Be it known that I am an unabashed patriot with great care, interest, and admiration for our country's history, development, pride, and constitution. While I often find myself in disagreement with particular governmental practices, and there certainly are flaws in the way we operate our democracy, at the same time, there is no question in my mind, we live in a country that seeks to encourage individuality, promote freedom, to protect its citizens, and, in spite of an eroding of privacy and hints of socialism, continues to respect the pursuit of life, liberty, and happiness.
As to the American Flag, there is no doubt that it represents the ideals set forth by our founders, with remarkable symbolism of strength, compassion, and unity. In certain settings the American flag is a breath-taking and eye-catching monument, signifying great sacrifice and devotion to the ideals set forth in our marvelous United States of America. Displaying the American Flag is the right and privilege of families, individuals, and institutions and reminds all of us to retain our appreciation and humility of living in this great land of opportunity, a land that men historically and presently give their lives to defend.
Yet today, as I drove down the street, I saw several businesses, car dealerships, real estate agencies, and eating establishments working diligently to place small and large American flags all over cars, in the grass, on signs, poles, banners, and tents. One business had 35 small flags in the grass located in the front. In some ways I felt bathed in patriotism and rather appreciated the opportunity, particularly as July 4 gets closer, but in other ways I felt manipulated and seduced by powers that seemed to think I would make purchases based on the level of patriotism displayed. Ironically and similarly, another like business was placing a large amount of balloons on cars in a rather festive and cheery visual representation of new vehicles with a reduction in cost to the buyer.
Does the size of the flag indicate the level of patriotism of the establishment? or does the number of flags draw our attention for the purpose of making a sale? or maybe it is an artistic statement of some kind, in a kind of outdoor visual gallery of color and joy. Are the balloons synonymous with the flags or do all the items merely indicate a celebratory kind of attitude? Is the goal to increase our awareness of the upcoming holiday by serving as a reminder to take a few moments to remember our country?
My suspicion, however, is that businesses use the excuse or opportunity of an upcoming celebration to provide eye catching flags in an attempt to increase sales. While part of me certainly respects the need to boost the economy, at the same time, I do question the use of an important patriotic symbol to increase sales of particular items. I find this to be illogical and an example of marketing manipulation. Furthermore, I suspect this rampant and common practice in fact ultimately lessens and even downgrades the symbolism of the flag by virtue of its frequency and expectation.
So I propose that we the shoppers frequent the businesses based on the quality of the product not the number or size of the flags displayed. I further suggest we either acknowledge the worth and meaning of the American flag and thereby increase its value by reducing the constant display, or we give up and simply begin to treat the flag as a balloon, a fun and colorful decoration guaranteed to pop at the slightest provocation. If we want to make patriotism a valued and honored ideal, which is what I recommend, then let us not use a flag as a cheap decoration with the intent of drawing attention. I find this practice to be a misguided and non-sequitur act of patriotism for some kind of manipulation.
To be fair, I do suspect that the businesses are rather patriotic and are in fact honoring the country with their own system and are attempting to send a message to their constituents of their support of troops, of the government, and the country at large. There is certainly nothing wrong and many things right about being patriotic and displaying our country's flag, and something rather democratic and noble about advertising a business. My problem is that mixing and melding the two ideals--marketing and patriotism--seems rather incongruous, forcing the viewer into a mode of false support for the business. Not unlike the musician who programs a patriotic work at the end of a concert in order to garner a standing ovation. It comes close to being a cheap, contrived trick.
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Granddaddy
That's what we always called him and I'm not sure why except that it seems most people have a particular name they call their grandparents. For us, on the Tucker side, it was Grandmother and Granddaddy, and they lived on the other side of the city almost under the letter "A" painted on the side of the mountain, serving as a landmark for us to know we were almost to my grandparents house. And quite a house it was...with a homey, familiar smell, blankets on the chairs, comfortable furniture, a cuckoo clock, and a big vent on the floor, signifying a world below the house.
That vent, a result of the heating and cooling units being located below the pier and beam construction, was a great mystery to me, continually fascinating and perhaps frightening me as I imagined strange creatures living below the house. I recall the frequent sounds and smells of the kitchen as the delicious turkey and dressing were being prepared for Thanksgiving. I also knew to be excited about watching football on the television set since that is what we were supposed to anticipate (it was important to share in that football energy whether I understood it or not). It was rumored in soft tones, that Grandmother did not appreciate the football watching and was not really supportive of this particular endeavor; yet we always gathered in the back room to yell at the referees, encourage the quarterback, and cheer for the team--as though any of that really made any difference!
