Free Frenzy

The line extended down the hall and was growing quickly with many people holding a ticket to receive their free item. There was an animated conversational energy resulting from the recent experience and the anticipation of the upcoming reward combined together with a tinge of anxiety that there could be a limited supply of the gift. Heads far back down the line would rise up and lean forward or move side to side, craning to see how the line was doing, hoping to catch a glimpse of the arrival of more gifts. Foremost in everyone's mind, "I can't wait to receive something for nothing." Soon the fear was alleviated for down the other end of the hall, a worker in uniform came hurrying with a large box full of the free things for the well-deserving lot. A large sigh of relief and pleasure emitted from the growing line of people at the sight of the box filled with gifts for all with a ticket. It was a great moment.

I brought my family to the Gaylord Texan motel in Grapevine for a brief respite from the normal activities of home. It is a magnificent motel replete with Christmas decorations, restaurants, coffee shops, entertainment, shopping, swimming, exercise, and many other sundry experiences for all ages. While a bit costly for our budget, it was nice to be pampered and to experience the pleasures and glitz of a nice hotel. As we drove into the garage (no, we did not pay extra for valet parking), I noticed many expensive and new automobiles. Checking in, I looked around to see leather briefcases, $1000 suits, expensive dresses, polished pricey shoes, and sensed a typical confidence and air often found in people to whom money is not an object. People who do not necessarily worry from paycheck to paycheck and who do not hesitate to spend $30-$50 for a meal. I felt myself not fitting in with the crowd!

Included among the many great qualities in the Gaylord Texan is the ICE exhibit, a large frozen world of aesthetically pleasing, stunning ice sculptures and ice events for everyone. For a minimal cost of $20 per adult, which included warm coverings for the 9 degree climate, we were treated to an incredible and beautiful, artistic world of ice. Afterward, we were each given a small card to redeem for our free gift for visiting the ICE world. So, like the others, we stood in line, in a near frenzy to turn in our card and be handed our free gift. It reminded me of those times at a football game when our team would score, and we would jump to our feet desperate to catch the little white plastic football thrown to the crowd by the cheerleaders; we were willing to risk life and limb to get that little ball. And so we stood in line for the free gift, and it was great.

So great, that I noticed several people drop their's in the trash, and my gift is still sitting in our room unopened. I asked several people I did not know why they were excited about the gift. Some weren't sure, some said they liked this particular item, and one person was honest and said, "It is just fun to get something for free, no matter what it is."

Actually, I do like gingerbread cookies and this one is good. It is especially good that I received it for free. Now it is time to check out of our room and finish paying $225 for the room, $10 for parking, $20 each for the ICE, and $61 for our dinner last night. I am so glad to have the gingerbread cookie for free!

Short story--The White Horse

The magnificent white horse stood atop the hill, a hill normally filled with sunflowers, berries, grass, and pecan tree saplings looking forward to future growth, but which today was barren due to having been subjected to difficult wintry conditions, and thought about his role in the world. He had no name for none was needed, no family for all were his family, no past and no future; he represented the moment as well as a lifetime of accomplishments and contributions, and he rarely thought of himself but rather considered his purpose to be entirely selfless as he traveled quickly and magically across the country seeking an opportunity for yet another change.

His character and personality were warm without excess, charming yet distant, compassionate without being contrived, positive but not unrealistically polished, energetic but calm, confident without arrogance, and mostly containing leadership qualities born of natural gifts rather than prescribed expectations. He was the perfect horse, the every-horse that all aspired to be, the stylized manifestation of everything right and good in the horse kingdom, he with his tall, muscular frame, long torso, and aesthetically appealing visual sensations. His was a comfortable existence due to his natural charisma, appearance, and mostly his remarkable leadership abilities, for all the other horses would follow him, listen to him, and trust him explicitly. Since being a leader of horses had very few requirements, he could spend most of his day standing on the hill, looking over his herd, and basking in his world of horse glory.

Such a naturally gifted leader would usually fall into a pattern of vanity whose actions would be self-serving without the risk of any kind of negative appearance in any sense; a leader who would be lacking in depth, a leader with little true leadership actions, replaced by superficial arrogance, and rooted in gross insecurities. But for the white horse, such an inane, useless practice and lifestyle were not within his character. Instead, he found himself avoiding the typical pomp, imitation, and outward glow that usually accompany such natural qualities, and preferred introspection and perception of the world, with a startling radar for finding goodness in others. He could stand on his hill, look out on the world, and see within the inner soul of other beings, and not just the inner being but, in fact, was able to block out and mentally eradicate any sign of corruption that existed on the peripherals.

And it became inevitable that the white horse, with his unusual ability to perceive strong personal character, became somewhat anxious to act on his sensitivities and to create, not simply prevent or stop a particular action, but rather to form a world that enabled all good things to come to pass. His ability to see and to know only goodness led him to reject the possibility of anything else to participate in his world, his perfectly designed world of excellence and moral rectitude, a world with a compass that disallowed any ethos not directly beneficial.

The anxiety and purpose that began to infiltrate his every thought process resulted in a magical ability to see through a portal into the world with a perceptive clarity that could not hide the truth of the hearts of the animals thus presented. Within moments that felt like seconds but which time could not define, the magnificent white horse landed in the midst of a world of wild dogs busy planning their next foray into rabbit kingdom where they could wreak havoc and have dinner. While the great horse respected the natural ecosystem of the world in some ways, in other ways he wanted good to triumph over evil regardless of the inclination of the perpetrators. Wondering the best way to accomplish the most good, and trying to decide whether to destroy the wild dogs, or to lift the rabbits out of danger, he elected instead to change the hearts of the dogs and create a small but Utopian world of mutual cooperation between the entities involved.

As the dogs viciously attacked the rabbit kingdom and the horrific assault began, our white horse brought the dogs to a standstill with a strong command and maybe a life-altering emotional education that could not be seen but was felt by every dog. So the dogs abruptly changed their purpose and elected to work with the rabbits rather than eat them. It was a strange occurrence and one that dissolved the hate and emphasized the love and was not necessarily a technique the horse used in all situations, but in this particular case, it was effective, and caused the result intended.

Our magnificent white horse left the world, went through the portal, and returned to his post to give more thought to how to use his powers of perception and change. He stood on the hill and felt both burdened and liberated by his character and his gifts, recognizing that with such abilities, came the need for more wisdom. For as the great book says, "To Whom Much is Given, Much is Required."

Christmas Blues

I have been feeling a little blue as this Christmas season progresses, and I'm not sure why. Maybe it is the stress of getting presents for all my family members. Or maybe it is the general busyness that accompanies the life of a musician at this time of year. Or perhaps the blues are a reaction to the constant red and green that seems to permeate the clothes, decorations, cards, ornaments, and even the cars. It seems that every time I look somewhere I see green and red. The other night, as I walked into a theater to experience an enjoyable evening of Christmas Gospel music, I felt accosted by the color red and the shining festive glitter that emanated from the people in the audience and extended to the poinsettias on the stage. It was just too much for my brain, and I felt that odd but recurring desire to escape into a world of books and thinking where colors do not seem to matter. Yet, at the same time, it was an overtly fun concert, well performed, thrilling, warm, and entertaining, the perfect event for this time of year.

So why am I a little down? Is it due to some kind of insecurity on my part? Maybe it is the fear of tomorrow that seeps into my thought process--fear of failure, fear of success, fear of Joel's future, and for that matter all my children's futures; not really fear, more like curiosity or anticipation maybe. Perhaps my blues are caused from the simple concern of getting everything done or leaving something out. What if I forget a friend or a family member or get the wrong gift or spend too much on one person and not enough on another? Or run out of money before buying presents for everyone. Or the fear that my truck with high mileage decides to hang it up. Or maybe I have the blues because I am worrying about little things and in the deep recesses of my mind, I realize how silly it is to be concerned over things that don't really matter.

Or maybe it is the sense that we are somehow missing the boat in all this Christmas stuff. While it is a little cliched to attack the glitz and glitter and excessive materialism of this time of year, it is difficult not to do so, for in truth, Christmas should be about celebrating the birth of Jesus Christ and honoring the life of the greatest man to ever walk the earth, a man born of a virgin, a man who spent 30 years preparing for an incredible 3 year ministry, and a man who gave of himself so others may live. A man who changed the world and continues to have vast influence over our lives individually and collectively. The son of God, the Lord of my life.

There is nothing wrong with celebrating and I enjoy it as much as anyone. To celebrate can mean many things from loud music, to dancing, to general festivities, to food and candy, concerts, excitement, joy, affirmation, sharing, and most of all, openly expressing happiness in a multitude of ways. This year, however, I seem to have a monastic desire, almost a requirement, to celebrate quietly in a tranquil setting that seeks to calm the fears, quell the anxiety, envelope the inner senses, feed the soul, and reject the vain shallowness that pervades our cosmetic culture and desultory delusions. But, you know what? It is not that simple, for I really do not want to escape that which is the core of my world. My computer, my cell phone, my family, my music, my things, my talents, my friends. All shape me into who I am, for I like my shallow life, and, conversely, I like my profound life. I like the journey of existence that takes me from materialism to spiritualism, from the concrete to the abstract, the known and obvious to the unknown and subtle. All are important, and all provide sustenance for our Christmas experience. Ironically, being selfish can provide the means to becoming selfless, which ultimately could be what Christmas is all about.

So I conclude this odd essay ambiguously by encouraging our holiday time to be an acceptance of festivities, the color red, expressive joy, excessive spending, sharing, wrapping, shopping, dancing (figuratively of course since dancing is not a personal gift) and singing. But, no doubt, I also will find the time to meditate, to supplicate, to pray in abject humility, and to dedicate myself to inner peace and soul serenity, free of the cacophonous discord that seems to balance precariously on the precipice of an emotional abyss, that either sends a person on a free fall with no end, or supplies the foundational fortitude necessary for success at any time of the year.

