Meditations of a Bald, Fat Guy

MEDITATIONS-DENIAL 3/26/24

For Protestants and Roman Catholics, last Sunday was Palm Sunday, the start to Holy Week. At Mass, our church had a guest speaker who orated the Scriptural story of Christ‘s compassion. He was really good. You could feel yourself in the courtyard of Pontius Pilate, watching as he questioned Jesus, then placated the mob as he turned Jesus over to be crucified.

There is a lot of mystery surrounding Holy Week. In Roman Catholicism, a mystery is that which is unknowable, or valuable knowledge that is kept secret. They serve as a source of thought for the faithful. During Holy Week we consider the sacrifice of Jesus, the sorrow of his Blessed Mother Mary, the betrayal of Judas Iscariot. The one that struck a chord in me was the denial of Jesus by Simon Peter.

Peter was Jesus’ right-hand man, the man who would go on to found the Christian faith. The story of his denial is so important it was included in all four Gospels. According to the Gospel of Matthew, “Peter replied, “Even if all fall away on account of you, I never will.” “I tell you the truth,” Jesus answered, “This very night, before the rooster crows, you will disown me three times.” But Peter declared, “Even if I have to die with you, I will never disown you.” And all the other disciples said the same.” (Matthew 26: 33-35)

Anyone who has ever made a promise can know what Peter felt at that time. We all make oaths, promises, vows. In the moment, we are caught up in the importance of the promise. We stand straight, stick out our chest, and look forward with bravery and determination. We start out was the heroes of our own stories. We will prevail.

Aaaannnnnnddddd then we fail.

Turns out, unsurprisingly, that Jesus was right, and Peter was wrong. He denied Jesus three times, just as was foretold. After the third denial, the cock crowed, and Peter remembered what Jesus said. Peter ran off, weeping bitterly.

And weep bitterly he should. It’s a hard fall from the heroic pose to the exposure of your base failure. The shattering of one’s self-image is a personality-shifting, life-altering event. People in Alcoholics Anonymous call this “hitting rock bottom”. I identify with Peter here, because I’ve been there. A couple of times, actually. I’ve become quite a rock-bottom aficionado.

For most of my youth and early adulthood, I lived with a self image of the White Knight. I was a protector, a paladin. I faced evil, I supported Right is Might, not Might is Right. I championed the forlorn, the defenseless. My word was my bond. “I will be brave, loyal, and chivalrous in all my deeds, and will devote myself to the service of God and my liege. So help me God.” I joined the Army Reserves, I was a soldier.

Aaaannnnnnddddd then I failed, sometimes spectacularly.

I’ve almost reached the age of 60. My white armor is soiled, blood-stained, dented, marred and tarnished. Here’s a mystery. Maybe it’s supposed to be that way. Peter didn’t want to weep bitterly. He wanted to serve the Lord. Perhaps his failure prepared him to form, then lead a new religion. To serve the Lord, it cannot be about you. When Peter protested that he would never deny Jesus, he made it about him. His failure showed that making it about him was not going to work. Peter learned what Christ taught, “Not my will, but Your will be done.” Armed with the wisdom gained by his failure, Peter built Christ’s Church.

Peter’s story is also about redemption. He really screwed up. He could not stay awake for Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane. He cut off Malchus‘ ear, then he denied Jesus three times. It had been a long day, he saw his friend Judas betray Jesus, he saw his Master get arrested, and he did not fulfill his self-image. So yeah, he wept bitterly.

But then he went on to start a world-changing movement. Jesus didn’t choose him because he was perfect. Jesus chose Peter because He knew how Peter would respond to his rock bottom. He became the Rock on which the Church was built. He influenced millions, if not billions, of people. That speaks volumes about the power of redemption.

Look, at the risk of sounding preachy, I believe in the power of Grace. My better half is the epitome of Grace AND Redemption. I have personally witnessed this power. It’s why I’ve made it to 60, and only partially insane for my efforts. It doesn’t matter what you think of yourself. That’s right, I’m looking right at you, gentle reader.

It. Doesn’t. Matter.

You can be redeemed. No matter what you’ve done, He can redeem you. I believe in a God who can forgive anything. Yes, think of the nastiest, most evil serial killer ever. On his deathbed, if he fully repented and asked God for forgiveness. I believe He would forgive him. He is boundless love. He is Grace, He is a Redeemer.

That is why He suffered and died for us. No matter what we have done, we can be forgiven. We can be redeemed. Read that sentence as many times as you need to to get it. It’s as simple as Jesus loves you.

Don’t ask me how He does it. It’s a mystery.

