking “What will come next?”

It is easy to feel confused and a bit lost now, because it is so hard to know what to do.

Right now, we are truly in need of some guidance…but where will we find it?

We can look to today’s Gospel, when Jesus tells us that he is the good shepherd!

A shepherd leads the flock, feeds them, and cares for them…even when they do not want to be cared for, even when they want to go their own way.

As OUR good shepherd we can look to Jesus for guidance…to live in the answer of the old question: “What would Jesus do?”

We can do as Jesus taught us, by showing compassion, consideration, and care, for others.

We are following Jesus when we sacrifice our own comfort and convenience in order to keep others safe and protected.

When we act selflessly, putting the needs of others ahead of our own.

When we support those who are feeling brunt of this quarantine, through the kindness of a phone call or a text, connecting via Zoom or Skype…to help all of us feel less ‘isolated’.

When we offer comfort to those struggling, with money trouble, Depression, Addiction, or illness…even the virus, when we do all these things, we are following the lead of our good shepherd.

It is not always easy to follow Jesus, but then, his journey was not an easy one…but he is our best teacher and guide.

When we move forward despite our questions and doubts, and seek to do the next right thing…even if we are not sure what that is.

When we seek to unite rather than divide…

We can help each other find our way to healing, not just from the virus, but from all the ills and injustices that this pandemic has brought to the surface…where they can be treated.

For when we follow our good shepherd, we are acting as Christ in the world, sharing his message of hope…

The message of the Gospel, the message that God’s love is for all people, and is meant to be shared. This message has the power to reconcile and restore us.

And our world is very much in need of Christ’s message of hope, we are need of some good shepherding, because this health crisis has also become an economic and political struggle.

Causing us to become further divided at a time when we need to come together to face our common foe!

Yet, all is not lost, because while this pandemic can break us, it can also give us the opportunity face the faults that keep us apart, allowing us to move forward more connected and unified than ever before.

With our good shepherd leading the way, we too can become shepherds.

Amen

When We Least Expect It

April 26, 2020

Luke 24:13-35 The Road to Emmaus

Jesus appears to us in the most unlikely of places, when we least expect it, in the quietest moments and in the grimmest…God is with us, always.

Even when we are not paying attention…

Often, we can get caught up in our daily lives and struggles to see God in our lives.

And there are times when we do not feel as if we deserve God’s Grace, that it is a gift given to others, but not to us.

When I found myself in such a place, and was all consumed by troubles that seemed insurmountable, I too felt very far removed from God’s Grace.

While I knew that we are constantly surrounded by the love of God, I was not feeling it in my life, instead I felt worry and pain.

Seeking relief, I drove over to Green Lane park, and began to hike on the trails near the old nature center. At one point, I stopped to stared out across the lake, finding calmness in the still surface of the water.

At that moment, I prayed to God for a peace, and perhaps…for a sign, that everything was going to be all right, although I did not know what ‘being all right’ would look like.

Just then, a fish broke the surface of the lake, jumping up into the air…and then another and another, and I took this as my sign!

Things did work out, not right away, and it wasn’t easy, but life did improve!

With the sight of that jumping fish, I was reminded that God was with me, and had been with me all along, I was just too caught up in my pain and misery to see it, until the presence was revealed to me in that simple way!

In today’s Gospel, we find some of the disciples on the road to Emmaus, so caught up in their own lives, and their own troubles, that they did not see the miracle in their midst…unaware that they were about to have their own ‘jumping fish’ moment.

When they met the stranger, the disciples were eager to share their struggles and fears with him…sometimes it is easier to share these with a stranger, or at least safer, because you assume that there will be less room for judgement.

This is especially helpful when you are trying to make sense of things that do not make much sense at all.

As they shared with the stranger, perhaps their burdens were lessened, and the disciples began to feel better, for the first time in a long while.

Then, the stranger began to lay some truth on the disciples, scolding them for their lack of faith, and then revealing that he had a deep knowledge of the scriptures and prophesies.

Falling into the role of teacher, the stranger reassured the disciples that God had everything under control, and that what had happened was all according to plan. It would not be an easy road, but there was comfort in knowing that everything was in God’s hands.

Sometimes we too just need to stop, look and listen for what God is trying to teach us, as we walk along our own road to Emmaus.

As we face the new challenges of living during a pandemic: the changes, the losses, the uncertainty and the fears.

Even now…God is always speaking to us!

God speaks to us when we make the sacrifices that keep each other safe, like staying home and wearing a mask when we do go out…

God speaks to us through the kindness of strangers as we help each other to get through these difficult days.

God speaks through a friend who calls or texts right when needed, who speaks truth to us, even when that truth may be difficult!

God speaks to us through our loved ones, who stand by us no matter what, even if they don’t always agree with what we do, or who we are (in the moment).