Christmas--buy your presents, receive your gifts, celebrate loudly and have fun, but do not forget to take a moment or two for reflection of the depth of Christ, His life, His sacrifice, His teachings, and His purpose. Coincidentally, as I write this entry, I feel lifted out of the blues and into the reds! Time to be happy.

Then and Now--1970 and 2007

The crowd roared as I was fouled again and stepped up to the line for my 12th free throw attempt of the game. Except for the first attempt, I had not missed and was about to hit my 11th and 12th in a row, much to the chagrin of the other team and to the delight of my many fans cheering loudly for my success. I was a good player and found success at the free throw line. I went home after the game feeling refreshed and happy, and awoke the next day anxiously awaiting recess and an after school practice game.

Rarely are fouls called and there is no free throw shooting. Most of the playing is geared toward managing to stay on your feet from the body smashes as you make a poor attempt to drive toward the goal, or to prevent the other guy from scoring. It is brutal under the boards and not for the faint of heart (although fainting does seem like a viable option at times!). I go home totally exhausted, and the next day brings with it aches and soreness in virtually every muscle and joint identifiable, and some that did not previously exist.

The constant affirmation built confidence, and I felt myself bursting with pride with the high fives and the encouragement from the coach and the other players. Mistakes were overlooked and the slightest good was elevated to heroic status. Even the other team members would shake your hand at the end of the game. How you played the game was more important than the final result. Your effort was rewarded with "good hustle" or "way to go."

There is no affirmation, only criticism. The slightest moment of pride is quickly and aggressively destroyed by college students intent on making the old men look bad. Only a final victory is respected and nobody cares how you just played. The goal is to win. Granted, the college students have a different purpose from the college professors whose primary desire is to have fun and get some exercise. Still, testosterone pressure inevitably sets in and winning becomes the secret desire in the end. Your effort only means something to you, nobody else cares.

If you get hurt, there is someone near to help you, a coach, mom and dad, another parent, a teammate, or a friend. There seems to be an unlimited supply of bandaids, hugs, ice, and TLC for every challenge encountered. Of course, we all had knee pads, elbow pads, and wrist bands which not only protected our bodies but were quite fashionable and necessary for personal success. Our clothes were clean, shiny, and our shoes were all white.

You are not permitted to get hurt or to show pain. If you fall, get up. Nobody will help you. If you can't play anymore, get off the court, someone wants your spot. Stop sniveling and play. Wear what you want to wear, but no pads allowed. Fashion means nothing. Of course, in my case, I wear an old, faded Dennis Rodman jersy. It is to send a message that I am a rebounder, unfortunately not a good one, unlike the real Rodman. No, before you ask, I am not covered in tattoos, nor am I interested in riding a motorcycle wearing nothing but my birthday suit.

We extolled the virtues of Jerry West, Pete Maravich, Wilt Chamberlain, Lew Alcindor (soon to become Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, and Oscar Robertson. Of course, being from El Paso, the name Nate Archibald was on every tongue, and the Harlem Globetrotters were without question the greatest players on the planet. We argued in practice and didn't always like each other, but Dad was always around to offer some valued wisdom after practice, wisdom and an arm around the shoulder fixed all problems.

The college professors are past the hero worship stage and are painfully, or maybe joyfully, aware that their career path is not basketball, but the college students seem to have a kind of latent inner desire to be picked up by the Spurs or the Mavericks. We occasionally argue, and nobody offers any wisdom, but when the game is over, our natural maturity takes over and we leave our problems on the court--okay, for the most part anyway.

After basketball season, we got out our baseball gloves, found the balls, asked Dad to play catch and started getting ready for baseball season. We bought some new cleats (before you could screw them on and off), we asked for a new glove and a new bat (before there were $200 bats), and began to extol the virtues of Johnny Bench, Willie Mays, Al Kaline, and Tom Seaver.

We play basketball all year when we can get away from the office. The college students play all year and hope no teachers show up. If teachers do come, the students give each other the glance that says, "Now is our chance, let's get the old guys." We, the teachers, show up anyway and play hard until we cannot move, then we return to our offices in misery. We remind ourselves that it is good for us to get some exercise, and we know we will return for more punishment. In truth, I am a less than average player and rarely score. I give up points, lose the ball, get confused, worn out, and having little to no ability, nobody wastes the effort to cover me. Yet, I love the game and enjoy the opportunity. It would be nice to be 10 years old again, but 47 isn't too bad either!

Typical Conversation

Dad: Hey Jordan, Porgy and Bess will be at Fair Park in Dallas at the end of February. Do you want to go?
Jordan: Sounds good to me.
Joel: What?
Dad: Porgy and Bess will be at Fair Park in Dallas. Are you interested in going also?
Joel: Maybe. Will there be an orchestra?
Dad: Yes
Joel: Will it be big?
Dad: I think so.
Joel: Will there be flutes?
Dad: Yes.
Joel: Clarinets?
Dad: Yes.
Joel: Oboes?
Dad: Yes.
Joel: Bassoons?
Dad: Yes.
Joel: Saxophones?
Dad: Not sure, but I think so.
Joel: Drums?
Dad: Yes.
Joel: Trumpets and Trombones?
Dad: Yes.
Joel: French Horns?
Dad: Yes.
Joel: Tubas?
Dad: Yes.
Joel: Violins and Violas and Cellos and the big, gigantic bass?
Dad: Yes, lots of instruments.
Joel: Will there be an organ?
Dad: I doubt it.
Joel: How come?
Dad: Usually there is not an organ in an orchestra playing for a show, but I am not sure about this one.
Joel: What about a piano?
Dad: Maybe so.
Joel: Oh, good.
(a moment of silence)
Joel: Will there be a tenor?
Dad: Yes, lots of singers.
Mom: Joel, it is an opera. Of course there will be tenors.
Joel: Lots of tenors?
Dad: Well, I think so.
Joel: How many tenors?
Dad: I don't know.
Joel: Probably, like about 6 or 8 or 10 tenors or 20 tenors.
Dad: Probably not that many.
Joel: A baritone?
Dad: Yes.
Joel: A soprano?
Dad: Yes. Probably a choir too.
Joel: A big choir with lots of people?
Dad: Maybe, but not too big since there is a stage.
Joel: How big is the choir?
Dad: Not sure, but it will be good.
Joel: How many are in the choir?
Dad: I really am not sure.
Joel: Who will be singing?
Dad: Not sure, but most of them will be of African-American descent like Gershwin intended.
(more silence)
Joel: How far away is it? Can we stay in a motel?
Dad: About 3 hours but we will probably not stay in a motel.
Joel: I like motels with pools. Indoor pools.
Dad: I know but they cost money and it will be enough just to pay for the show.
Joel: How much?
Dad: I am not sure yet.
Joel: About, like, $5.00?
Dad: More like $50 or $75 probably.
Joel: Oh. I have $50 but I want to buy a pin-stripe suit. Where will we eat?
Dad: Joel, I just don't know. It is not happening for several months and we don't usually plan our eating places that far in advance.
Joel: Can we eat Mexican food?
Dad: Maybe so.
Joel: With lots of chips and tacos and enchiladas and hot sauce?
Dad: Probably but let's don't think about that right now.
Joel: Okay. What time will we leave?
Dad: Maybe 3 or so.
Joel: What should I wear?
Dad: Well, I guess nice clothes but you don't need to worry about that right now.
Joel: Can I wear a tie?
Dad: Yes.
Joel: Should I wear a sweater or maybe a black shirt and tie?
Dad: Yes, but since it is a long time, let's don't talk about that.
(long silence)
Joel: Are there lots of songs?
Dad: Yes, like "Bess You Is My Woman Now" and "Summertime" and "I Got Plenty of Nothin"
Joel: Those are good songs.
Dad: Great songs.
Joel: Great songs. But I might not go.
Dad: (after thinking about that) Well, we'll talk more about it later.
Joel: But I might go.
Dad: Okay.
Joel: But I might stay home and eat Mexican food.
Dad: Maybe that is best.
Joel: But I want to see the orchestra.
Dad: Joel, let's talk more about this later. Right now it is time to eat.
Joel: Okay.

Thus is a typical conversation with our 18 year old autistic son, Joel!

Whirlwind of Wonder

It was a thrilling evening in all respects. Jacob and I jumped in the car on Wednesday afternoon and headed to the Metroplex for the Stevie Wonder concert. On the way, we stopped for a delicious dinner of shrimp and steak, followed by a few minutes at a men's clothing store, and finally made our way to the theater for the concert. We hurried to our seats to await the entrance of the immensely talented musician, Stevie Wonder. When he came on stage, rather he was led onto the stage due to being blind since birth, I felt myself in awe at a 57 year old man whose career has spanned decades and generations. Beginning as a youth in 1963, with his first hit, Fingertips (Pt. 2), and having his first greatest hits album in 1967 at the age of 17, Stevie has had an enviable career due to several characteristics not found in many pop music artists.

One of the most striking elements of Stevie's music, and meets my own criterion for musical excellence, is his harmonic invention. His music, like most pop music, emphasizes the I, IV, and V chords, but unlike other popular music, he feels free to alter that system at will by adding to the chords, changing their texture, and moving freely away from the expected progression by shifting to exotic scales, modal inflection, and diminished passing chords. In other words, his music stays alive and fresh due to his harmonic creativity, balance of chords, and musical perspicacity.