MEDITATIONS-CHOICES 3/22/24

I was driving back home from a doctor’s appoint, when a thought hit me, like a bolt from Zeus. I had just caught myself wondering, “How did our world get to this state?” Zeus reared up his godly head, cast his bolt, and the answer appeared. We chose this.

I’m Roman Catholic, so the concept of free choice is not new to me. Yet, we can definitely take that for granted. Through out history, man has strived to create a place where they could live in peace. Predatory animals, disease, natural disasters, predatory humans, all serve to threaten peace. The basic desire is to be left alone so we can pursue whatever we desire, and to be protected from danger of a scale we can’t handle ourselves.

248 years ago, we created a system of government with a type of government that was delineated in writing. First in the Declaration of Independence. “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, and they are endowed with certain, unalienable rights. That among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.” Guided by those principles, we then created the US Constitution. “We the People, in order to form a more perfect Union, establish justice, ensure domestic tranquility. Provide for the common defense, promote the general welfare and secure the Blessings of Liberty, to ourselves and our posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution, for the United States of America.”

I was able to write those from memory, with a little help from Schoolhouse Rock. We used those concepts to create a government whose primary responsibility is the safety and security of its citizens. For the longest time, each citizen was actively involved in the enforcement of those concepts, sometimes giving their lives in its defense, voting for those in government who served the public interests, as outlined in the US Constitution.

The long and short of it is, I am able to drive peacefully to the doctor, receive some of the best health care in the world, drive peacefully home, and sit here and type out my thoughts without fear of governmental sanction. My two grandsons, the Devilish Duo, can play in the neighborhood and our backyard with little fear of predation. Our choices over the past 248 years have created one of the safest places in the world to live.

Get past the noise from social media. Yes, gun violence is a thing. Yes, child sex trafficking is a thing. Yes, crime is a thing. But, by and large, when you compare us to the world, we have the safest place to live. Based on our choices.

Yet, our recent choices have not been good. The news across the country is not good. Prosecutors setting aside the law to pursue personal agendas. Judges setting aside the law to pursue personal agendas. Crime is going unpunished. Our established borders are being willfully violated. Established science is being set aside for societal agendas. There are US citizens who are willfully, purposefully seeking the destruction of the world’s safest place to live. Our country, 248 years old, is under assault. I can spend the rest of this blog, and numerous others, expounding on the reasons why.

If you are looking for reasons, I would refer you to Mark Levin. He is a podcaster, radio talk show host, TV commentator, author and constitutional law attorney. He has written best-selling books like, Men In Black: How The Supreme Court Is Destroying America, Liberty and Tyranny: A Conservative Manifesto, Ameritopia: The Unmaking of America, Unfreedom of the Press and The Democratic Party Hates America. This books spell out, in detail, what is happening and why. He even outlines strategies for counteracting what is happening, with actions in line with our founding documents. His book, The Liberty Amendments: Restoring the American Republic, he spells out the framework for the Convention of States movement, designed to amend the US Constitution through Article 5 of the Constitution.

Rather than wade through all that, I’m going to bring it back to the topic at hand. Choices. We have allowed prosecutors to stop enforcing the law, or to substitute laws for their personal agendas. We have allowed judges to do the same. We have allowed our government to stop performing its primary function. We have allowed lawlessness to run rampant, and we have allowed science to be perverted and set aside for social agendas.

We can look at everything around us, throw up our hands and say, “Fuck it! I can’t do anything!” You would not be more wrong. Sure, taken in total, the moral rot and decay of our society can be overwhelming. However, we are Americans. We don’t shy away from fights that need fighting, and the heart and soul of this great nation is worth fighting for.

Dr. Jordan Peterson has a simple solution for life’s problems. Clean your room. Start with what is around you. Orient yourself to what is right and important, get your house in order, then find like-minded people who can work on your neighborhood, then your city, then your state. Demand that your government do its duty. It is unlawful for people to block city streets. Its is unlawful for people to cross our border without following the process. It is unlawful for government officials in any position to either not fulfill their duties, or to operate outside of those duties. Demand that laws are enforced.

Read the Declaration of Independence and the US Constitution. You cannot defend something you don’t understand. You can’t counter an argument without proper information. Know your city’s ordinances and state laws, and your state’s constitution. This is free, and only requires your time. Arm yourself with knowledge.

Don’t accept a politician’s cry for more legislation. If we are not enforcing what we already have, why in Hell would a new law help? Don’t accept demonization. A lot of the people crossing our borders illegally are human beings. Yes, they are violating our laws, and should be sent back, but they are human beings. But too many are criminals and terrorists. Find them, fix them, and don’t allow poison into our country to kill our fellow citizens. Our country allows peaceful assemblies. It doesn’t provide for non-peaceful assemblies. It doesn’t provide for riots, road-blocking, intimidation or violence.