Even if these connections are now maintained online or on the phone.

God speaks through the love that we share together.

God speaks to us when we are quarantined in our homes, working and supporting those who cannot pursue their livelihoods.

And when we offer comfort to those who have experienced loss at a time when we cannot give shoulder to cry on, or hugs to ease the pain.

God speaks when we can get out doors,in the rain and wind, and in the park, on a beautiful day, walking the trails, or enjoying the sun, when it bathes us in warmth, or shines off of the waters of the lakes…and even when a fish breaks the surface of its stillness.

In the same way, just as Jesus did with the disciples…before he was recognized, we are too are called to speak for God.

As we share compassion and the truth of God’s love with others…God’s Word, and Grace are revealed to all who need to hear it, for all in need of hope, who need to be reminded of God’s presence in our lives.

This truth is that there is no where we can go, no matter how deep in despair, far into quarantine, or how lost we feel, there is no where that God’s love cannot find us.

For God is always with us, surrounding us like the air we breathe…sometimes, we need to just stop, pay attention, and take a deep breath.

“Lazarus Come Out!”

March 29, 2020

John 11:1-45; The Death of Lazarus

 

I have often wondered what it must have been like…

For Lazarus.

What it must have been like to be so sick, laying in his bed and hoping to see Jesus, not only because he was a friend, but also because Lazarus knew that Jesus…who had become known for healing others, may also be able to save him from this illness.

But still Jesus did not come, and Lazarus faded…

His sisters, Mary and Martha, were caring for him, spending their days in his sick room, praying for his recovery, and then, perhaps, for his comfort.

They too were hoping for Jesus to come and help, but were also disappointed.

We can only wonder what it must have been like for Lazarus, as he finally lost the battle with his illness, the light of this world slowly growing more distant until hope of healing was out of reach.

And still Jesus had not come to help.

We don’t have to imagine how Martha felt when Jesus finally arrived, but was far too late to help.

We can almost hear it in her voice when she tells him “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died…”

But Jesus had his reasons for the delay, as he told his disciples a few days earlier “This illness does not lead to death; rather it is for God’s glory”.

Still and all, the loss of his friend did not feel good for him either.

This is why the Gospel tells us that “Jesus wept” at the loss of his friend.

In this moment, we can find ourselves weeping with him.

Then, we are also made a part of the joy experienced when Jesus called “Lazarus come out!” and the man staggered from the darkness of death and back into the light.

However, we have to wonder what it was like for Lazarus to return, to come back from the dead and its mysteries?

We wonder what those four days in the darkness were like, and what it did to him.

Many people who are in Recovery from Addiction to drugs or alcohol will say that they know what it is like to be in Hell, because that is where they addictions took them.

Finding Sobriety can be like coming back to life, returning from the dead and walking back into the light.

Yet this journey is not an easy one, because recovery does not bring us back to where we were, but takes us to a new place, and we have to learn a whole new way to live!

Perhaps Lazarus could have understood this.

After he was raised, his old life was out of reach, it no longer existed for him…

He had to find a new way to live his life.

The change must have been immediate, as how do you come back from the dead and not have even those you are closest to treat you differently?

And there was more, as the next chapter of John tells us that the same people who would soon be nailing Jesus to the cross also wanted to kill Lazarus.

They wanted to make sure he stayed this time, so that proof of Jesus’ miracle was not just walking around for all to see, so Lazarus ran away.

Jesus had given him a great gift, and he did not want it to be taken away from him so quickly.

According to one tradition, Lazarus fled to Cyprus, where he eventually met with the Apostle Paul, who appointed him Bishop in the newly formed church, responsible for sharing the good news of God’s love, as given through Christ…

A message he knew well, having received it in person from Jesus, as he was called back to life.

Yet, the trauma of his death and return must have weighed heavily on Lazarus…

Today, he would probably be diagnosed with PTSD…because, why not?

Being brought back from the day has got to be traumatic!

Tradition also tells us that after he came back, Lazarus seldom smiled or laughed. Instead, he remained taciturn, withdrawn and serious.

But he also became known for his piety, devotion to shepherding the church, and to helping all those in need. It was believed that this new life of service was inspired by what he had seen while in the land of the dead for those four days.

Trauma is something that many of us can relate to.

Most of us have known sorrow and suffering that has changed who we are, or has changed the lives of those we love…and now we are sharing another time of trial…together!

What all of us are going through will change our lives, because we can never go back to where we were before the virus hit, we are different people, just like a person in recovery from addiction…

Just like Lazarus.

While I do not believe that it is ever God’s Will for us to suffer, as Jesus pointed out, sometimes suffering can help bring out the best in us.

How we face this trauma can show the world what it means to be followers of Christ, to truly walk in his footsteps.