Another trait of Stevie's music is melodic unpredictability and wide tessitura of vocal range. His use of melismas and ability to cover a wide range in a short time make his music difficult to perform even for the most advanced singer. Large leaps, falsetto interjections, and extended vowel sounds are juxtaposed with quick and complex articulations of words and sounds sometimes requiring a delivery that seems almost impossible. In addition, Stevie will often ornament his melodies with arpeggios, appogiaturas, escape tones, and grace notes that add great depth to the music but once again demand great flexibility from the singer.

His musical skills include high level harmonica playing with a unique and individual style, piano and keyboard playing again at a high level, syncopated jazz/rock rhythms, and an incorporation of electronic sounds including a synthesizer and a voice box. Stevie's odd blend of rock and jazz including blues, ragtime, folk, and ethnic music has allowed his music to transcend cultural implications and move through and beyond the dated sounds of each generation. During the 1960s, his sound was distinctly representative of the time; during the 1970s, again his music was characteristic of the time; on into the 80s, 90s, and finally the 21st century, Stevie Wonder continues to alter his approach to music giving him a sense of timelessness and appropriateness for all ages.

Unlike many popular musicians who rely on someone else to write their music, Stevie has written and performed most but not all of his most well-known works, and he continues to generate original compositions at a prolific rate. Comfortable in a large band setting or alone at the piano, Stevie Wonder seems adept at an incredible variety of styles and genres. This particular concert demonstrated a remarkable blend of old and new, fast and slow, complex and simple but all done tastefully, artistically, and mostly musically. The evening progressed quickly and I did not want it to end. Songs like Sir Duke, You and I, Ribbon in the Sky, Blowin' in the Wind, My Cherie Amour, You Are the Sunshine of My Life, Superstition, I Wish, Livin' for the City, Signed Sealed Delivered, As, and many others thrilled the audience of over 5,000 of all ages. While I enjoyed every minute of the experience of seeing and hearing Stevie Wonder, there is no doubt that the concert was topped by the opportunity to spend time with my oldest son Jacob who enjoyed it as much as I did.

Musicals

Like many people I know, I love musicals. Yes, it is true that in many ways they are unrealistic. People on dates do not break into song accompanied by a full orchestra, and I have yet to be in a library where dancing occurred on the tables, or seen gangsters doing ballet on the streets, or witnessed a forgotten world that only shows itself once a day every hundred years, or experienced a group of people floating up from unbridled laughter and happiness. And yet, while none of these events are a normal part of everyday life, at the same time, a musical can lift us beyond the drudgery, the mundane, the inane, and the malicious malapropisms that seem to occupy most of our attention.

A good musical reaches into our emotional wing, our sensitivities, our heart and soul and takes us into a new territory we often cannot seem to find on a daily basis. In school we emphasize the attainment of cognitive facts, application of logic, intellectual development, passing standardized exams, scientific data, knowledge, truth, awareness, mechanics, reasoning, understanding, and comprehension. All these things are important and without them, we would not have the great musicals that we can all enjoy. Our enjoyment is dependent on the skill and knowledge of someone else who wrote the story, acted the part, wrote the music, created the film, produced the work, designed the stage, dealt with the lighting, sound, and the endless vicissitudes of events that go into making a musical.

But in the end, we can simply bask in the pleasure of all this work and sit back and enjoy a musical in all its magnificence and glory. Although I could change my mind at some point, I believe that West Side Story is the greatest musical ever made. I realize this kind of statement is bold and arguable but I base this on several factors including story, design, musical quality, juxtaposition of elements, emotional content, and depth of presentation. Yet, each musical seems to reach a different emotion. When I am looking for artistic expression and gut-wrenching emotion, West Side Story meets that musical and aesthetic need.

Last night, however, we watched The Music Man. A delightful musical about a con artist who sets out to "sell" a town on the idea of a boys band. The budding romance of the music man and the librarian, the creation of a town barbershop quartet, the sarcastically charming practices of the ladies club, the blossoming of a little boys' verbal abililties, and mostly, the transformation of the salesman, come together with engaging melodious music that although not overly profound, makes up for in musical wit and memorable lines. My own favorite song is "Marian the Librarian," although "Till There Was You" certainly has some fascinating chromatic alteration and difficult melodic leaps. It is a great musical and worth seeing over and over. Robert Preston does a great job of "snowing" the town and then getting "caught" himself.

My personal list of other favorites is almost too long to mention but here are a few: Oliver, Phantom of the Opera, Les Miserables, My Fair Lady, Sound of Music, Mary Poppins, Singing in the Rain, Brigadoon, South Pacific, Oklahoma, Cinderella, Showboat, Fiddler on the Roof, On the Town, Wizard of Oz, Into the Woods, An American in Paris, and many others. Anytime you need something to see on a Friday night, check out a musical. You won't be disappointed.

Ferocious Feline

The horror was evident as I charged into the garage, having heard a horrendous screeching sound, and witnessed a sight that is indelibly printed on my mind forever. A vicious black cat was in the corner of the garage on top of Harrison, our light colored and favorite cat, digging his dark claws and feasting on the live flesh of our gentle pet. In my mind, I saw or maybe felt the terrifying fear and anxiety of Harrison as the sharp teeth of the black cat sank deliberately into the fur, the hide, and the gristle of the muscles of the back. It explained the large gashes Harrison had all over his body and explained why Harrison seemed to avoid venturing out of the garage. I knew right then it was time to do something about the black cat, time to protect Harrison, time to look out for the weak, time to make a decision, and time to interfere.

But, wait. Maybe I should step out of this situation and let the Darwinian concept of "survival of the fittest" take over and rule the world of nature. Who am I to interrupt the flow of the ecosystem and interfere with the natural selection process that seems to reward the strong and the mighty regardless of the perceived ethical dilemma of the moment? Besides, what difference does it really make if one cat kills another cat in a despicable manner? They are cats, for goodness sake. They do not understand quality of life nor address the moral position of their actions. They do not know cause and effect, consequences, assess behavior or reason, evaluate, synthesize, or make decisions based on facts. They operate by reacting to their own base needs for survival. They are animals and the animal world has its own value system apart from any intellect, moral code, or consideration of each other.

Yet there is something inhumane about allowing a defenseless creature to be overtaken by a vicious predator, an animal whose prime concern seems to be to dominate all others through forceful takeover of any obstacle in the pathway toward total control. I knew that while I had a choice, since everyone has a choice, I really had no choice, due to my own nature, but to protect the weak and counter the evil that was being perpetrated on our cat named Harrison. It took a few days, but eventually I caught up to the black cat, interfered, and put a stop to the terrible behavior. The black cat is no longer a threat and is now out of the picture. This ends the story of the black cat and his reign of evil terror, his pervasive darkness that found manifestation by inflicting pain on the weak, but it does not end the story of our obligation, our responsibility, and our need to offer security to those who cannot provide their own protection.

Next week we seek guardianship of our son Joel. Most people earn some rights at the age of 18. The right to make their own decisions, to run away, get married, vote, and to bear arms. But, in the case of Joel, we want to retain the level of guardianship that is our right as parents. We do this not to take away his freedoms nor to restrict his potential. Not to govern his every step nor to insist he become a certain kind of person. We seek to be his official guardians to help him make appropriate decisions and to protect him from the black cats of the world, from the rare but penetrating evil darkness that if allowed to fester could eat away unchecked at our autistic son. We seek to be his guardians because we love him and want only good to come his way. For most of us, we learn from adversity and we learn from challenges; but for Joel, he learns through example and through affirmation. It is our job to design a world of affirmation, a world of hope, a world of optimism, and mostly a world of love. But, ironically, we do this for Joel because he does so much more for us by making our world a better place. Thanks Joel!

Mahler and More, Pt. I

My enchantment with the music of Gustav Mahler began many years ago when my brother began listening to Mahler's First Symphony and associated it with the sunrise and the beginning of each new day. The symphony is magnificent in scope, containing moments of great power, other times of serene tenderness, raw energy, dark mystery, fear, joy, confusion, and leading to sheer exhilaration at an ending worthy of complete expression of all that is good and affirming. Using sophistication of orchestration, musical craft, creative expansion of traditional harmonic practice, and complexity of expression, Mahler's music is all encompassing both musically and philosophically.

But this blog entry is not intended as an entry specifically about Mahler. Instead, it is meant to examine how to apply and comprehend Mahler's eclectic and exhaustive philosophical approach to life. Not that I am not tempted to write on Mahler and his music. His music continues to fascinate me, reach me, and I have yet to feel I have truly captured or understood all that his music entails or all that Mahler was trying to communicate. I could easily write several essays on each symphony and could spend an entire year devoted to careful study of each symphony and each piece that came from his pen. His considerable experience in conducting and interpretation found fruition in colorful orchestration, complex counterpoint, and melodic expansion beyond that of his contemporaries Anton Bruckner and Richard Wagner.

One characteristic of Mahler's music is the use of folk song for many of his melodies, folk songs rich in melodic interest, singable, heart-felt, buoyant rhythms, music of and for the common people. He, of course, was not the first nor last to use folk songs, a technique dating back to the inception of music; but using folk songs in his symphonic output was more than a compositional technique but instead became an extension of his world-view and philosophical approach to the arts. He was not necessarily attempting to create music that demonstrated how sophisticated he could make peasant music nor was he trying to educate the masses by finding a common ground and taking them to new territory. Mahler, rather, was attempting to reach all people.

Whether he accomplished his goal or not is debatable, but what is intriguing is to decipher his musical mission that he undertook by mingling the concepts of folk music and cultivated music, the masses and the elites, the uneducated and educated, the sheep and the goats, the thinkers and the laborers! Mahler's ultimate musical offering as seen in his symphonic output as well as his songs for voice was to create art that could be experienced openly and accessibly by all. It is art at its finest and the personal achievement of a brilliant man who embraced and journeyed with all of culture from the most commonplace to the most sublime.