We can bemoan that our current conditions force us into certain choices. That is a falsehood, based on personal convenience. We look at a choice, we see that making it will lead to hardship and pain, and we choose something else that is easier. We then attempt to justify it by saying we had no choice.

No. We have done this for the past 10-20 years, or more, and we can see the results. Now is the time to reassert our country’s core beliefs. Just like a Catholic who espouses non-Catholic beliefs is not a Catholic (I’m looking at YOU, Joe Biden and Nancy Pelosi!), a person who espouses anti-American beliefs is not an American. Don’t want to be labeled as Un-American? Espouse American beliefs.

#ChooseWisely

JUDGING A BOOK BY ITS COVER-3/3/24

Gets me every time. I’m almost 60, and I’ve gotten very judgy. Like I’m a bout of gout away from yelling at kids passing by to stay off my lawn. As it is, I stare at them intently as they pass, prepared to defend my lawn with deadly force if they try to trespass.

I’ve become quite good at judging books by their covers. I have watched enough Criminal Minds, and studied enough books on profiling, criminal psychology, etc., that I’m like Hotch when I’m in the mall, at church, or staring out my window with deadly intent.

I will identify a person’s personality, their back story their life history, all by how they look. I can explain why they did what they did. I…know all about them. It’s a gift. An awful burden. Ask Robin. She’ll tell you. My awesome, wonderful gift to know a person by how they look.

So we went to Mass this afternoon. It’s Lent, and we’re re-learning how to be Catholic, including the Day of Obligation. Manchester United had their Manchester Derby today; their rivalry match against Manchester City. For the record, the Brits pronounce ‘derby’ as ‘darby’. Why? Because they’re Brits. See? It’s a gift. My Reds lost 3-1. Anyway, we didn’t go to Mass this morning, so we had to go in the afternoon.

So anyway, Robin, Jessica and I get to church and begin filing into our pew. I look across the way ands there is a teenage girl standing in her pew, and she was the epitome of a teenager. Her arms were crossed, her hips were cocked, and her face looked like she had sucked the world’s worst lemon. I nudged Robin and whispered to her, “She clearly does NOT want to be here!” Robin smirked and said something to Jessica, who looked and nodded. I had her all figured out.

Or did I? I’m old enough to be curmudgeonly, but I’m also old enough to have a bit of wisdom. I had an incident flash into my mind involving one of my best friends Craig. I saw a picture of one of his daughters, who I thought was smirking and I made some mindless quip. Turns out she always looks that way, and I felt like a dick. She’s a first-class kid, and my gift was shown to be the sham that it is. I did the whole, “Let’s deliver the profile,” thing and my profile was wrong.

So that got me wondering. In between Bible verses, and songs, and psalms, and other church-type things, I looked at other people there. What were there stories? There was the silver-haired woman with the cutest baby who made very loud raspberry noises throughout the service. Single mom? Grandma? The family behind her was a husband, mom, and two young daughters. The couple to my right looked Hispanic. I briefly wondered what their stories were. I tried thinking about their lives. Based on what I could see.

Gift or not, I couldn’t do it. Imagine knowing the total lives of the people around you at church. What would you do with that knowledge? Imagine having that knowledge for every single person in the world, past, present and future. Just trying to imagine the lives of the few people around me fried my brain, which doesn’t take much, nowadays. I can’t comprehend omniscience. And don’t get me started on omnipresence. Hollywood tried with Everything, Everywhere, All at Once…and all I got from that was a sense of profound confusion.

Maybe we’re all just trying our best to make it through this world. I don’t know why the teenager looked pissed. I vaguely recall being a teenager, and I do recall being pissed a lot. But she has hopes and dreams. She has a history, a future. So does silver-haired lady with the baby, who clearly has a future. So does the Hispanic couple. Hell, so do I. What do people see when t hey see me? A curmudgeonly man with a cane, bearing the same pissed off look on his face that the teenager has?

There, in the church, God was rapping on my head. He had a lesson he wanted to impart to me. He wanted me to reach a realization. Learn a lesson. Maybe it’s that the cover isn’t as important as your story? Ugh,

It’s like God is reaching out to me. I’m reaching out to him, and I just, Can’t. Touch.

MEDITATIONS-SOLITUDE, PART DEUX 2/5/24

It’s been less than a week since my last blog. I would like to post an update.

I am over my solitude.