These times can make us stronger people, stronger in faith, and stronger in love and compassion for each other. Facing these challenges can also lead us to find reconciliation at a time when it seems as if many have been trying to pull us father apart.

We can find unity in having gone through a common trial, one that transcends all of our differences: politics, religion or race.

And we need to rely upon each other to get through this, and then to move beyond the virus and into a new life, because we can never go back…but that is okay, because when Jesus raised up Lazarus, he did not call upon him to back to his old life, but to a new one…a true gift of love.

The same new life promised to all of us in his resurrection on Easter morning, when Jesus himself stepped out of the darkness and into the light of a new day.

This promise was given to all of us on that early morning, as Christ came to change the world with the good news of God’s love for all people…a message we are all called to share together.

We share this message by caring for each other, and supporting each other, for wherever this message is shared, we inspire hope in each other.

Hope, that is sorely needed…not only today, in the midst of this crisis, but for the world that we will be moving into…together.

For this too shall pass…and we will all find recovery as we are all called back into the light to proclaim that God’s love still shines brightly!

 

A depiction of St. Lazarus

Jesus and The Blind Man

 

March 22, 2020

John 9:1-41; Jesus Heals the Blind Man

Lent has become a very real for us this year…

Not only are we following Jesus as he journeys towards the cross, we may be feeling as if we are actually making that journey ourselves…

We are experiencing things that most of us never thought we’d see…not outside of a movie or a TV show.

During this season, we have found ourselves living with uncertainty and anxiety, in danger of getting lost in the darkness that comes with the fear of the unknown.

Searching for meaning, seeking the light…when all we want is for things to go back to normal.

When we are not even be sure what ‘normal’ means any more.

For the blind man in today’s gospel, the darkness was normal, it was all he knew…to be healed was something he could hardly imagine.

Then, Jesus came along and changed everything…

He gave the blind man sight, for the first time ever, and gave him a new ‘normal’.

We may read of this miracle and think that the blind man’s life was great after Jesus restored his sight, but healing is not always easy, while the blind man was given a miracle, it came with a price: lots of questions and accusations, and a lot to get used to, as his life would never be the same again.

He had to learn a whole new way to live, as he could never go back to the life he knew.

A few years ago, while walking out to my car, I slipped and fell on the ice, and I shattered my elbow!

This left me with pins and a plate in my elbow, which led to a long and painful recovery. After a couple of weeks of healing, I started Physical Therapy. It was not fun, but with a lot of help, I was able to regain about 90% of the use of my arm.

I got better, but things did not go back to the way they were before the accident, I simply had to get used to a new normal.

Today, we too are moving towards our own new ‘normal’ and the journey between here and there will not be an easy one.

It will be difficult and painful for so many…

But with each other’s help, we will find healing; however, our lives will never be the same.

While this too shall pass, it will leave a scar.

Just as I did after my accident, and like the blind man in the Gospel, we too will need to adjust to our new lives, and we may find ourselves in mourning for what we have lost:

A job, a lifestyle, a relationship or perhaps, sadly, we may even find ourselves mourning people who have fallen victim to the virus.

Or to the fear it inspires.

And this is where faith comes in, for this is a gift that can carry us through all the changes and challenges that we will face on our way to healing.

For faith, especially when shared, enables us to face our fears, and speaks to our anxiety, as it is the good news of God’s gracious love, which surrounds and supports us always…

It is this gift that inspires to keep moving forward, giving us hope for the future, assuring us that our world can never grow so dark that the light of God’s love cannot reach us.

This is Jesus’ promise, a promise given when he told those questioning him about the miracle, and also told us, that he is the light of the world…

The true light of God’s love, given for us all…the light that we are called to share together, until it grows so strong that there is no darkness left.

The light that gives us hope on our own journey…

For it is the same light that shines forth from the empty tomb, a light that remind us that for every season of Lent, there is an Easter.

Moving Out

 

January 25, 1997 was a rainy Saturday.

I had already made the arrangements. I had signed the lease and got an approval to move in a week early (and pay an extra week of rent); I had talked to a lawyer about what steps I needed to take, and about what I had to do in order to keep my daughter with me, and then had the difficult conversation with my wife…she did not put up much of an argument, I think she knew it was for the best.

It was a difficult decision, but things had run their course, and now we were doing nothing but running into brick walls.

She even helped me to pack and pick out new stuff for the apartment, dishes, pots, pans, cleaning supplies, even sheets and towels, all that I would need to start a new life. I was grateful that she did not make it more difficult, but also a little disappointed that she did not try harder to keep me…keep us, at home.

But then, we had been trying for so long…and we both knew we were done, there was no moving forward together.

I got the keys the night before the big move, and took over a few boxes, the TV, VCR and some pillows and blankets. Then, I picked up my daughter, got some McDonald’s and we spent the first night watching movies and sleeping on the floor of the new place. This way, I could truthfully say that when I moved, I took my daughter with me.