In the next segment, let's look at Symphony No. 3 in more detail and examine it in terms of a general philosophy of life's experiences and purpose.

Salt Lake City trip

I just returned from a trip to Salt Lake City, Utah, where music executives from institutions all over the country gathered for a National Association of Schools of Music convention. When I was not in meetings or sessions involving music assessment or strategic planning, I walked about the city to experience the culture, visit the bookshops, see the visitors center at the Temple, and attend a concert. Thoroughly enjoying the environment of friendly people, warm smiles, thoughtful actions, and helpful attitudes, I found myself going from place to place full of a natural curiosity born from a blending of pragmatism and idealism that makes me wonder about the past and future of objects, events, and people. It is always a joy to dwell on where someone or something has been but it is pure fun to project potential and to anticipate what the future holds.

So I wandered about and wondered about all that I could see and began to think on all I could not see as I experienced this new and special world of Salt Lake City. The bookstores had that anticipated smell and feel of old books, yellowing pages, dusty covers, and the mystery of the wisdom of the ages one finds and experiences in libraries and old bookstores. I was mesmerized by the volume of books old and new, fiction and non-fiction, and not surprised to see an emphasis on books referencing geneaology and Mormon history as well as journals, bibliographies, and encyclopedias.

Each store was a treasure of surprise and expansiveness belying its narrow entry point and unassuming appearance. One antique store in particular had a narrow wooden door that opened into a small room filled with old furniture that caused created a sense of claustrophobia and discomfort. While my inclination was to smile at the proprietor and leave quickly, I decided to proceed further to see what magic may appear. To my surprise another narrow opening led to a cavernous room filled with a wide assortment of antiques, books, musical instruments, artifacts, jewelry, and an endless number of collectibles for anyone's interest level. While days could be spent in the store, it was time to move on. A quick stop at a violin making shop was enlightening as was a brief conversation with a homeless man seeking some financial help to ride the tram.

Up the street was the famous Cathedral of the Madeleine, a stunning work of architecture with a spectacular display of sculpture, color, archways, and aesthetic beauty that was breathless, in a dizzying display of religious iconography guaranteed to elicit an emotional response from even the most objective personality. A wooden floor, a grand piano, a large pipe organ with trumpet pipes, a tall ceiling, inlaid wooden sculpted plates, stained glass windows, and marble cenotaphs, all come together to form one of the most magnificent structures I have ever experienced. Although not Roman Catholic, I felt led to light a candle as I prayed and reflected on God's plan for me, my family, the world at large.

Prior to entering the Mormon Tabernacle for a concert of the music of William Walton with the combined choirs and orchestra of Brigham Young University the University of Utah in the Mormon Temple, I decided to enter the visitors center at Temple Square. I was moved by the stunning religious art, the refined atmosphere, the domesticity of the furnishings, and the juxtaposition of old and new, including modern technology used to introduce and embrace the past. The general friendly and cordial atmosphere of the people was infectious, inviting, and strangely comforting as I toured this facility in curiosity and wonder at the Mormon world and its obvious influence on so many.

The Tabernacle itself was beautiful and the music was performed with great accuracy and musical expression from the beginning to the end. The person I sat beside mentioned he attended at least one concert each week and loved all of them. It was a great experience and one I would like to have again someday.

While most of my time was spent in professional sessions related to music and administration, my most pleasant memories are of the city itself and the time with friends. On this Thanksgiving day, I give thanks to God for the many blessings, my family, my friends, and the goodness He has imparted to us.

Reunion Seminar report

I just returned from Waco, in the beautiful new structure called Brooks Residential College, Senior Commons Room, on the Baylor University campus, where I participated in a reunion seminar of the Baptist Leadership conference. This was a gathering of leaders and interested parties from Baptist higher education institutions to discuss the future of Baptist higher education. As a part of this seminar, we were encouraged to read the recently published book, The Future of Baptist Higher Education, a book published by Baylor Press and edited by Donald Schmeltekopf and Dianna M. Vitanza. This marvelous book containing essays by various Baptist academic leaders is not intended as a prescription for any perceived ailments infecting Baptist schools, nor do we find a blueprint for success in Baptist higher education, but, instead, we do find outstanding essays framing the challenges in Baptist higher education with proposed philosophical and pragmatic solutions for the future. It is well worth reading and good for many hours of great discussion!

Beginning with a speech outlining the differences in thought expressed in the book, the day progressed quickly with great intellectual intensity infused with Christian compassion and optimism for the future. The presentations were clear, thoughtful, prodigious, and transforming without falling into a sense of rebellion or radical departure from the general tenants of academic higher education. The first session was led by prolific author and leader of religious thought and philosophical practice, Robert Benne, and supplemented by a response from current Houston Baptist University president, Robert Sloan. While the content of the session was delivered with the speaker's usual unbounded optimistic style, the underlying path was mildly disconcerting with hints of concern, and firm reminders and expectations for institutional adjustments.

The response to the opening session was not unexpectedly supportive due to being in agreement with what had been said, yet the respondent's approach quickly moved into an exciting design for excellence in Baptist higher education. With an accurate but dramatic style, both presenters offered a thorough analysis of the value and necessity of addressing the issues of being a Baptist institution. As all great lectures tend to do, this session and its response elicited great curiosity and questions from all participants in the room. We were almost disappointed to break for lunch which meant putting a hold on the current discussion.

Following a light but delicious fare, we began again in groups to discuss more specific issues facing Baptist schools. In what ways are our institutions Christian? How do we embody the vision of Baptist faith in our schools? What should be the significance of the Baptist vision in faculty hiring, faculty development, and the curriculum? We dealt with these questions and more and had some fruitful and revealing conversations on these issues. All participants were congenial, concerned, pleasant, intelligent, and progressive in their comments, and although the conclusions were somewhat nebulous, the journey toward those conclusions was wrapped in hegemonic Christianity, compassionate visioning, energetic posturing, and vital philosophical truth-seeking.

It is difficult to condense a seminar into a few sentences and impossible to summarize the joys and challenges of Baptist higher education into a capsule of information; and yet, as the day progressed, I recognized once again that being a Baptist is being a Christian with individual freedom. Because of soul competency and church autonomy, we have the individual and corporate freedom to interpret scripture and formulate a church according to our own prescription under the authority of Jesus Christ our Lord and Savior. This very freedom, however, makes institutional definition subjective and independent which in turn can result in a lack of purpose and specific expectations. The very freedoms we enjoy as Baptists could also be our undoing were we to wander away from the distinctives of our faith. In the end, I realize that the essence of being a Baptist creates a set of dangers and potential problems that at the same moment creates another set of glorious possibilities. The necessary convergence of personal liberty and institutional mission come together to form our incredible Baptist schools. It is important to continue to value and encourage Christian action within the guidelines of what it means to be a Baptist.

Being of an objective, goal-directed personality and practice, there might have been a time when I felt overwhelmed by the questions presented and baffled by the complexity of the proposed suggestions for the future. Now, however, as I grow in faith and hopefully Christian maturity, I find the questions themselves to be enlightening and the prophetic investigation of Baptist application in higher education to be stimulating and encouraging with propitious and rewarding optimism for who we, the collective we, are and mostly for what we can become. It was a rich seminar that left me and the other participants inspired to apply principles of Baptist higher education to our own institutions. I continue to appreciate the work of Don Schmeltekopf as he rallies future Baptist leaders to make a positive impact on Baptist higher education.

The Mysteries of Lying, Cheating, and Stealing

Sitting at the dinner table, for a delicious but also typical meal of chips and hot sauce, rice, beans, nachos, and tacos, the topic, after having exhausted discussions of national politics and religious philosophy, turned to the events of the day. In between chips loaded with hot sauce, and nachos with cheese, guacamole, and sour cream, we heard a rather dark tale of a small 1st grade boy who, in an effort to get ahead, had taken a set of tickets from the teacher's desk, and then lied about the theft. He claimed to have found the tickets in his desk by saying they had suddenly "shown up." When questioned, he finally admitted to the theft, the lie, and the desire to cheat the other students. It was not a good moment for the little boy.

In the discussion that evening, we tried to determine the cause for the event including the general character of the student, the students' family background, the circumstances of the day, the position of the moon in the sky, the upcoming weather change, the sinful nature of man, the lack of accountability in our modern world, the effects of media on human behavior, the disintegrating moral fiber of our current culture, and the inevitable "kids these days" cliche'. Following this enlightening conversation, we entered into various ideas for appropriate punishment with the goal of how to deter future negative behavior. Several suggestions were put forth involving physical pain, hard labor, formal apologies, suspension, time-out, and various deprivation methods. In this enjoyable conversation, we turned to Joel to get his view of the best punishment.

Joel, our autistic 17 year old son, did not know how to relate to this conversation. The whole concept of someone who would lie, cheat, or steal is difficult, maybe even impossible, for Joel to envision. Furthermore, to fabricate an appropriate set of consequences for such action is completely beyond the scope of his thought processes. After realizing that Joel did not understand most of our conversation, I asked him what he thought would happen to him if he were to lie, cheat, or steal.

The unusual expression on his face is difficult to describe. Something akin to confusion but with more emotion behind it. I was a bit surprised since Joel tends to express his thoughts without much emotion. His face revealed a form of determination and conviction as he made the statement, "It will never happen, I will never do any of those things." We laughed, knowing that a person who makes such a statement is probably lying to himself. While we, as civilized human beings, have a desire to behave according to the law legislated by the government, and hopefully use important documents such as the Bible, as the authoritative written word guiding our moral framework, it remains difficult to uphold a high standard of expectation in all situations.