I am so over it. My feet hurt, which is hard to do when I can’t feel anything below my knees. My right knee, which I twinged in the Pisgah National Forest, has settled into an on-going, throbbing pain, interspersed with moments of shooting agony. I should probably be taking it easy and let my arthritis calm down. Instead, I’ve been putting 3-5 miles a day on my feet and knees. Today alone I’ve done 11,000 steps, about 4.64 miles. I’m sitting here, with a bag of ice on my knee, and a heating pad on my lower back. Ahhhhhhh, life!

I miss home. I miss the Devilish Duo. I miss Roman’s Pinky–like hijinks, and Stevie’s plans to take over the world. I miss Jessica’s sass. I miss my dogs. Who else is there? Oh yeah. My best friend. The love of my life. The yin to my yang. The Tom MacDonald to my Ben Shapiro. The Rob McElhenny to my Ryan Reynolds. Robin, my much better half.

After 34 years, it’s the little things you miss. When she comes home from work, I am usually treated to her telling me about her day. Look, I listen to her, not because I’m fascinated about the mundane minutiae of her life, but because it’s her talking. As I often tell her, “I love your feckless meanderings.” It’s true. It’s not about what she is saying, it’s about the fact that she is sharing it with me.

I am a much better man because of her. Thus, I do miss the positive influence she has had on my life. I eat better and drink better to avoid The Look. Married guys know about The Look. The Look says, “You know you’re being stupid. You need to stop it on your own, allowing yourself the deception that it was your idea. If you make me stop it, you’ll definitely be sorry!”

Happiness is coming to the understanding that she is usually right. While I have hedonistically enjoyed not having her correct my errors, I do appreciate that she does so because she does love me.

I also miss the cwtch. Cwtch is a Welsh term to describe a hug, but one with more emotional meaning. Yes, I’m saying I need a hug, but a Welsh one. A cwtch is something only a significant other can give. If I cwtch a stranger, I’m probably getting tased, then arrested. As they say in Wales, “Anyone can hug, but only the Welsh can cwtch.”

To cap off this trite bit of dross, I’ll post this little bit of a song.

Show me the way to go home,
I’m tired and I want to go to bed,
I had a little drink about an hour ago,
And it’s gone right to my head,
Wherever I may roam,
On land or sea or foam,
You will always hear me singing this song,
Show me the way to go home.

MEDITATIONS-SOLITUDE 1/30/24

I have been in Charlotte, North Carolina for three weeks. I’ll be here for three more before I can go home. That’s a lot of solitude. It’s not been so bad.

When I was younger, I hated to be alone. I would rather chew my arm off rather than be alone for an extended period of time. It led to some really bad personal decisions, which I will NOT re-hash here.

Perhaps it’s part of the maturation process, but I have enjoyed the solitude. I love Robin, and really, really miss her, but I’ve been digging living like a bachelor, without the baggage of being a bachelor.

Take the simple act of going to the bathroom. I have Crohn’s Disease, which can generate some truly noxious side effects. Those escape me, because I have congenital anosmia, so I don’t have a sense of smell. Thus, when I leave the bathroom at home, I had gotten used to hearing Robin say, “SPRAY!” from across the house. Sometimes it’s bad enough that she say it while I’m still in the bathroom. I can’t describe the smell, but I did open the door to a UN team from the Organization for the Prohibition of Chemical Weapons, in full chemical suits, trying to seal off my bathroom.

Here, in my AirBnB house, no spray. Nobody yelling at me to “SPRAY!”. No UN OPCW teams, just blissful silence. Sure, an errant spark may cause the house to explode, and yes, the paint seems to be peeling, and there’s a circle of dead birds around the house, but it is a nice vacation from spraying.

Another plus is the menu. My first week, I tried buying fresh veggies and cooking clean. But that takes so long, and I am needing all my time to work on these reports. Thus this week I bought frozen meals. Today I had Buffalo chicken Mac and cheese, with a couple of slices of cheesy Texas Toast. It took me 8 minutes to fix, and I had enough time to throw this blog together. Plus, it was sooooo good.

I have, at least, been keeping the house clean. I vacuum the carpet, I do my laundry, I clean the toilets, I wash the dishes. But I do them on my schedule. Robin’s schedule is logical. Her schedule makes sense. It’s just at a different tempo than my schedule. Having one schedule has been relaxing. I don’t want to say Robin is a harsh mistress, but she sometimes makes my Drill Sergeants from Basic Training seem like nice guys, and those guys called me every name in the book. Robin just has a different book. And she’s never a harsh in a good way.