During commercials we would go outside, hearing the reminder not to "cut our feet on the dog mess" and would play different games that children play when grass is under their feet. In the early years we played with the dog named Pancho, a cute little tan dog that really was not very friendly, and then later years was McDuff who although not appreciated by Granddaddy at first, eventually was loved by everyone!
I never really knew Granddaddy before his stroke which left him with a speech defect and some odd mannerisms. He tended to be a little gruff at times but somehow caring at the same time. I recall being slightly frightened when he would tap our plates signifying that we needed to eat all our food, and I laugh at the inevitable baseball discussions, the Hank Williams songs, and the odd little stores in the neighborhood where Granddaddy seemed to know the people and where he would always argue about the price of the item. Shoes and antifreeze were frequent concerns expressed, and I found out later these were two items that he insisted would never be a problem again for anyone in his family. Apparently as a child, shoes were a rare commodity, and I heard the story of the car that froze up, forcing him and his son (my father) to walk in the snow to get help.
Birthdays and Christmas were fun times since we always enjoyed the challenge of finding the perfect gift for him. He seemed to love opening presents, but we always wondered if he truly liked the item! Yet we continued to buy him shirts, ties, and even candy in the hopes he would be thrilled. Looking back I realize that Granddaddy did not really care about material items (except perhaps his favorite sweater and his television set of course), but he did care about his family and sacrificed everything he could for his children and grandchildren. He loved the Lord, never missed church, and regardless of what the day held, he always woke early and got completely dressed even knowing he would not be leaving the house in those later years. The twinkle in his eye and the slight mischievous grin on his face remained throughout his life, a life which he enjoyed immensely.
After his passing, we did find a piece of paper with cryptic numbers listed by several baseball teams, and we wondered about the extra dollar or two that seemed to be hidden in a few spots around the house. Perhaps he and buddies did some mild wagering on an outcome or two! My favorite memory is standing by him in church listening to him sing hymns in a high very musical tone without the slightest stammer, as though the stroke had no effect on him whatsoever. In music, he was whole again and in music he could express his powerful love of life.
In looking at pictures of him when he was a young, handsome man, and in reading letters he wrote, I realized that in spite of a lack of formal education he had overcome great obstacles and hardships in order to be a husband, a father of 2, and grandfather of 6. So Granddaddy, I know you are smiling down at your family which is quite numerous these many years later and I know you are proud. Thanks for all the love you gave in your life and thanks for being my grandfather.
That vent, a result of the heating and cooling units being located below the pier and beam construction, was a great mystery to me, continually fascinating and perhaps frightening me as I imagined strange creatures living below the house. I recall the frequent sounds and smells of the kitchen as the delicious turkey and dressing were being prepared for Thanksgiving. I also knew to be excited about watching football on the television set since that is what we were supposed to anticipate (it was important to share in that football energy whether I understood it or not). It was rumored in soft tones, that Grandmother did not appreciate the football watching and was not really supportive of this particular endeavor; yet we always gathered in the back room to yell at the referees, encourage the quarterback, and cheer for the team--as though any of that really made any difference!
During commercials we would go outside, hearing the reminder not to "cut our feet on the dog mess" and would play different games that children play when grass is under their feet. In the early years we played with the dog named Pancho, a cute little tan dog that really was not very friendly, and then later years was McDuff who although not appreciated by Granddaddy at first, eventually was loved by everyone!
I never really knew Granddaddy before his stroke which left him with a speech defect and some odd mannerisms. He tended to be a little gruff at times but somehow caring at the same time. I recall being slightly frightened when he would tap our plates signifying that we needed to eat all our food, and I laugh at the inevitable baseball discussions, the Hank Williams songs, and the odd little stores in the neighborhood where Granddaddy seemed to know the people and where he would always argue about the price of the item. Shoes and antifreeze were frequent concerns expressed, and I found out later these were two items that he insisted would never be a problem again for anyone in his family. Apparently as a child, shoes were a rare commodity, and I heard the story of the car that froze up, forcing him and his son (my father) to walk in the snow to get help.