One cannot help but be moved by the story of Jean Valjean, the protagonist in Victor Hugo's marvelous novel Les Miserables, sentenced to 19 years of hard labor for stealing a loaf of bread in order to feed his starving family. Although it feels unjust to us to punish him for something he did out of necessity and out of compassion, at the same time we justify this in our minds by acknowledging he did, indeed, commit a crime. Did the punishment far exceed the crime? Certainly. Did he more than pay for his mistake? No question about that. And yet, his initial crime was a crime of choice in that he made the decision to take the bread knowing the possibility of the consequences of his action.

Joel does not have the ability to make those choices. He knows the rules and follows them. Stealing, lying, or cheating are mysteries to him due to not existing in his experience. Because of this, he cannot devise an appropriate punishment. The laws of cause and effect in the case of breaking the rules, are not in Joel's emotional makeup. He cannot fathom a punishment since he does not comprehend the crime. His innocence is not necessarily out of choice but rather out of natural character. The rest of us often have to work at doing the right thing, for Joel it is easy!

The Value of Life

Imagine a world where the inherent value of an object has no intrinsic worth, no price tag, and means nothing other than its own merits to an individual. A world where money has no application and becomes useful merely for momentary satisfaction including the sound of coins falling with the result being a soda coming from the machine. A world where the appeal for materials is based primarily on preference without regard of quality, history, potential, supply, or demand. A world without greed for more, or envy for those who have, or conversely without pity for those without, and no acknowledgment of rich or poor, a world of equality, and a world without judgment.

This is the world of Joel Tucker, autistic since birth. He does not understand money. Oh, he understands the price tag on an item and he can add up the dollars and cents, and he knows that it takes money to buy things at the store. He also knows that Mom and Dad discuss money and often seem concerned about it, but in the end, he doesn't know why some things require more than others. An RC cola out of the machine requires 3 quarters that make a fun sound when fed into the machine, whereas a tie at the store needs paper money or Dad's little plastic card in his wallet. On any given day, Joel would like a new suit or a pipe organ in the house or a bag of chips with hot sauce. Purchasing shoes for $5 at a corner sale has the same meaning as a new pair from Macy's. He can accept that we have told him that a pipe organ is not an option for our home but it does not change his desire for one. Yet his wanting one is not a covetous obsession but is rather an idea of a given moment similar to his desire for a cola or new shoes.

The need for more money is a motivating incentive for hard work in our society and indirectly affects supply and demand, which then creates an economic culture that pervades our footsteps and our actions. Without a sense of labor and free trade, we fall into the futuristic and flawed Utopian Brave New World of total equality and peace devoid of the human elements needed for growth and improvement. Ironically those very elements are what lead to both happiness and misery in our world. If our happiness and joy is based upon money which leads to greater acquisition of wealth, then we fall into an extrinsic desire for more. In that marvelous book by Aldous Huxley, those rare moments of dissatisfaction and confusion require a "soma" to reach a drug-induced state of happiness and false euphoria. When joy is derived from material objects, the inevitable result is an emptiness from never having enough.

Supply and demand is a result of the inner need to improve, a drive to succeed, a necessity for affirmation, an intrinsic need for self-actualization, a desperate requirement to be important and to acquire more things. It seems to be human nature to want more toys for Christmas, and we want the best most expensive toys (never mind, that children tend to play with the boxes more than the actual item!). And yet, before falling into a diatribe on society's materialism, it is the inner drive and human spirit that has created cities, technology, and progresses forward to greater heights of creativity. Personal ambition, dedication to labor and self improvement leads directly to an acknowledgment of the value of objects and the ability to make judgments of worth.

To return to Joel's world, a world without knowledge of money and the value of objects can and does result in a lack of ambition for wealth and acquisition. This makes Joel's world rather bland by our standards and oddly confusing. The new Lexus that drives by is simply a vehicle, not to be admired more than an old Chevrolet. With clothes, food, and shelter, and a piano or organ, Joel is happy. He does not seek out ways to improve and is not able to pass judgment on the quality of any given material. He does not experience envy, greed, or drive to be the best. He is comfortable in his skin and does not approach life seeking to place value on the things around him. He simply accepts, unconditionally, that all things are equal and only desires the basic necessities of his world. His is not a world of external values, values artificially placed by human beings as they manipulate the economic system, he values lives around him. Rather than place a monetary value on all he sees, he instead values people and life.

Try taking a day to see the world through the eyes of the egalitarian Joel. All becomes tinted, all becomes equal, and, most importantly, all becomes beautiful.

Faith in the Classroom

Applying faith in an academic setting should be both intentional and natural, as an outgrowth of one's world view and Christian practice. Much has been written about faith and discipline for college teachers but ultimately the question is a philosophical one with pragmatic application, worthy to discuss and worthy to embrace. Should we incorporate and even embed our faith in our teaching to our students? What do we gain with this approach or what do we lose? Can it be done easily or will the process become stilted, prescribed, and contrived. How do we, as college professors, avoid such pitfalls?

In reality we are discussing the integration and melding of two distinctly different but beautiful concepts--knowledge and faith. Of course, the objective is to make the two as one, unified ideals that operate independently and congruently. Let's use music as way to demonstrate the application of this goal.

The word monophony or monody refers to one sound or one musical line, namely the melody. In early music, the idea of singing in harmony with more than one sound was both unknown and even religiously rejected on the grounds that a service should have unity as one of its intentional outcomes. Singing in harmony or in polyphony (many sounds) acknowledges people's differences as they seek to worship the one Lord God Almighty. There are theologians, including Dietrich Bonhoeffer, and churches today that insist on singing in unison with the idea that harmony and musical division does not lend itself to unified worship. Yet, if one subscribes to the idea that music is one of God's greatest gifts, and that human expression through music can be rich and unbounded, and that harmony and polyphony add layers of creative beauty to music, and that God is the author and perfecter of faith, then it stands to reason that the ultimate expression of music is that which achieves the sublime and synthesizes many sounds into one.

So let's return to the idea of applying one's faith to the classroom. There is little doubt that adherence to the needs of the discipline and the requisite knowledge must be imparted consistently and well in order to meet the expected learning outcomes of a particular subject. All teachers are aware of the necessary goals required for claiming expertise in a given topic. If, for example, the history teacher does not present and demand exact historical information, with precision and awareness of both micro and macro history, the subject and the clientèle then are not being treated with the academic respect the integrity of the subject deserves. Since integrity of truth is supreme, teaching then must be the process of imparting accurate and complete information.

But is this really enough, and does it tell the whole story? If this were the complete truth, there would be little need for teachers since most of the world's information, particularly on any one subject, can be found in print among the thousands of publications currently available. A teacher, however, does more than present facts to students who then ingest them and regurgitate them for assessment. In fact, a teacher does more than teach the facts, a teacher inevitably teaches the topic through the lens of himself or herself. A good teacher cannot help but emanate his personality, values, integrity, philosophy, emotions, and life experiences in his commitment to excellence. To ask a teacher to teach objectively, extracting all biases and emotions from the topic, is to ask a teacher to be an automaton devoid of the very essence of what education is all about.

Back to music. Many consider the greatest music to contain melody, harmony, and rhythm (see earlier blog entries for discussions of sound and the meaning of music). A lesson without faith can be likened to monophony, certainly worthy and meaningful, but not multi-dimensioned. The application of faith in a lesson is polyphonic in essence and harmonious in content. One's faith and one's world view comes through naturally and holistically in the classroom regardless of the subject matter. It is not and should not be interjected abruptly, prescriptively, nor contrived in any sense; but rather, is simply a part of who the teacher is both specifically and comprehensively. To take the faith part out is to make the music, the classroom, the institution, and the experience less than its intention and certainly less than its potential.

It Wasn't Easy

The development and growth of music notation did not happen accidentally, quickly, nor haphazardly. It was a deliberate but difficult process demonstrating great sacrifice and dedication to the truth. Like many great inventions, music notation became what it is today partly due to the desire of the people to have music in their hand and partly due to the relentless tenacity of one man who found a better way and did not give up in his quest for improvement.

Without the printing press, computers, cell phones, cds, and recorded music, maintaining consistent performance of music was hit or miss at best and entirely dependent on the oral tradition and the teaching of the so-called experts in music. To an extent, music belonged to the people, but was reserved for the elites to understand and to offer their inside knowledge whenever necessary. Like a faucet with an on/off valve, the leaders, generally a branch of the papacy, would govern the knowledge that would be allowed to be released to the people. This practice then gave the authority to those in the know, to the elite group of music readers with the special gifts and abilities to read and understand the secret code called music.

Recall that the educational system was closely tied to the religious orders of the time with the teachers being pulled directly from the Roman-Catholic churches and monasteries. Education, as it has always been, was limited to the resources available, which included physical materials, human ingenuity, and the accepted systems for teaching whatever particular discipline was being taught. While many may disagree, it has been argued that the finest education does indeed occur through direct connection to the church and its teachings. And yet, there is also little doubt that when ideas of an individual are squelched, the result is a deplorable lack of progress. Society and culture grow dramatically from the creative spirit of a person with ideas.

Originally, the system for teaching music was based on church modes, unison melodies, and neumatic notation with the oral tradition having more influence than the written notes. The teachers and musicians were limited to both the prescribed neumatic system and the tradition of music presentation in the church. But limits do not imply a lack of expression, for the music was beautiful, engaging, and spiritual. (http://youtube.com/watch?v=MZ8iRv67lVM&mode=related&search=) The challenge was not in advancing the case for greater complexity, but rather to teach the precise expectation of that which was required in performance. The clergy were restricted by a difficult system that was not easily understood by the common people. Since knowledge is power, the mysteries of music notation gave them a misguided sense of autonomy over the people.