Another plus, I get to have a beer a day. At home, a 12-pack of beer will often last over a year. Robin has this way of looking at me and saying, “Should you be drinking so much?” Try as I might, I can’t muster a counter-argument for that. Thus, minimal beer drinking. Here? I have a beer with every dinner. It’s amazing what the beer does to the taste of the food. I feel like I’ve awakened my adult taste buds. The Buffalo chicken Mac and cheese I had tonight was soooooo good with beer. It’s like they were made for each other. When I’m eating clean. Beer doesn’t awaken anything except for Robin’s disapproval. So much disapproval.

I could go on, but I really do love my wife, and am looking forward to getting back home and getting re-civilized. Spraying, clean-eating, tee-totaling re-alignment of my schedule to fit in with the woman of my dreams. Plus there’s the Devilish Duo. I miss those little scamps too. And my daughter Jessica. I haven’t been insulted, hassled, or disrespected in almost a month. Yeah, she’s a chip off the old block. I even miss my son-in-law.

But, that’s for three weeks from now. Right now, I have to usher the UN OPCW team out of my house. This is the US of A, dammit! GIT! And no, for the 400th time, I don’t need to spray!

MEDITATIONS 1/21/24-FAMILY

I’m in Charlotte, North Carolina, where I’ve been for two weeks. I’ve been assessing schools in the Charlotte-Mecklenburg Schools district, and I have a couple of weeks to go. I had a Skyrizi injection for my Crohn’s Disease on Thursday, and yesterday I had a day of very low energy and cold-like symptoms. Nothing like feeling like crap far from home.

My schedule is pretty hectic. I get up between 5:00 am and 5:30 am every morning. I’ll go to a high school to assess their weapons screening process (Yes, that’s actually a thing.), or I’ll start by assessing a school’s student arrival. At each school, I interview the administrators and conduct scenario assessments. I walk around and take a bunch of pictures and identify areas the school might be able to improvise the safety and security of everybody in the building. I’ll do two schools a day, sometimes three elementary schools a day. I definitely get my steps in.

When I get back to my AirBnB, I record the results of the interviews and scenario assessments, prepare for the next day, eat dinner, do a Welsh lesson or two, and go to bed between 9:00 pm and 10:00 pm. Over the weekends, I work on the reports. We generate a 45-60 page report for each school, complete with pictures. The report is generated by the information we enter into an online tool, but the process can be pain-staking, and generally it slowly turns my brain into oatmeal. I did not think it possible, but I can feel my soul slowly draining out of my body as I work on the reports. But I do them because they help schools to improve their safety and security. I do them because schools are great and wonderful places in a sick, twisted world, and I want them to continue to be great and wonderful places.

That brings me to my topic today. my low energy forced me away from my reports and gave me something I haven’t had in awhile, down time. I spent some of that on social media. If anything, social media steals more of my soul than report-writing, with none of the benefits. It’s easy, after a half hour on X (formerly known as Twitter), to think the world is going to Hell in a hand basket. Social media is designed to provide you with dopamine hits, while ramping up your anxiety. It’s an endless loop of breaking you down and building you up, and it sometimes leaves me feeling like I need a shower.

It’s easy to get overwhelmed with negativity, and sometimes I wonder what I can do in the face of this onslaught. Dr. Jordan Peterson once said that when you want to change the world, start by cleaning your room. For society that is our family. We, as a society, are in the midst of a prolonged period in which we have been prodded and prompted to do other things than support our families.

In today’s society, words are malleable, so let me define my terms. A family is people related either by blood or law. It forms the basis for society. The purpose of the family is to maintain the well-being of its members and therefore of society. Families offer structure and safety as members mature and learn to participate in the community. So that is family, to me. The fact I have to define it is a symptom of the societal rot we face, but so be it.

I started with my birth family. Maw, Paw, Shelly and Tom. Grandma Green, Maw’s mum, and Grandma and Grandpa Satterly, Paw’s mom and dad. I got married to Robin and started my own family, but never left my birth family, Robin is my wife of nearly 35 years. Jessica is my oldest, Carole is my youngest. Jessica got married to Christian, and they’ve had two sons, Roman and Stevie. Jessica, Christian and the Devilish Duo live with Robin and I. Maw and Paw have passed, but Shelly and Tom are still with me. Tom and his wife Jen, and their two children are part of my family. Shelly had a son, Jarod. Jarod married Emily. Shelly’s divorced. Tom had a son, Thomas, from a previous marriage. I never said families are pristine.