The actual move went well. I brought my daughter back to her mother, and had two friends to help out, and there was not a lot of stuff…the biggest thing being an old bookcase. It was a challenge getting that up the narrow staircase to the second floor, and it did get scuffed, we made it. Most of the rest of the items were just ‘smalls’. Still, it took a few hours, and I was grateful…the best part of the move was taking my friends out to lunch at Pizza Como when it was all over.

That evening, I went home to the apartment alone, my daughter stayed with her mother. I remember how good it felt to be all moved in, and to away from the stress that my marriage and home had become. I sat in my big easy chair, left the TV off and just listened to the sounds from the other apartments in the house. Downstairs, I could hear kids laughing, from upstairs, I could hear music, and from the other side of the wall, the sound of a TV. These were the sounds of people living their lives, and I was grateful for them…and for the peace.

The next day, I went to buy a new bed for my daughter (and had to retrieve the mattress from 422 when it blew off of the Subaru…it was covered in plastic), went home, set it up, continued to unpack and that evening, I picked up my daughter, and we were finally home!

After a dinner of chicken strips and potatoes (the first of many), another movie, and a story, I put her bed. As I was exhausted in every way, I went soon after. Our rooms were connected, so when I got into bed, I must have woken her up, and when I turned out the light, she asked if she could come in and sleep with me (she was two). I assured her that I was only a few feet away, and explained that I spent $200 for the bed, and that was why I wanted her to sleep in it. She seemed fine with that, we said “Good Night” and both tried to sleep…in the midst of so much change.

We lived in that apartment for more than six years. These were not all easy times, especially in the beginning, when we were adjusting to so much, but I did the best I could at the time. I had a lot to learn about being a parent…and some of those lessons were learned by making mistakes.

However, along with the difficult days, there were many good times. We had access to a huge yard, and spent hours and hours playing there, from make-believe with her toy animals, to soccer practice. We turned the small living-room into a fort for a few weeks, and her room became a playroom where Barbies cavorted with lions, tigers, bears and dogs!

And we had a play-kitchen where we dined on plastic peas and rubber cockroaches.

It was a place where I relearned the joy of playing, and where we both grew up. When we left to move into our own, much bigger, house, there was some sadness for me, but it was time to move on…just like it was time for that marriage to end.

Since then, life has continued to move forward, and has had some serious lows, but also some amazing highs (no pun intended); and a whole lot of the day to day ordinary.

While I like my house, I will always have a soft-spot for our old apartment, which got us started off on our new life. I have become grateful for that ordinary, that my daughter and I are still a family, that I have found a relationship that works, and that I have even made amends with my ex-wife…because all that resentment proved to be too heavy to carry around, and certainly too heavy to keep moving with me.

Making the Connection

I take phone calls all day…it’s my job.

These calls are seldom pleasant, as no one calls me just to thank us for the great service we provide to our customers; however, they are not all bad either, most are professional, and I do feel a sense of satisfaction if the customers seem happy when I give them a ticket number and hang up the call.

Most calls are pretty routine however, even the nasty ones often turn out to be “more of the same”: complaints about the bill, service interruption issues, etc., but there are some calls that stand out, because I made a connection (however small) with the customer. Sometimes it is when the account holder has died, or the business has failed, and there are times when I talk with someone from a similar background, or we have a place in common…like New Jersey or NYC.

And, I have had a few calls, where the customer was a stutterer, and as anyone with this affliction can tell you, the phone can present a big challenge…in the midst of many that are faced by those who stutter.

I talk all day long, and have done quite a bit of public speaking, but many are surprised to hear that I used to stutter pretty badly.

I am not a stuttering expert, and really don’t know what causes it, but in my case, I really believe that Karma played a role. In first grade, there was a kid named Pepe, who was a lot of fun to have around, because he was often acting-out and would do almost anything we dared him to do. This meant he was often in trouble, and when he was yelled at he got nervous and this brought out his stutter. Being kids, the milk of human kindness was in pretty short supply, and we made fun of Pepe’s stutter, comparing him to Porky Pig and mimic him.

Of course, it did not take long for me to start stuttering myself.

It felt like I was a broken record. The words were there, but I just couldn’t quite come out, no matter how hard I tried! They simply got stuck! Then, the kids started to make fun of me too…which was not as much fun as teasing Pepe.

At least this got me to stop teasing him, as I was not too young or ignorant to miss the irony. I had hoped the problem might pass when I stopped teasing him, but it persisted for years.

Looking back, I think the stutter sounded worse to me than it really was; however, it still made me self-conscious, and added to my growing social awkwardness and anxiety. It also led me to avoid speaking up in class and to be afraid of public speaking.

And the teasing continued as long as the stuttering remained a problem.