It was the heroism of one man who countered the authorities and sought a way to demystify the notation of music and thus bring music to all the people, making it available to the common man. His name was Guido (995-1050) of Arezzo and he is one of the earliest and most significant music educators in history. Although his treatise, Micrologus (c.1025), is an important an early source for understanding the development of polyphony and ultimately harmony in music, it was his contributions and innovations in the area of music notation that he placed his handprint on the world.

In Guido's efforts to teach students music, he used a remarkably simple but effective tool--his own hand. By pointing to and eventually using a drawing of his own hand, he developed an advanced system of what is referred to as solmization, or the use of Do, Re, Mi to teach the order of pitches in music. For his efforts and remarkable invention, which quickly became a threat to the old ways, Guido was removed from his position at the monastery he resided and opened shop somewhere else. But as it is impossible to stop the tide of truth, and great ideas cannot be kept within the walls, the Guidonian Hand found an excited audience in the people desperate to read music and to have music around them.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Guidonian_hand

Guido's invention, which ultimately lead to the five line staff that we use today, gave us tools to understand and to apply one of God's greatest gifts, the gift of music. Guido and his method were eventually, but not without pain, accepted and supported by Pope John which led him to return to his home in Arezzo. For a more detailed expository of his life and contributions please read: http://www.newadvent.org/cathen/07065a.htm.

While it was not easy, and took sacrifice, tenacity, and commitment, we owe it to Guido d'Arezzo for bringing music to the people and giving all of us an opportunity to experience and enjoy the power of music. Music is indeed a universal language, a language for everyone, and music belongs to the people and mostly in the hands of people. We owe a special thank you to Guido for handing us the system of music we use today.

Stress Switch

Walking down to the pasture to feed the baby goat, being careful to avoid stepping in the low places, and balancing the flashlight in one hand with a bottle of milk and a cup of orange juice in the other, I began to set my goals for the day and for the rest of week. I thought about the personnel under my charge, the many accounts that needed attention, the projections for growth, the need for academic compliance with accrediting agencies, work responsibilities, facility challenges in various departments, and mostly, all the things I needed to accomplish. These thoughts and more enveloped me and weighed heavily on me as I neared the fence and began to call for baby billy.

He ran to the fence with a sleepy but excited and energetic bound and stuck his head through the fence to get the bottle that I gave him each morning before I headed off to work. Unfortunately, this particular morning, in trying to shine the light on the little goat and get the bottle to him, I accidentally lifted the orange juice to his mouth where he quickly and eagerly grabbed it and swallowed a mouthful. At the same moment, thinking I was drinking my own orange juice, I, instead, took a healthy swig of goat formula and changed into a goat on the wrong side of the fence.

It took me a few minutes to discern the reality of my unusual situation. My brain functioned as a human but my outward appearance and my instincts were that of a goat. I momentarily laughed, cried, and instantly tried to scream for someone to help me, but all I could muster was a mournful baaaa and a grunt. I felt something crash into me and looked around to see another goat butt me hard in anger at the sounds I was making. I quickly moved into battling position, but the goat had moved away in apathy as though I made no difference at all in his life.

I looked around and saw the other goats and felt a desire to be near the others. This was new to me since my former human self sometimes preferred to be alone, particularly first thing in the morning. So I wandered over to the other goats, a group of nannies and one billy that did not acknowledge me at all, and quickly experienced hunger pangs and found myself bending down to find some grass and weeds which strangely were quite tasty but not very filling. As I munched on the delicious grass, I paused occasionally to look around and for the first time in a long time, felt completely devoid of any kind of goals or purpose. It was as though my mind had become a blank slate, but not even a slate, more of an empty space, with little ability to process much of anything other than my most basic of needs, namely food. It was strangely comforting, in the manner of not having to make any decisions can be, such as losing the sense of choice is both relaxing and disconcerting, and yet, the lack of discernment, its fundamental joy notwithstanding, was still more than a little frightening at the same time.

But what of my counterpart, my evil twin, my clone, my own personal thief? What of his whereabouts? Was he frightened also of the new life? Did his fear include driving, talking, meetings, calls, computer? In his new found freedom from the weeds of pasture, was the actually result a bigger pasture with more weeds? Was his freedom actually his straitjacket as he attempted to fit in with the human world? When he arrived in my office and encountered the first difficult question of the day, did he relish in the opportunity to solve the problem or did he beg for the past when his pressing problem was which set of weeds did he want to eat at the moment?

I was not to know, for at the critical moment of my altered state, and as I accidentally drank from the goat milk, and as the switch occurred, time had stopped, giving me a sense of being frozen in psychological space, as though a swirling ocean of violent waves had engulfed me but immediately stopped moving. Just as immediately, my journey into goatdom reverted me back to my human state, and I concluded my moment by feeding the baby goat, headed back to the house, and drove to work. Maybe it had been a dream or a nightmare or a moment in time of escape, but nevertheless the event left me shaken yet oddly refreshed.

Rather than the feeling of stress that sometimes accompanied my path to work, that day as I walked into my office, turned on the computer, and checked the phone messages, I anticipated with great joy some sort of problem to solve. I smiled wryly and unabashedly as I thankfully and silently prayed to God in gratitude for not making me a goat! It was great to be a human. Such was the start of a great and beautiful week.

Crayons or Computers

"We want to color" was the statement my wife heard last week during the first week of school as she taught her first grade class. The students relished the opportunity to put a little crayon in their little hands and color the paper set before them. The crayon for children first came into being and was marketed in 1903 with 8 different colors presented. Today there are over 100 types of crayons in use including glow in the dark, glittering, and different smells to accompany the various colors. For more information on the history of crayola crayons, read http://inventors.about.com/library/inventors/blcrayon.htm.

In contrast, the computer as we know it today has been a meteoric development since 1936 with advanced features continuing today and public consumption of the computers continuing to grow at an astounding rate. Unlike the crayon, which aside from the various types and sizes available remains the same since inception, the computer has evolved quickly and dramatically to what we see today with 160 gigabytes of storage space for a personal computer and software for virtually (no pun intended) any interest or activity including coloring. I smile as I remember my first computer with its 20 megabytes of memory!

Today we have computers in every classroom, labs in most hallways, and a staff of computer wizards to help those who are not. Computers have capabilities to create glorious works of art, enhance movies, supplement brochures, add pictures and graphics to letters, signs, posters, and video. The possibilities are only limited by the human spirit and the future holds an infinite amount of computer graphics beauty and art we can only imagine today. With a computer there is no mess, you cannot accidentally leave a computer in your pocket, you cannot break it in half, and it will not melt outside in the sun. If you make a mistake, you simply do not save your work, and it is not on permanent display for all to see around the room.

So why do the little first graders request to color with crayons? In our modern age of electronic gizmos, it does not make sense that children would want to experience something as primitive as a crayon. You cannot plug it in, it does not beep, buzz, play music, show videos, display photographs, show maps, blog, email, or even play solitaire. A crayon can really only do one thing, and that is color in the way you want it to color. While several crayons can produce different colors, the possibilities of colors are somewhat limited and the human hand can only work so fast and so well. Besides, once it is on paper, there is no erasing the work.

Yet for all its lack of refinement and wizardry, the crayon continues to make its dramatic mark upon elementary aged children, both at home and in the classroom. Crayons do not require a server system, a technician, electricity, a keyboard, a mouse, a screen, and are much less expensive than a computer. The opportunity to hold a crayon in hand and work diligently to stay within the lines and choose different colors and bear down or color lightly or freely change the figures on the paper or randomly create your own picture is the opportunity to express yourself and tactilely reproduce what the mind has conceived. It is classic joy to color, to paint the world before you, to use your hands to improve that which is seen, to express your emotions with a crayon, and all without the use of a machine.

"Which is the winner, the crayon or the computer?" I ask myself as I type this blog on my expensive laptop and smile when I hear about the sheer pleasure the 1st graders are receiving when they are allowed to color at the end of day. Computers are here to stay, but, ironically, and antithetically, so are crayons!

Future for the Disabled

I recall with ironic and embarrassed amusement the reactions of many people when handicapped parking places became the norm, ramps for wheelchairs were being built, and restrooms contained special stalls to accommodate the physically challenged. Some felt we were catering to the needs of a small minority and rebuilding society to accommodate the very few with disabilities. The move toward a lesser restrictive environment grew rapidly in the early 1970s with the US Rehabilitation Act of 1973 that helped fund accessibility requirements, and the 1990 Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) that increased awareness and physical requirements, and prevented job discrimination based on disabilities. ADA has also contributed to building code accessibility by insisting on entrance ramps, wider doors, seating capacity, restroom needs, water fountains, and required elevators. In addition, we have all experienced the abundance of handicapped parking spaces (and perhaps emotion at those undeserving people who seem to take advantage of those spaces), intended to help disabled people have easier access to various facilities.

In some ways this has all been a drain on taxpayers, business owners, architects, and institutions. One could always attempt the old argument that the free market ought to determine the accommodations and needs of those who are disabled. Just as we tend to frequent the restaurant where we enjoy the food, price, and environment, so should a person with a disability frequent the places that provide the great accessibility for their needs, and that those businesses that recognize those needs, build accordingly, with the result being increased profit margins. But in fact, is that true?

Without legislation, would there exist handicap parking spaces or wider doors, or bathroom stalls with bars or elevators in every building? I seriously doubt it. The market, correctly, caters to the needs of the majority and is governed primarily through the resulting demands of the people by a process known as supply and demand. When there is a demand for particular goods, there is a supply developed to meet that demand, with an abundance of supply lowering the cost of the goods, and a limited supply causing greater demand and higher costs. But the question is: would the people demand accommodations for those with disabilities and only frequent those establishments providing easy access? Maybe, but it is questionable, especially considering the small number of people with this serviceable requirement.