Ain’t a one of us perfect, by any stretch, but come Hell or high water we are family. I know there were times Maw and Paw weren’t proud of me, but I was still their son. I know there were times Robin wasn’t proud of me, but I was still her husband. They set standards I’ve tried to live up to. Sometimes, as Inigo Montoya said, I “more studied than pursued” those standards, but they were always there. I hope I have set those standards for my children, and I hope Jessica sets those standards for her two hellions. That’s what families are for. Tom has tried to live by Maw and Paw’s standards, as has Shelly. I know they’ve passed those on to their progeny.

Know right from wrong. Try to do right, and when you do wrong, own up to it, learn from it and get better. Don’t be a dick. You are no better than anyone else. Leave places better than they were before you got there.

Yes, large swaths of our country are going to shit. I don’t have the wherewithal to do anything about that. I ain’t running for President, or for any office. But I can try to take care of my family. I can love them, set high standards, and help them live up to them. I can try to live up to those standards myself. It’s all I have control over.

Clean your room, love your family. It’s all any of us can do. If we do that, our country will benefit, and it will sort itself out.

MEDITATIONS-TRAVEL

I am sitting in a Holiday Inn Express in Brevard, North Carolina. It is a wonderful town in western North Carolina, in the Blue Ridge Mountains. I have been tasked with assessing the schools here for the past week, before moving on to a major project next week in Charlotte, North Carolina. I’ll be back home on the 16th, then head back after the new year for a month.

The people in Transylvania County Schools are friendly, open, honest and are earnest in their desire to protect the children in their schools. From the Superintendent, Dr. Lisa Fletcher, to the school Principals, to the School Resource Officers (SROs), and the teachers, they all have the interests and welfare of the students in mind.

The folks here are salt-of-the-earth people. They hunt, they fish, they hike. As a matter of fact, this area has over 250 waterfalls. They have a large county, and this morning they had a two-hour delay. There are students and a school up in the mountains. They had rain overnight, and this morning the temperatures suddenly dropped, causing ice to form on the roads. The people in the lowlands were 10 degrees warmer, and didn’t have this problem. Safety first.

People here don’t care what you look like. What they care about is whether you are a good person. If you are not, they will have little to do with you. They don’t care about your politics, your causes, or your beliefs, except how it leads you to behave. The issues they deal with here are similar to those faced elsewhere. They have Christmas decorations in their schools, which I find refreshing.

Each school has a full-time SRO. This is an outstanding example of police-school collaboration. The SROs I met are dedicated, highly trained officers who deeply care for the students in their care. The educators I spoke to are extremely happy they are there. They use the true SRO model, which stresses the non-enforcement aspects of their job. They are there to make connections with students and staff, and from what I saw, they are magnificently succeeding in this mission. They were very open with me, treated me well, and were very receptive to the ideas I had, and in the observations I made.

I’ve visited and assessed hundreds of schools, across this country. This little town in western North Carolina should be the model for school districts across the country. The police, especially trained SROs, are not the enemy. They should not be de-funded. They should be fully funded and supported. Lieutenant Greg Stroup, God bless you and your SROs!

I’m finished with this project. Tomorrow I head to Charlotte for my next project. But first, I saw one of the 250 waterfalls, Looking Glass Falls, in beautiful Pisgah National Forest. Tomorrow, before heading to Charlotte, I’ll visit Triple Falls and Hooker Falls. These waterfalls were featured in The Hunger Games, and The Last of the Mohicans. I wish I could stay, but duty calls!

Looking Glass Falls, in the Pisgah National Forest

MEDITATIONS-COACH KNIGHT

On November 1, 2023, college basketball lost a legend. Coach Bob Knight passed, leaving quite the legacy. His 43-year coaching career began at Army from 1965-1971. From 1971 to 2000 he coached Indiana University, winning three NCAA National Championships, one National Invitational Tournament Championship, and 11 Big Ten Championships. He coached the U.S. Men’s Basketball team to a Gold Medal in 1984. He was National Coach of the Year 3 times, and the Big Ten Coach of the Year 8 times. He coached the Texas Tech Men’s Basketball Team from 2001 to midway through 2008, turning the team over to his son Pat Knight. He took Texas Tech to the NCAA tournament 5 times. His championship team from 1976 was the last national championship team to be undefeated.

Coach Knight, also know as “The General“, was also know for his fiery temper. In one infamous incident during a rivalry game in 1985, Coach Knight threw a chair across the floor while an opposing player was lined up for a free throw. He was ejected from the game. Later on, when asked why he threw the chair, he replied, “I noticed during the game that there was an elderly woman standing court-side. She looked tired, so I tossed her a chair.” You can bet that story grew in the telling!