One thing that bothered me almost as much as the teasing, was when people would complete my sentences for me. Often, when it was clear that I was stuck on a word, someone would step in to help, assuming they knew what I was going to say. This would usually break the log-jam, but it was annoying that people…and especially because not all of these folks were well-meaning, some were just tired of waiting for me to finish what I was saying.

Even those who did mean well bugged me; however, I was more frustrated with myself for not being able to get my words out!

This went on until the summer between my freshman and sophomore years in High School. We were on vacation with family friends, when my friends’ father took me aside and told me about his own stuttering problem. This surprised me because he was a pastor, a very good preacher and speaker. He told me how he worked hard to overcome the problem, and then gave me a book, called “Stuttering Solved”. He told me that the book helped him to understand his stuttering and find new ways to face the problem, rather than just relying on tricks like avoiding certain words.

I was a bit embarrassed, but I had known this man most of my life, and saw him as a father figure, so I valued his advice, and actually read the book! In it, the author talked about well-known people in history who had a stutter and what they did to live with it. He talked about Winston Churchill and how he would say “ummm” before he began to speak, as a way of resetting himself. The book also talked about the King George VI of England, who worked hard to overcome his stuttering through practicing steps that would alleviate some of his anxiety about public speaking. Then, the author talked about the country singer: Mel Tillis, who stuttered terribly when he was talking, but had a smooth singing voice.

The author said that this intrigued him. He wondered why Mel could sing so well, but have such a hard time speaking, and after some research, consultation with experts and other stutterers, the author concluded that the trick was air-flow! Of course, the flow of air is crucial to speech, but what he figured out was that the way air flows as we are singing is very different from when we are speaking, and that if a stutterer could use the same process to speak as to sing the stutter almost completely went away.

Then, the author wrote, he actually practiced speaking this way, and found that his stutter disappeared.

Usually, these kinds of process-improvement steps don’t work for me, but in this case, it did! I found that by speaking as if I was singing, my voice became smoother and the stutter all but went away! The change was dramatic, and a relief.

It took some practice, but before long this way of speaking became a habit, and to this day, over 40 years later, I still try to speak with a lilt. This is not to say that I never stuttered again, even now, I can still get stuck on a word, especially when tired or stressed, but it is so much better.

My experience with stuttering (and with being bullied in general) has led me to feel more empathy towards others who are being picked on, and who are struggling with things they cannot necessarily control. This has been helpful when working with kids, on various project teams, and also while working in call-centers, where I have to field dozens of calls every day, from a variety of people.

I worked in my first call-center while in college, it was for an airline. I remember one call I took from a person who could hardly get a word out due to stuttering. One of my co-workers was trying to help, but was getting terribly frustrated with the person, which was evident…and made things worse. I overhead this, and as I was off of my call, offered to take over. The caller was struggling and almost in tears, until I explained that I understood, because I also stuttered, and eventually he calmed, slowed down and we were able to get his flight booked.

This and similar experiences with other stutterers, and with people for whom English is a foreign language have helped me both professionally and personally to have more patience and understanding. This empathy has allowed me to be able to listen to the stories of others, and to identify with the struggles they may be facing…which in turn has helped me to offer support these people the support they needed.

Having someone to connect with, someone who understands, makes a big difference and takes away the added stress of the situation.

And I can use this empathy in any case, as we are all facing our own issues, and often when my customers are difficult, it is because they are struggling with something unrelated to our services. While it may not be fair, or right, people who work Customer Service often play a surrogate role, we are people who can’t really fight back, giving some a ‘safe place’ to express their frustration over many things they feel powerless over.

Note, I don’t see this as healthy for anyone, and I think that there are better ways of dealing with the stress of life than venting on a stranger, but it happens all the same. When it does, I can see it as an opportunity to show these people that everything does not need to be a fight, and that there are better ways for us to treat each other.

However, having someone we can connect with, talk to and even vent with, can be very helpful, especially if they understand where we are coming from, because they have taken the same journey.

And this is one of the lessons I learned from stuttering, and from being adopted, and from struggling with Addiction: any challenge is easier to bear, if we do not have to face it alone.

The Biologicals

I have wondered about them my whole life, who they were, what happened, if they were still alive, and if I had any siblings.

As I grew up, I made up some fantastic scenarios, like imagining that they were rich or had become famous, powerful, or even notorious. However, as I got older, I my speculations became more realistic, and figured that they were either young people who got in over their heads, and/or that there was probably some kind of substance abuse involved.

When I was in my late teens, I learned that the latter was closer to the truth when my adoptive parents told me that I had been abused as an infant, which was why I was put up for adoption to begin with.