Birthdays and Christmas were fun times since we always enjoyed the challenge of finding the perfect gift for him. He seemed to love opening presents, but we always wondered if he truly liked the item! Yet we continued to buy him shirts, ties, and even candy in the hopes he would be thrilled. Looking back I realize that Granddaddy did not really care about material items (except perhaps his favorite sweater and his television set of course), but he did care about his family and sacrificed everything he could for his children and grandchildren. He loved the Lord, never missed church, and regardless of what the day held, he always woke early and got completely dressed even knowing he would not be leaving the house in those later years. The twinkle in his eye and the slight mischievous grin on his face remained throughout his life, a life which he enjoyed immensely.
After his passing, we did find a piece of paper with cryptic numbers listed by several baseball teams, and we wondered about the extra dollar or two that seemed to be hidden in a few spots around the house. Perhaps he and buddies did some mild wagering on an outcome or two! My favorite memory is standing by him in church listening to him sing hymns in a high very musical tone without the slightest stammer, as though the stroke had no effect on him whatsoever. In music, he was whole again and in music he could express his powerful love of life.
In looking at pictures of him when he was a young, handsome man, and in reading letters he wrote, I realized that in spite of a lack of formal education he had overcome great obstacles and hardships in order to be a husband, a father of 2, and grandfather of 6. So Granddaddy, I know you are smiling down at your family which is quite numerous these many years later and I know you are proud. Thanks for all the love you gave in your life and thanks for being my grandfather.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
My position or maybe who I am
The other day during band camp, I was asked to play jazz piano in a combo. Playing jazz piano is already a bit unusual for a dean of music and fine arts and maybe for someone with a Doctor of Philosophy, and I often notice the quizzical grins I receive when I sit at the piano for comping (a phrase used to describe jazz accompanying) and for improvisation. But this particular day, as we were setting up, it was suggested that I sit on the amplifier and have it faced the opposite direction. This allows for more control of sound and a little bit more reverberation for the audience. In addition, the other players can hear the piano better thus lending itself to greater ensemble playing.
We began the warm-up period (which usually involves doodling on the various instruments while the others are getting set-up) and I realized how strange it felt for the piano sound to be coming out behind and below me. I had a fleeting thought which I unfortunately verbalized, "I feel as though I am flatulating music." As I completed my thought and realized it had indeed been spoken, I felt as much as saw the stares of shock from the other players. One player in particular responded with, "That's our Dean!" which I took as "See what we tolerate?" or maybe, "Forgive him, he is different," or perhaps, "You never know what he will say next," or worse, "What kind of dean would say such a thing."
Flatulence is an odd event in life that seems to carry with it both great humor and disdain. Benjamin Franklin wrote admirably about this event in his masterful essay, "Fart Proudly," and Augustine himself discussed the act of "breaking wind" as being similar to singing. In some cultures, flatulence is as common and accepted as a yawn; whereas, in others it is considered offensive and ill-mannered. In our society, it has a humorous element to it, but is also reserved for certain events. Since much has been written on this subject and most people have an informed and probably personal experience with said event, I do not feel a need to postulate any further on this subject.
I wish, instead, to discuss what it means to have a Ph.D. and to be a Dean. There is an expectation of refinement, of intelligence, of preparation, of scholarly thought, and of wisdom or perception. My steps, my words, my actions must be different, unique, and probably superior by virtue of my rank and position in life. Strangely, I don't feel any different from before and I certainly would prefer to be myself regardless of how I am seen, but I wonder if it is really that simple. How fair or right is it for me to disappoint people or to burst the balloon of expectation that has been set forth for me by other people?
Although it is widely acknowledged that all men have flaws and that nobody is perfect, we still somehow tend to elevate certain positions and therefore invoke a greater expectation upon those very people. According to Emmanuel Kant, we are shaped by our interests, our history, and our concepts, and it is these very concepts that guide our judgment, our choices, and our decision-making process. If our interest is Science Fiction, and our history is defined by the books of Isaac Asimov, then our concept or expectation is for future Science Fiction to be similar to the writing of Isaac Asimov. If our concept of the best sandwich is that from Subway, then we tend to compare all sandwiches to our conceptual idea of the perfect sandwich.