He lost his job at IU in 2000, after allegedly choking one of his players during a practice. He was often prickly during media interviews. After an NCAA tournament win against Temple, Leslie Visser of CBS Sports, asked him how Indiana was able to beat Temple. Without missing a beat, Coach knight replied, “Well, Leslie, we scored more points than they did.” She was not used to coaches answering her in that fashion. But if he thought a reporter was asking a stupid question, he let them know it.

He was a complex man, who brought out the knives, and the plaudits, from others. I was a student at Indiana University from 1981 through 1987. I was getting a Bachelor of Science in Education, and I aspired to be a coach. I saw that Coach Knight taught a Coaching of Basketball class, and I thought, “There it is!” I was warned not to take it. Various people told me different stories. He wasn’t present for any of the classes. He had his assistant coaches do them. Nobody really learned anything, he just “mailed it in”. I held to my own counsel, and signed up.

Class was held in Assembly Hall, the arena where IU played their games. We were directed to a classroom deep in the building, and 15-20 of us sat in the classroom, waiting to see what would happen. Then, the door opened, and in walked a living legend. Coach was tall. He played ball himself, and was around 6 foot 6 inches tall. His eyes were intense. He looked at you like he was weighing your worth, and figuring out ways to increase that worth. Ways that would be uncomfortable, demanding, and exhausting.

He spoke, “Welcome to Coaching of Basketball. There are two requirements for this class. The first requirement is to be here every time, on time. If you miss, or are late for, one class, you’ve earned a C. The second time, you’ve flunked this class. If anyone here can’t deal with that now is the time to leave, and drop this class.” Three guys actually got up and left. Assembly Hall was on the north side of the campus, and was away from other class buildings. It was quite the walk, and the bus system had yet to be developed. For some, the logistics were too much.

Coach didn’t appear to be bothered. He told those of us remaining, “The other part of your grade is a notebook. You are to record everything you learn in a notebook. You will turn that in near the end of the course. It will be evaluated for its content, then you will get it back, hopefully to use when you start your coaching careers.” He looked around the room with his intense gaze. “Any questions?” Nobody moved a muscle.

The class met once a week. We had 45-60 minutes in the classroom. Coach would cover various areas of the came of basketball, then we would head to the Assembly Hall floor to be run through drills for the skills were learning. Assistant coaches ran us through the drills. It had been several years since I had gone through basic training, but the amount of profanity thrown my way was very reminiscent. I was in the best shape of my life, I was moderately good at the state sport of Indiana, but when I hit the floor, I couldn’t top anything right. The assistants were good enough to let me know, and applied correction. It was cool. We all felt like we were on the IU Basketball Team, which made up for the invective thrown our way.

The best part was, at the end of each class, Coach had a question and answer session. We could ask him anything, and he would opine on it in his direct way. One class, a young man with long hair, stood top and asked a question. Coach answered his question, then said he had a question for the young man. Coach asked, “How will you find yourself a job with hair like that?” The young man didn’t bat an eye and replied, “I’m young and in college. When I go out into the job market, I will clean myself up.” Coach approved of that answer. He appreciated the young man’s strength and honesty.

The second class we had, a student came in 10 minutes late. He was sweaty and breathing heavily. Coach, who had been speaking, acerbically asked, “Where the Hell have you been?” The student replied, between pants, “I have a class in Jordan Hall…” (Which is across campus, quite some distance away.) Coach interrupted him, “Well, you had better drop that class. You’ve now got a C, and if you’re late again, you’ll fail this class.” We didn’t see him again.

At one class, a young man stood up and asked, “How do you coach quickness?” Coach paused at that. After few moments thinking, he said, “I think it will be easier for me to show you than to tell you.” He pointed across the room at a box of chalk on a chalkboard. “Would you bring me that box of chalk to me, please?” The young man looked over at the box of chalk, got up, got the box and took it over to Coach. Coach thanked him and had him put it back. When the young man was seated, Coach pulled out his wallet and took out a $20 bill.

He looked at the young man and said, “If you can do the same thing before I count to ten, I’ll give you this $20 bill. GO!” The young man sprang up, ran across the room, grabbed the box of chalk, and ran toward Coach, who had been silent the whole time. Just as the young man got to Coach, Coach said, “Ten.”

The young man froze in place, his arm with the box of chalk outstretched towards Coach. The rest of the class burst out laughing. Coach had a slight smile on his face as he spoke to the young man, “Would you like to try again? I’ll give you a standing start!” The young man chuckled and replaced the chalk on the chalkboard. “No,” he said ruefully, “I’m good.”

When the laughing died down, Coach explained. Quickness can’t be taught. One is either quick, or they were not. A coach’s job was to bring out what quickness the athlete had. It was a great point that came in handy, not just in coaching, but in teaching, and in fatherhood.