It turns out that the abuse was so bad that the neighbors called the police, who took me to the Emergency Room at what eventually became The University of Medicine & Dentistry of New Jersey. It was November of 1963, and I was six months old. While there, I was seen by a doctor, a well-known Orthopedic surgeon who knew the signs of abuse and took custody of me and treated my injuries free of charge, just as he had with other abused children…and he also made sure that my biological parents never got me back.

This was quite a feat for the early ‘60s, when people were not as aware of the impact of abuse, making it more difficult to take action.

When I heard this story, I finally began to see how fortunate I was to wind up with a good family, who had to tell me I was adopted, because I never felt like I was, in fact I think that even they forgot about my status.

However, in spite of knowing about the abuse, I still wondered about my birth parents.

Although a naturally curious person, my search for answers never became a burning desire, but I did some research based on what my parents knew about the Biologicals: supposedly one was into the arts, perhaps a graphic designer, they had lived in the Bronx (where I was born) and later moved to Newark NJ, where I was taken away from them. I was also told that the hospital I was born, was in the Tremont section of the Bronx, but it had burned down…and that was about all that I knew.

However, they also told me my original name…as they knew it, information which would turn out to be helpful.

As this was before the internet, my research was restricted to libraries (these were large buildings that were filled with books, magazines and all kinds of records – often municipal, though many were also found at schools). At the college where my dad taught, I searched through birth announcements in the micro-fiche of the New York Times, Daily News and the New York Post, from May of 1963, but found nothing.

The East Orange Public Library was actually less helpful, and a bit creepy, as it was a nice place for the homeless to hang out during the cold days of winter, who were better than the teenagers who went there to cut classes.

Later, when I moved to Staten Island and started working in Manhattan, I spent some time at the New York Public Library, where I looked up birth records, and actually found a listing that could have mine, everything fit, except that the name was wrong!

I later found out that my parents were given the wrong name by the adoption agency, it wasn’t my name, but that of my biological father.

After my trip to the library, my search stalled as life took me on all kinds of new adventures, including working on Wall Street, my own Substance Abuse, marriage, Sobriety and parenthood!

Then, in the late 90’s I read an article about the Kessler Institute, founded by the doctor who saved my life, and I reached out to the hospital telling my story as I knew it…and heard nothing, for a while. Then, one evening, I got a call from Dr. Kessler’s personal assistant, who sounded on the verge of tears as she told me “…you must have been one of the babies that I bought clothes for!”

She went on to explain that most of the babies that he saved from abuse arrived with nothing but a diaper and a blanket, meaning that she often had to go out and buy clothing for the children.

We had a nice conversation, but I did not learn anything new about the Biologicals, as she was retired and did not have access to any records, and even if she did, some of the information was considered private, and it would have been hard to figure out which baby I was. Dr. Kessler had helped many children, not only victims of abuse like myself, but also those with birth defects.

Inspired by this call I began to search the nascent (to me) internet, where I found a message board (this was way before Face Book) where I posted what information I had learned about my past on the site, asking if anyone knew my story. Then I pretty much forgot about it…for two years.

Two very eventful years, during which I lost a family member, my marriage, and discovered the joys of single parenting. Then, out of the blue, I got an email!

The writer introduced himself as ‘Bob’, and said that he thought he might be my biological father. In the email he confirmed some of what I wrote in the posting, and then he provided some information that I hadn’t supplied, but which fit what I already knew!

After a few more emails, we decided to have a phone call. During our phone conversations, Bob filled me in on some family history. He told me neither of them were artists; however, my biological mother had been an aspiring dancer. She was also troubled with mental health issues, and yes…substance abuse. During their marriage she fell deeper into Addiction, got involved with some “strange people” and eventually died from her Addiction before she turned 40 (years after I had been taken away). Of course, Bob made it a point to tell me that he had nothing to do with the abuse.

As Bob told it, he was working long hours in Manhattan while living in Newark, having left The Bronx shortly after I was born (he did not explain why, but my guess is that things were already getting out of hand there and drew the attention of the authorities). He claimed that the abuse happened while he was at work and that he had no idea (I was doubtful, considering the extent of my injuries, and knowing that it is easy to blame someone who is dead). Supposedly, the neighbors heard the noise, the sound of me being abused and screaming, and they finally had enough and called the Police.

I was about six months old when I was taken away from them.

I find it hard to believe that such abuse took place without Bob’s knowledge; however, I did not press the issue when we talked on the phone.

Bob also told me about his second wife, his two sons with her (my half-brothers), and his life since I was taken out of it. He told me about his family, who were all from the Fall River Massachusetts area, how his mother was still alive and in her 90s, etc.

He also mentioned that (as far as he knew) my ancestry was mostly Irish, Eastern European (possibly Ukrainian) and a smidge of French Canadian.

Note that I have yet to take one of those DNA tests to see if he told me the truth.