So the government finds itself infringing on culture and society by seeking to legislate accessibility and services for those with disabilities. While it does not seem fair or right to force businesses and owners to provide easy access, and the cost can be astronomical, in the end, it gives people with disabilities freedom and rights to shop, work, and live in society that would otherwise be unavailable to them. This is an unusual and perhaps rare example of government intervention that demonstrates care, compassion, and positive results for those disabled people.

But what does the future hold for those with mental disabilities, those whose inherent aptitude is limited, those without the ability to hold down a steady job, those who cannot drive, or perhaps have trouble balancing a checkbook, or even difficulty communicating? Do we treat them as pariahs, blights on society, hopeless losers? In the not so far past, we would relegate them to prisons where many of them might get worse and never know a free environment. Maybe we should quickly send them to institutions so as to avoid thinking about them. Or do we instead, as a civilized society attempt to rise above the barbarisms of the past, provide options for them and find ways and means to integrate them into society whenever possible? In other words, can we provide the least restrictive environment possible? Is there a place in our world for someone with a mental disability?

As we slowly but surely become a more civilized world, we may find ourselves in a difficult, but morally responsible position to provide accommodations for the mentally handicapped as well as the physically handicapped. Obviously, every person is different and some require greater care than others, and it could be a long haul requiring many years of contention, questions, and doubt, but I believe we will one day embrace all disabilities as deserving of their rightful place among the citizenship of our world. Meanwhile, it becomes our responsibility and obligation for families to find ways to help their own, and to continue to refine civilization to include those with disabilities. We have come a long way in this regard, and I anticipate future growth in awareness and accommodations.

Special Education: After School, What?

With our middle son, autistic since birth, nearing the age of 18, but still needing 2 more years of school before completing his high school diploma, it occurs to me to ask what happens to him and countless others who have been guided, taught, and educationally nurtured throughout most of their lives. What do they do? Who helps them and are we prepared as a society for an influx of adult-aged special learners?

I read with interest, a little shock, and emotional disparity an article about the American playwright, Arthur Miller, known for Death of a Salesman, and The Crucible, and his Down Syndrome son, Daniel. (http://www.vanityfair.com/fame/features/2007/09/miller200709?printable=true&currentPage=all)
It is a dramatic story of a public figure (Arthur Miller was once married to Marilyn Monroe) who rejected his son, sent him to an institution where he was mistreated, shuffled around, and finally adopted by a family he calls his own, never checked on him, and only near the end of the playwright's life, sought an opportunity to meet him. Ironically, in Miller's will, he made Daniel a rightful heir to his sizable fortune. It is also a historical, cultural study of the 60s, when parents did not know what should be done or could be done for their children with special problems. A prominent, well-known intellect, immensely respected for two long-running plays, in a moment of fear, or maybe anger, or lack of compassion, or maybe even misguided wisdom, sent his son to what he perhaps thought would be a better life for himself and the infant, who was projected to have a shortened lifespan. Perhaps most dramatically, this is testimony to the strength, joys, challenges, and boundless optimism found in children with disabilities. Incidentally, it must be noted that after the birth of Daniel, and subsequent rejection, Arthur Miller did not produce any great works of consequence.

In some ways, society has grown out of the prejudice and confusion of how to deal with children who have learning disabilities and physical anomalies, at least we are more sympathetic and understanding of these children and have dedicated more education money to the learning process. With this emphasis has come a greater commitment on the part of parents to keep their children in the home, avoid the institutions, and battle the learning challenges on several fronts. This idea comes at a good time in our culture with a stunning rise in children with autism and learning disabilities. Texas public schools are close to 12% in children enrolled in special education, and it is difficult to determine how many children are being served in private education or various non state supported institutions.

And with this knowledge, I come back to the question at hand, what will happen to these children when they become adults? Are these children, many with great problems, many with few, a drain on society without enough redeeming qualities to become contributing citizens? Or are there are enough programs to help these children when they become adults, adults with job needs, transportation needs, food and clothing, independent living as much as possible. And of course there is the age-old question, should the government even be involved in the helping the disadvantaged? Private charity and family responsibility are the primary methods for reaching out to the adults in our community desperately in need, but somehow I suspect many are not finding these sources. In the case of Daniel Miller, Arthur Miller's son, the state assumed responsibility but did an inadequate job at the time. Eventually, however, Daniel found a home and a loving family. How many are not as fortunate?

I believe there are indeed state-funded programs to help these adults, and I also want to believe that families are taking on more responsibility for their care. In our case, we have researched and sought legal council for ways to help Joel as he enters adulthood, and have decided to take advantage of the MHMR support system for helping Joel, plus have decided after much thought and prayer to assume responsibility for his care by keeping him with us at home until such a time that we are no longer able. There are still many questions we have regarding our son, such as a job, transportation, staying by himself, relationships, food, but overall we are confident in Joel's future.

Yet, I wonder what kind of societal responsibility we have or what state resources are available or how much family dedication there is for all those children not only with autism (some are estimating 1 of 165 children), but also with other learning disabilities, who will in the not so distant future become adults. This is not a question merely for those of us with children who qualify but ultimately is a question for everyone. At the same time, there is hope in this regard, for I was encouraged, in visiting with MHMR, to discover the diligent effort being made to identify adults in need of care. I look forward to this practice continuing.

Convenient Selflessness--Part II

As college students get ready to begin a new year of learning, I am concerned that many of them are searching for ways to help others when it is convenient to do so. Unfortunately, this can often interrupt the collective and individual learning flow and becomes a rationalization for personal mediocrity, an excuse for unproductive results, and often a bargaining chip for acceptance of lower standards. Let's take a marching band rehearsal as an example.

A marching band is comprised of individuals all working together for a common goal, combining music and motion in an eclectic and potentially glorious display of art, energy, sound, emotion, and dramatic presentation. Each person brings to the table a multitude of characteristics and background that make up the individual human spirit and personal definition, to include parental training, aptitude, emotional stability, interests, concepts, work ethic, learning styles, health, and psychological profile. These characteristics operate synchronistically to comprise the human being. As I reflect on the complexity of people, I am actually amazed that there any successful marching bands at all!

Nevertheless, the concept of marching band seems to work. It works due to selfishness! Each person without exception is responsible to learn the music, learn the moves, learn the right spot, apply the knowledge, skills, and energy necessary for success and produce excellence when it is needed. I recall having an ineffective teaching method of having the students help each other on the field in rehearsals. The students would quickly point out the flaws of the other students and "help" them into the correct spot, in addition, they would mention the wrong notes being played, and the multitude of marching mistakes. Soon the result was anger, arrogance, contentiousness, stress, and confusion. The students who were "absolutely certain" about their position on the field, blamed those who were incorrect, and left each rehearsal in disgust at the multitude of inept marchers "ruining" the excellence of the predicted performance. Those less certain (and usually more correct) felt somehow unimportant, flawed, and insecure as though they had no purpose and no rights to attempt something of this magnitude.

I recall the day I took a different approach as a marching band director and encouraged the "fix yourself and nobody else" teaching style. Soon I noticed greater independence, quicker growth and improvement from everyone, quieter rehearsals, and stunningly accurate results. The band demonstrated a higher standard through individual effort that lead to collective excellence.

Can adherence and commitment to selfish gain lead to selfless corporate results? I believe the answer is yes to an extent. I believe we should selfishly prepare for selflessness in order to accomplish the greatest good. One of the greatest examples of this is the life of Jesus Christ who spent most of his life becoming prepared for what would be a ministry that led to the ultimate sacrifice for mankind. Applying physical, spiritual, emotional, and mental energy gave him the necessary tools for His ministry that would become the finest example of selfless behavior the world has ever known.

This leads me to conclude that students should take the opportunity to develop themselves so that they in turn can one day help others. Selfish commitment to excellence can, if applied well and used wisely, be one of the best ways to benefit the collective whole. So as we begin a new school year, I want to encourage relentless dedication to excellence in developing oneself but never lose sight of the higher calling of ministering to others. True selflessness should not be only those times of convenience but in fact is a lifestyle that takes years to find fruition.

Convenient Selflessness--Pt. 1

Recognizing this will not be a popular position, nevertheless I feel a need to postulate on a subject that has recently become clear to me upon thinking about the new cultural emphasis on technology and its effects on students, young adults, and society at large. Many times I have read and heard speeches on the obvious selfishness of the upcoming generation, considered by many to be one of the most self-involved, self-serving groups of people the world has known. Speakers often have great examples to support their position, and use their thesis as a motivational tool for altruism, charity, and ultimately Christian behavior, pointing to Christ as a model of sacrificial actions, serving all of humanity with selfless acts of kindness by giving of himself regardless of personal discomfort, to the disregard of personal safety.

No doubt this is true and my purpose in proposing a different view is not to negate the tremendous far-reaching actions of the greatest man to walk this earth, a man whom we Christians exalt for His sacrificial behavior, wisdom, love, and charity; yet, I do wish to look at another angle, partly due to my tendency to be a contrarian, and partly due to seeing both some benefits to selfless behavior and some potential problems. I propose that students, in particular, need to guard against convenient selflessness that can become an obstacle to personal success.

I recently experienced some computer problems related to a music writing software program situation that rendered the program ineffective. Like many computer people, I often arrogantly believe that eventually I can figure out my own problems, but after two weeks, I decided to enter an online help forum and submit my problem. Within a few hours, I had 4 responses, one of which solved my problem simply, efficiently, and completely. Similarly, I had another problem related to the computer and this time found the solution on a discussion board. I did not pay for this help and in one case, it involved downloading a free program used to solve the problem. The sharing of information across the computer world is astonishingly beneficial and vastly necessary for those of us who lead active computer oriented lives.