Of course, concepts can also be formed, and most likely are superior, from our creative imagination. We conjure and decide what someone should be or how someone should act and subsequently impose that expectation on the person. It may not always be fair and it may not always be consistent, and our human frailty often flies in the face of the expectation, but regardless of the end result, this is indeed the way it is. We should and must, at least to an extent, without sacrificing our individuality, act in a manner befitting of the expectations of the position. This is true regardless of the chosen profession.
I insist on retaining my independent right to be myself, yet I also remind myself to meet the expectations of others and to "act like a dean is supposed to act!" This morning, when I made my precursory glance in the mirror to check my hair (my personal attempt at humor each morning since my hair requires no attention), I reproved, rebuked, and exhorted myself with great patience and understanding. Mainly, I reminded myself not to shake people's expectations up too much and to go easy on the uncultivated humor! After all, I am a dean and it may be time to act as such.
We began the warm-up period (which usually involves doodling on the various instruments while the others are getting set-up) and I realized how strange it felt for the piano sound to be coming out behind and below me. I had a fleeting thought which I unfortunately verbalized, "I feel as though I am flatulating music." As I completed my thought and realized it had indeed been spoken, I felt as much as saw the stares of shock from the other players. One player in particular responded with, "That's our Dean!" which I took as "See what we tolerate?" or maybe, "Forgive him, he is different," or perhaps, "You never know what he will say next," or worse, "What kind of dean would say such a thing."
Flatulence is an odd event in life that seems to carry with it both great humor and disdain. Benjamin Franklin wrote admirably about this event in his masterful essay, "Fart Proudly," and Augustine himself discussed the act of "breaking wind" as being similar to singing. In some cultures, flatulence is as common and accepted as a yawn; whereas, in others it is considered offensive and ill-mannered. In our society, it has a humorous element to it, but is also reserved for certain events. Since much has been written on this subject and most people have an informed and probably personal experience with said event, I do not feel a need to postulate any further on this subject.
I wish, instead, to discuss what it means to have a Ph.D. and to be a Dean. There is an expectation of refinement, of intelligence, of preparation, of scholarly thought, and of wisdom or perception. My steps, my words, my actions must be different, unique, and probably superior by virtue of my rank and position in life. Strangely, I don't feel any different from before and I certainly would prefer to be myself regardless of how I am seen, but I wonder if it is really that simple. How fair or right is it for me to disappoint people or to burst the balloon of expectation that has been set forth for me by other people?
Although it is widely acknowledged that all men have flaws and that nobody is perfect, we still somehow tend to elevate certain positions and therefore invoke a greater expectation upon those very people. According to Emmanuel Kant, we are shaped by our interests, our history, and our concepts, and it is these very concepts that guide our judgment, our choices, and our decision-making process. If our interest is Science Fiction, and our history is defined by the books of Isaac Asimov, then our concept or expectation is for future Science Fiction to be similar to the writing of Isaac Asimov. If our concept of the best sandwich is that from Subway, then we tend to compare all sandwiches to our conceptual idea of the perfect sandwich.
Of course, concepts can also be formed, and most likely are superior, from our creative imagination. We conjure and decide what someone should be or how someone should act and subsequently impose that expectation on the person. It may not always be fair and it may not always be consistent, and our human frailty often flies in the face of the expectation, but regardless of the end result, this is indeed the way it is. We should and must, at least to an extent, without sacrificing our individuality, act in a manner befitting of the expectations of the position. This is true regardless of the chosen profession.
I insist on retaining my independent right to be myself, yet I also remind myself to meet the expectations of others and to "act like a dean is supposed to act!" This morning, when I made my precursory glance in the mirror to check my hair (my personal attempt at humor each morning since my hair requires no attention), I reproved, rebuked, and exhorted myself with great patience and understanding. Mainly, I reminded myself not to shake people's expectations up too much and to go easy on the uncultivated humor! After all, I am a dean and it may be time to act as such.
Monday, June 16, 2008
Two-week Whirlwind
It was a two-week whirlwind for me beginning with my mother being taken to the emergency room for abdominal pain. Soon afterward a nasogastric tube was inserted through her nose, down her throat, and down into her stomach with a suction machine attached. Little did we know the tube would remain with her for 11 days. Two days after being admitted, she had surgery to remove adhesions that were wrapped around her small intestine. A few hours later, the doctor determined she was bleeding internally and had a follow-up surgery to remove her spleen. Several days later, and after 4 units of blood, she was moved to a regular room where she began to recover from the ordeal. Her internal organs took longer to "wake up" than anticipated resulting in an extended hospital stay. On Monday she went home and is doing well.