After talking with Bob on the phone a few times, I was confident enough in his story to agree to meet him. He explained that he would be driving up the Northeast Extension of the Turnpike while returning home to New York State, from a trip to Florida, and we decided it would be a good opportunity to meet.

Before the meeting, I went to see my mother (the one who raised me, put up with me and loved me) and told her about Bob. I remember that she was anxious about the meeting, at the time I wondered if it was because she was feeling jealous, but now I realize that she was afraid about opening old and painful wounds.

In a rare show of common sense, I figured that it would be best if I didn’t meet Bob alone, so I asked one of my best friends to come along with me, this also allowed me to take my daughter along…knowing that there would be safety in numbers.

Of course, I was feeling very anxious about the meeting myself, as I was not sure what to expect, and still had a lot of questions…like whether or not Bob was REALLY my Biological Father.

This, I had to take on faith…for the time being.

That meeting took place in March of 1999, at the restaurant attached to the Best Western in Quakertown, PA.

I do not remember who got there first, our crew or Bob and one of my half-brothers. I do remember that when my friend Al first saw Bob, he picked him out right away, leaning over and whispering to me “He looks just like you!”

The meeting was friendly, we had coffee and my daughter had ice cream, while we talked and I found out some more about my biological mother’s colorful family history!

It turns out that one of my great-uncles had been convicted of murder sometime in the late 20s, and was pulled from the clutches of the electric chair twice, before having his sentence commuted to life. All in all, he wound up spending over 20 years in prison. During this time, he was befriended by Lucky Luciano, after telling him about a plot to jump him in the yard (which made his prison time easier) and he became well-known for his art work, which lead to him having his being released by the Governor of New York, for having rehabilitated himself.

There was even a movie made about him, called Convicts 4, which came out in the early 60’s!

I also learned that my great-grandfather was a bridge-tender, who won a Carnegie Award for jumping into the river in an attempt to save two girls who had fallen in and were drowning…unfortunately, the prize was awarded posthumously, as there were no survivors…but the effort was appreciated.

Although meeting Bob and my half-brother was weird and awkward, it was still an enjoyable evening, and I got a copy of the book written about my great-uncle.

However, I came away from the meeting feeling as if Bob was disappointed that I did not have any money to share with him. Throughout our conversations he continued to tell me about his money woes and how he was waiting for money from a law suit to come through…as far as I know it never did.

Shortly after the meeting, I went to see my mother, and I got down on my knees to thank her for all she and my father had done for me. I could see that I had dodged a bullet when I was taken away from my Biologicals, and adopted by my real family.

A few months after our meeting, Bob’s second wife died suddenly, and I felt it would be nice for me to go to the memorial, and offer some support. It wasn’t a bad visit – considering the reason for it, but it was still awkward, and the last time I saw Bob and my half-brothers.

And it reminded me once again of how very fortunate I was to have been made a part of my family, and I actually felt badly for my half-brothers.

I have only had a few other contacts with Bob, and have not heard from either of my half-brothers since our brief meetings. Not long after his wife passed, Bob sent a series of emails about how he had gotten involved with a Russian woman he met on the internet, and supposedly they married. It seems like she was looking forward to coming to America, but he had other ideas, as he moved to Russia for a while…I assume to escape creditors.

I got one more note from Bob, after many years of silence, when I received Birthday card that was printed in Russian, but had been mailed from North Carolina, it included good wishes, but no news…and that is where the story ends.

Or at least that is what I thought.

I came to the point where I figured that Bob had probably shuffled off this mortal coil; however, I got one of those DNA tests for Christmas, and wasted no time in submitting it. As a result, I reconnected with my half-brothers once again.

I began exchanging emails, and found out that Bob was still with us, and had a birthday coming up, and he wanted me to help celebrate. Therefore, I found myself making plans to travel down to Baltimore in mid-March, to meet up with a family I did not know.

Of course, I had not planned on a pandemic hitting around the same time. I was hesitant about making the trip, but realized that I was not sure where the crisis would leave us…so I went any way. As it turned out, it was the right move, and everything went on lock-down about a week later.

I drove down on a Sunday, and the weather and traffic were in my favor. I got there before my two step brothers, and got a chance to actually sit and talk with Bob. I took advantage of the time to ask questions about what happened to me, about my mother, and what he knew. Of course, he was not very forthcoming with details, and continued to tell me that he had not known the extent of the damage that had been done to me.

He did tell me more that my mother’s problems in life, and how he was not even sure how she died, but that no one really seemed to care about her at the end.

I was also able to offer him forgiveness…if he accepted it or not, I do not know.

What I do know is that before you can accept forgiveness, you must first admit that to what was done. I am not sure he can do that, but I did see the sadness in his eyes, and that was enough for me. Enough for me to think that maybe he understood, even if he did not say anything.