I ended up with an A in that class. My notebook did come in handy when I coached a seventh grade boys basketball team the next year.

Coach’s legacy extended far beyond the court. Every year he gave a talk to the student body, for free. He always talked about life lessons, not basketball, and he always opened up the floor for questions at the end. One year a student, someone I vaguely knew from my high school, got up and asked a question. The student was overweight. Coach answered with a non sequitur, “Why don’t you lose weight?” There were gasps all around the hall. Some people would have wilted, but not this young man. He stood tall, looked directly at Coach and said, “I’ve tried many things to lose weight.” A young college student like myself doesn’t have the resources to make it work.” Coach nodded, then answered his question.

A bit later I learned the next day Coach called him and asked him to come to Assemble Hall. When he got there, he was met by the team nutritionist, and the team’s strength coach. They had worked out a nutrition plan, and a workout plan. Everyday he went to Assembly Hall to workout. He lost weight, and ended up as a student manager of the basketball team. I heard later that he ended up coaching.

Like I said, Coach was a complex man. He appreciated directness, and respected strength. He never touted his good deeds, and he loved his players like sons. His teams were always a joy to watch. He was a master of the motion offense, and his teams never played anything but man-to-man defense. He was more proud of his graduation rate than his titles and awards. He got great pleasure out of seeing his players go and be successful.

His death was a loss to the sport of college basketball, but he will always be a Legend in Indiana. Here in Indiana, Basketball is King, and he was definitely royalty. He won over 900 games, but dozens of former players are his true legacy.

I am honored to have been one of his students.

NEWSDESK-11/6/2023

MEDITATIONS-COMPLACENCY

America has a problem. It started back when the phrase, “The Silent Majority” was used by Richard Nixon. We have become complacent. We, as a people, have become accustomed to living our lives without active participation. We watch events on TV, on the interwebs, and on social media. We comment on them, we talk about them, but we don’t do anything.

The latest example is the response to October 7. There are news clips after news clips of pro-Palestinian, pro-Hamas people rallying all over the world. One in particular sticks out in my mind. A Jewish student at Harvard was surrounded and assaulted by Palestinian/Hamas supporters who put their hands on him to prevent him from leaving, and shouted, “Shame!” at him. A Cornell student was arrested after posting online threats against Jewish students.

What are we doing? Waiting for someone to do something? Why would somebody do something if we aren’t pressuring them to do something? Why not do something ourselves? Democracy is not something that is done to you. It is meant to be participatory. So is public safety. Yet we sit on our couches, watch events unfold, and shake our heads at what we see.

In England, a man was arrested for posting a video on Facebook questioning why there were so many Palestinian flags in his neighborhood. There was a large pro-Palestinian/Hamas rally in Washington, D.C., where red paint was smeared on the gates to the White House. Black Lives Matter has joined with pro-Palestinian/Hamas groups.

It’s odd to me. Approximately 5.5 million Palestinians live in Gaza City and the West Bank. None of the Arab countries in the region, including the Palestinian country of Jordan, want anything to do with Palestinian refugees, yet there are large demonstrations in all the Western countries. No where have I seen any counter protests. No where have I seen people standing up for the Jews in their community.

Take a step back and, just for poops and giggles, take the religion and ethnicity out of the equation. Who is acting like they are part of the human race? Is it the side that perpetrated a surprise attack against civilians, committing inhuman, depraved atrocities on them? Or is it the side that is working to remove the responsible entity, so that they can’t commit similar attacks in the future? Attacks they have claimed they will continue to do? “The Al Aqsa Flood (October 7) is just the first time, and there will be a second, a third, a fourth, because we have the determination, the resolve, and the capabilities to fight.”

So what can we do? We can call or write our elected representatives, except those that support the death of Jews and the elimination of Israel. Rashida Tlaib, an elected representative of Michigan doesn’t display an American flag outside of her Washington, D.C. office. It’s a Palestinian flag. She also posted on X, “Michigan, from the river to the sea.” That just seems right un-American to me. But maybe your local elected officials will be more open to discussion.

Build your situational awareness. What is going on in your community? If a rally is held, do you know who’s behind it? Do you know when and where it’s going to be held? Are appropriate safety measures being taken? Watching TV and surfing the web gets you information, but what will you do with that information? Think back to the 1930’s. Adolph Hitler and the Nazis did not just pop out of thin air during Kristallnacht in 1938, the “Night of the broken glass”. There were signs and portents before that. We’re seeing some of the same signs. We’ll just go ahead and put religion and ethnicity back in things.

We better figure out what we’re going to do about it. Complacency is not a solution.