People, in general, are quick to offer help and to reach out to those in need when they recognize a way to help a particular situation. Why do we love puppies so much? Is it the awareness that a puppy is helpless and needs loving attention? Why does the tenderness of a mother holding her baby melt and mold us into babbling, high pitched children when we get near? Our hearts soften when we see someone in a wheelchair or with a cast on a limb, and the flower business remains a major industry due to hospital stays and funerals. I recall conducting an experiment in a crowded mall by "accidentally" falling down and hesitating before getting up. As I expected, some walked by, trying to avoid looking at the poor soul, but many people reached out to help me up and ask if everything would were okay.

I suspect that had I been seriously hurt, requiring instant medical attention, most would have been quite hesitant to act on the need, but I believe someone would have contacted officials or sought medical help immediately. I believe we live in a world of "instant" good Samaritans who desire to reach out and help when it is convenient and easy. I believe we are facing an epidemic of short-term altruism that in some instances can cause more harm than good. There is nothing wrong with selfless, charitable behavior and certainly helping others can be considered a virtue, but I do question how giving are we really and at what point is our altruism limited to our own convenience.

I do need to be careful before proceeding further to clarify that I do not subscribe to the Ayn Rand philosophy of Objectivism, elevating selfishness to lofty position of great value, and I find the old idea of "Self-Reliance" proposed by Ralph Waldo Emerson to be naive and lacking in recognition of the major contributions of those many individuals whose aptitude or inherent limitations require benevolent intercession of other people, people who actively reach out to help those in need. And yet, as I will point out later, there are some major cultural and societal benefits to selfishness that cannot be ignored.

But I am once again reminded of Aristotle's philosophy of the virtue of moderation: the value of working to achieve a balance between extreme selfishness and selflessness. Of course a Randian would point out that altruism is a myth in that acts of kindness are not selfless but are, indeed, ultimately self-serving, benefitting a person's emotional need to help others and satisfying the requirement to be charitable. Such as the man who feels a need to perform one kind action per week, helping someone cross a street, giving money to someone who needs it, picking up trash, and many other acts of kindness, that while may seem immediately productive, may also be self-serving in motivation.

In this case, attitude and the heart of the individual comes into play which, of course, cannot always be determined. Therefore, one could argue, that while an act of benevolence may in fact be a selfish satisfaction of one's own emotional need to do the right thing, the result, regardless of the motive, is a positive and generally propitious gain for others in addition to oneself.

In the next installment, let us examine some examples of the benefits of some degree of selfishness. Don't give up on me yet. As has been hinted at, I am headed toward a recognition of the great teacher and savior of the world, Jesus Christ whose life practices were both sacrificial and examples of how self-awareness and self-serving actions can also lead to great gain for others.

Jeremy Lewis and the Sign

In the summer of 2000, I was in Dallas finishing up a great week of music and worship with the Baptist All-State Choir and Band when I received a call from my wife that one of my Howard Payne University Band students had been killed in a tragic automobile accident. I spent that evening in tears of sorrow as I reflected on the short but meaningful life of Jeremy. He was a fine 20 year old music major who played the piano, euphonium, and was engaged to be married. A class act in character and in appearance, Jeremy enjoyed a rather theatrical but pleasant approach to life, with styled hair, sharp clothes, and a warm personal presentation. The semester prior to his death, he and I had driven together to his home town band rehearsal and enjoyed visiting about band, church, and life in general.

His funeral was difficult, as all funerals are, and I among many others sang, played, and honored the memory of our friend. Subsequent weeks of honoring included endowing a scholarship in his memory, writing a piece of music for band which was later published, dedicating a concert to his memory, placing photos and a poem in the band hall, and making another trip to the cemetery to pay my respects. About this time, we had been working to have a more permanent marching band tower that would be safe (our old tower was a falling apart scaffolding), and provide a necessary platform for teaching. It seemed logical and right to call the tower the Jeremy Lewis Memorial Band Tower. Much of the money for the tower came from the two organizations, Kappa Kappa Psi and Tau Beta Sigma.

I approved of the sign and saw the proposed wording on a piece of paper. Much to my surprise, however, the sign was enormous, almost ostentatious, and covered the width of the tower with lettering equal to the size of the Howard Payne University sign. At the time and in the years that followed, my emotions ran counter to my logic. I was thankful and continue to be thankful that Jeremy's life made a major impact on so many including myself, and the sign was another way to honor his memory. And yet, it was the life of Jeremy that was not diaphanous and all the signs in the world cannot supplant or even supplement his remarkable contributions and his significance to all who had crossed his path. A sign is only a material object, not a person.

Two recent events led me to remove the sign which was not done in any kind of "cowardly" fashion but rather was done in the middle of the day. One was the tragic death of Shane Ewen, another Kappa Kappa Psi brother from an earlier generation who deserves to be honored in some way, and the second was the acceptance that our band tower was and is unnecessarily high considering the size of the band. In addition, with the upcoming construction on Mims, it seemed a good time to consider selling the tower, replacing it with a smaller, mobile one, and placing upon it a smaller, commemorative Jeremy Lewis sign. Further refection made me realize that all our lives have meaning and it is time to find a way to acknowledge other music and band alums who have passed away.

So with a conflict of emotions, I removed the sign hoping my Kappa Kappa Psi brothers would accept and understand that the time had come for a change. My own son, Jacob, helped considerably with a supportive email he sent to the brothers of the fraternity. Rather than expend our emotions in anger over the sign, I would prefer, and I believe, so would the family, that those who wish to honor Jeremy's memory, consider giving money to the Jeremy Lewis Scholarship. I can think of no better way to keep Jeremy's memory alive than to perpetuate his life through future lives of music students.

If you feel a need to disagree or agree, please contact me directly or you may respond to this letter. This has not been an easy decision for me, but after much prayer and thought, I felt it was time. I mostly welcome your ideas on how we can honor the passing of other band and music alumni. I am considering a plaque for the display case in the music building, or perhaps a memorial on the side of the building, or maybe even a walkway. Please let me know your thoughts.

Loving Patience!

Okay, it is true, we were slobs. Not everyone, just 3 of us were slobs, and not complete slobs but just generally messy. We weren't messy in the same way nor at the same time, but nevertheless being neat was at the bottom of the list of importance. The fourth member of the family was the organized and tidy one. The 3 boys were "creatively organized" and the mother was fastidious. It made for a tough household situation, but somehow she dealt with it magnificently with great patience and a loving guiding hand that only a Mother knows how to manage. 3 against 1, what great possibilities for battles, disagreements, contentiousness, and maybe family war that could be, and yet, what really happened? A glare, or a few words and she usually won!

Yes, there were the frequent speeches about picking up our clothes, making our beds, sweeping the garage, taking our dishes to the kitchen, wiping up the messes, being more careful, fixing the cushions, picking up the toys, putting the balls in the closet, wiping our feet, taking off the occasional wet shoes, and unraveling the latest wild invention such as the automatic bed maker, the clothes shaper for ease of dressing, and the new object designed for making noise. Later years included picking up musical instrument paraphernalia such as slide grease, valve oil, mouthpieces, hand guards, water bottles, manuscript paper, music, records, and a seemingly unlimited supply of books.

On top of this chaos of fun, knowledge, and creativity, we 3 led very busy lives requiring quick meals, transportation to and fro, rehearsals, lessons, games, eventually dates (well, 2 of us anyway had dates), and an infinite number of church obligations from ranging from services, fellowships, practices, various socials, Royal Ambassadors, and even meetings. My father, with memberships in the Optimist Club, Credit Union board, Community Band, various civic organizations, and two jobs received the most attention but his two boys were close behind, and in different but oddly similar ways, remained exceedingly active throughout their formative years.

The abundant flowing of creative ideas in my home were matched by a roller coaster of emotional ups and downs--easy to imagine with 2 messy sons and 1 messy husband who never seemed to run out of a new ideas--with an ever-present blanket of love that enveloped our household regardless of the circumstances. We were not afraid to fail, not afraid to try, and always willing to take a risk for the moments of success. This energetic, intense application of all endeavors resulted in occasional tears of sorrow and, more importantly, the sharing of a multitude of joys and excitement when something worked out as hoped. When I think back on growing up in the Tucker home, I am humbled and amazed at the complexity that surrounded our lives.

But behind it all stood a woman with immense patience and tolerance who made the events, situations, and mostly success possible. My mother. Breakfast every morning, dinner on the table every evening, clean up quickly without help, rush a boy to an event, return to bring him home, get the boys in bed, wait up for them in later years, clean the house, wash the dishes, fold the clothes, hug the boy when appropriate, scold when needed, and mostly stabilize what could have been constant creative chaos. She was infinitely patient and hard-working and mostly supportive of her right-brained family, and while she may not have understood the excessive originality of each boy, one of which was her husband, she somehow respected it, and encouraged the gifts rather than stifled them. In addition, she eventually had her own successful career, which continues today with the not unexpected selflessness of her life as a wife and mother shining forth in her current activities as a college teacher.

How she put up with us, I will never know. We probably rarely helped around the house, and, of course we were much too busy to ever cook or clean up, and staying organized was a total mystery to the three of us, but somehow she kept up with our lives, our schedules, our personalities, and unconditionally offered us motherly love and attention. Thanks to my mother and all mothers who put up with so much.

I must laugh as I hear my wife remind us, 4 boys this time, to clean up our mess, make the beds, straighten the office, take off the wet shoes, and sweep the garage, and I marvel at her ability to scold when needed, and hug when appropriate. I guess nothing ever changes the constant devoted love of a wonderful wife and mother!