And when it comes right down to it, I have to remember that forgiveness is not about acceptance, just as it is not about saying that what was done is now all right…as if it never happened. Forgiveness is more about letting go of resentment, putting the past to rest.

After this, I also got to spend some time with my half-brothers, and get to know them…a little. We actually got to have a nice lunch together, along with Bob’s current wife, a woman from Russia, and one of their girlfriends, who helped break some of the ice. Sharing a meal is a good way to get to know each other.

I am glad I got the chance to reconnect with these people, this other part of my life, and hope to get to know them better in the future, perhaps once the pandemic is behind us…or has, as least, become manageable.

After taking the first steps in getting to know my biological family, I have come to believe, even more strongly, that any speculation I engaged in about my REAL family, when I was younger, was a waste of time. I knew my real family all along, they were the ones who raised me, were there for me, put up with my Bull Shit and loved me in spite of it all.

These are the people who gave me the best parts of who I am…and for this I will always be grateful.

I hope yo u enjoyed this essay, to read more like it, you can purchase or download the book: Ordinary Adventures from Amazon:

https://www.amazon.com/Ordinary-Adventures-Essays-itself-ordinary/dp/B08BWGWDXW

It’s Up to Us

It’s not ALL his fault…

I do not like Trump…I think I have been pretty clear about this.

I do not believe that he’s well suited to be president, and has often taken advantage of his Bully Pulpit to spread division, fear and lies…lots of lies.

He is tone-deaf, can be mean-spirited, has Narcissistic tendencies and may be suffering from dementia (which, if true, actually makes me feel some sympathy for the man); however, I cannot lay the blame for all of our nation’s problems solely upon his shoulders.

While he is far from blameless, the United States was fucked-up long before Trump came along…even before his ancestors came from Germany and Scotland.

This is part of the reason why Trump got elected in the first place.

For a ‘nation of immigrants’, it is surprising that there is such an anti-immigrant sentiment in this country, but then we have a long tradition of fearing what is new and unfamiliar.

Sadly, our great nation has a long legacy of racism and fear: including slavery, genocide, Jim Crow, lynchings, oppression of the poor and sick, assassinations, mass shootings, and so on.

But then no nation is free from sin.

The important thing is that while this IS who we have been, it is NOT who we want to be! Our nation was founded on high ideas, by flawed people, and has always strived to be better…even some or our biggest blunders have some good intentions behind them…along with profits.

Unfortunately, we still have a way to go in order to become like “that shining city on the hill” that we have long hoped to be.

What Trump and his rhetoric of fear and division have done, is to give license to the racists in our midst to come slithering out from under their rocks, and into the daylight. He, and others like him, have inspired them to keep the torches lit, in a misguided and ignorant attempt to “take our country back”, when the arc of history has already passed them by.

So how can we move forward?

We know we cannot look to Trump or his Administration for help. He will not suddenly change his ways and face racism head-on. Keeping us divided, angry and afraid only serves his purpose and strengthens his base of support.

And there is little appetite among the rest of the Republicans in our government to speak up in the face of racism. We cannot count on them to face these demons either, like Trump, they too have to play to their base.

For those who are looking to the Democrats to save us, keep looking…some of their hearts are in a good place but it also helps their cause to keep the pot stirred, especially during an election cycle. Being the opposition party can fire up their base as well.

Many in the media have a desire to tell us the truth, but this is a business that runs on ratings, and the more sensational the story, the higher the ratings…and this has been true since the founding of our nation.

“Remember the Maine”

When all is said and done, the truth is that these problems are ours to solve. All of us working together to face the demons that plague us, and this includes the politicians, and those we do not agree with, or even like.

The question is whether or not we are up to the task?

Addressing our ills will be uncomfortable, who cares to examine our own faults, let alone face them? It can also be dangerous. At the very least, we run the risk of getting into a nasty on-line fight with those who disagree, and who will stop at nothing to prove their point.

At the worst, well, it can be pretty bad, standing up to the racism and hatred in our society has not always had positive results for those who rose to face the challenge.

Yet, our task is not as daunting as it may appear…because when we look at the big picture, there are more people who want to see our nation become that shining city, than who wish to have us return to a time when ‘minorities’ where kept in their place.

The truth it is the hard-core racists and white supremacists who are in the minority now.

There is strength in numbers and to paraphrase, in these numbers we can be the change we want to see in the world. We can vote, we can even run for office. Not only can we inspire those in power, we can take control of our own power, in order to change the tone.

Our hope lies in our unity, as a people who want to make our nation and our world a better place. We will not always get along or agree, but that is how growth happens…by listening to each other, which leads to learning from each other.

We just need to stop our bickering and put aside our desire to always be right, and practice listening to each other.

It will not be easy, because we have been divided into our teams…but it will help once we realize that there is only one team, that we are all in this together…and that it is up to us to make things better.

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?”