With the passing of my father several years ago, the responsibility to look out for my mother rests primarily on me. In normal situations, she is more than capable of taking care of herself--in good health, with her own admirable career, good decisions, etc. But in times of difficulty, in a world where no one is sure who is responsible, families should probably assume their role in taking care of their own. Luckily, during this hospital stay, her many friends including a special male friend added considerable care, relieving me from feeling as though I should be there most of the time. In retrospect, it was not all that difficult and in fact I did enjoy spending time with my mother, although the seeds of concern remained throughout her hospital stay.
In addition, we had band camp at Howard Payne last week. Our camp has a 35 year history that demonstrates how adjusting to market needs can encourage success. For many years our camp was designed as a camp for flags and drum majors. It was a fine camp that ran as many as 125 with the average being around 85 or 90 each year. About 12 years ago, we decided to experiment with a drum-line camp and to try an actual band during the week. We saw almost immediate growth and the camp went from 1 band to 4 bands plus a jazz band with a total of over 400 people. Of course, that kind of growth creates many other challenges including staffing, insurance, facility usage, and general space. Yet, the rewards have been immense and we look forward to many more years of the Howard Payne University Band Leadership Camp (www.bandleadershipcamp.com). As an aside, it occurred to me this year during band camp that the teachers are committed to imparting musical and educational goals to the students, but the students, in contrast, are committed to finding a boyfriend or girlfriend for the week! Can these two seemingly incongruous goals coexist during a week? Certainly.
Meanwhile, I have accepted a temporary part-time music minister position at a Baptist church in a nearby community. While I am excited about being a music minister once again, I have also decided to tread carefully and conservatively as I enter the world of church music and the inevitable worship wars over what kind of music to use in worship. I think I will draw on my knowledge, my personality, my eclecticism, and mostly spiritual enlightenment to select music for worship. I will let my readers know how things are going. Right now I feel very positive about it.
And so, the two tough weeks are over and it is time to progress forward with writing music, reading, studying, practicing, thinking, and spending time with my family. Such is the life of an eclectic scholar who enjoys dabbling in a variety of experiences.
With the passing of my father several years ago, the responsibility to look out for my mother rests primarily on me. In normal situations, she is more than capable of taking care of herself--in good health, with her own admirable career, good decisions, etc. But in times of difficulty, in a world where no one is sure who is responsible, families should probably assume their role in taking care of their own. Luckily, during this hospital stay, her many friends including a special male friend added considerable care, relieving me from feeling as though I should be there most of the time. In retrospect, it was not all that difficult and in fact I did enjoy spending time with my mother, although the seeds of concern remained throughout her hospital stay.
In addition, we had band camp at Howard Payne last week. Our camp has a 35 year history that demonstrates how adjusting to market needs can encourage success. For many years our camp was designed as a camp for flags and drum majors. It was a fine camp that ran as many as 125 with the average being around 85 or 90 each year. About 12 years ago, we decided to experiment with a drum-line camp and to try an actual band during the week. We saw almost immediate growth and the camp went from 1 band to 4 bands plus a jazz band with a total of over 400 people. Of course, that kind of growth creates many other challenges including staffing, insurance, facility usage, and general space. Yet, the rewards have been immense and we look forward to many more years of the Howard Payne University Band Leadership Camp (www.bandleadershipcamp.com). As an aside, it occurred to me this year during band camp that the teachers are committed to imparting musical and educational goals to the students, but the students, in contrast, are committed to finding a boyfriend or girlfriend for the week! Can these two seemingly incongruous goals coexist during a week? Certainly.
Meanwhile, I have accepted a temporary part-time music minister position at a Baptist church in a nearby community. While I am excited about being a music minister once again, I have also decided to tread carefully and conservatively as I enter the world of church music and the inevitable worship wars over what kind of music to use in worship. I think I will draw on my knowledge, my personality, my eclecticism, and mostly spiritual enlightenment to select music for worship. I will let my readers know how things are going. Right now I feel very positive about it.
And so, the two tough weeks are over and it is time to progress forward with writing music, reading, studying, practicing, thinking, and spending time with my family. Such is the life of an eclectic scholar who enjoys dabbling in a variety of experiences.
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