Some words just don't feel right in the mouth. Here are a few:



exerciser. It just feels too long to say and the pattern feels rather odd in the mouth. I discovered this fact today at the gym and it totally ruined my workout. I remeber saying, "Well, if I'm an exerciser, then I will just have to cut my workout short today." I just couldn't go on knowing that the word, supposedly representing me, felt funny. I don't like to feel funny when I'm working out. I mean would you? There's nothing funny about tearing a muscle. Nothing! I think that exerciser should be replaced with another word, but unfortunately they ran out of space in the dictionary . . . this year. In my opinion, if the word weren't taken yet, a better word for one who exercises should be exorcist. Think about it. People will even go to the movies to hear that word.



ask. This is one of the most difficult words to say . . . for millions of African-Americans. I personally don't suffer from this ailment, but I feel so bad when I hear a child wanting to 'ax' someone a question and the other person goes running off in the other direction, calling the cops, fearing for their lives. Poor child ending up on probation or in some cell. All because of 'axing' someone . . . a question. The word doesn't feel right because it requires a person to carry out the 's' into an elongated 'ssss'. Why not help the children. Change the spelling to 'assssk' or have the optional pronunciation of 'axe'. This would save a lot of tax payer dollars, in my opinion.



Abercrombie. Need I say more?!?

colonel. Who was the genius who thought up the pronunciation for this word? I mean I can see it now. " . . . and we'll form villages, and the people who live in these villages will be called villagers. And when we put together a bunch of villages, we'll call it a colony, and the leaders of these colonies will be called kernels, but we'll spell it like colony. That way the British will get confused." At least the genius knew that I would have a pet peeve with the correct pronunciation of the word. Now thinking about it, maybe it was because of me that he changed it. Hmmm . . . that's deep and koony (pronounced: Spooky).

Loyola. This one is personal. I hate saying this word. It feels jumbled in my mouth, and when it finally surfaces it sounds more like: Lola or (put a Spanish accent on) Loy'ella. I fully acknowledge that this is my personal issue, but still! It just shouldn't be. What's wrong with naming a college Lola? My sister has a cat named Lola. Or Lolita? People will go to the movies for this name as well. I would you. Wouldn't you?

Hello my friends. what you are about to read is my Christmas letter to my family.



Peace



December 25, 2004



This will be a different type of Christmas letter. This letter is addressed to everyone, though I will have it sectioned off. I thought about this holiday season. I think about it now. I think about how this season is about family, about compassion, about sacrifice, about birth, about beginnings, about endings. I think of the years with which I have been blessed, remembering as a child that I was certain that I would die at an early age. It was ideal for me to dream about that for I saw myself fighting against injustices like Dr. Martin Luther King, seeing no other escape except tragedy. I do not have this dream anymore. I want to continue to live, though I am not afraid of death (most days); I want to see my daughter grow; I want to see my family through these times; I want to continue to mature with Tessin by my side; etc.



I feel reflectively sad this holiday season. We have built a world so entrenched in commercialism that we’ve loss all sense of meaning and purpose. I see the anger on faces everywhere; they’ve traded their “heroes for ghosts,” and exchanged “a walk-on part in the war for a lead role in a cage.” I have never felt this level of anger before, not the anger within me, but within the faces I pass by, the faces that cannot register a hint of a smile to a stranger, never realizing that this stranger, that stranger is a brother or sister. We are all connected. We are all alone. Now, before I hear the rush of religious defenses exclaiming, “You are not alone. God is with you.” I just want to remind you that even Jesus acknowledged his aloneness and loneliness. He realized the cure, though, he connected to people and by doing this he kept in contact with God. I want to see God through the big silly delicious smile of a daughter; through the voiceless pain of a father who has had to start over; through a mother whose emotional pain is revealed through her physical woes; through a sister who has branched into the adult world, no longer a running five year old hopping into my arms; through another sister who has taken punches from Life’s best Struggles and who has integrated the true lesson of love: no boundaries; through a brother whose fought demon after demon, never quitting, never following the voices of the Sirens, though their luscious lies are seductive; through a wife who knows more about belief and forgiveness than most professed holy people, whose love sees the gestalt, the whole. I am reminded of these things on this day. It is when I realize all of this love around me that I see God in all His complexity, all his majesty. It is then that my images come:



“From the people that do the work

From the people that sing the song

From the people that live the life

And from the people that get along

And a bottle of rum.

From the demon that always lurk

From the demon that do me wrong

From the fury that is my love

And from the struggle that is my song.



From the world in which I live

From the world I love so well

From the world of change and life

And from the Lord of which I tell

And a bottle of rum.

From the feelings I cannot give

From the feeling my fears impel

From the screams of a fright filled night

From the time what is spent in hell.



From the pleasure I’ve had before

From the pleasure I am to know

From the pleasure my dreams provide

And from the pleasure I can bestow

And a bottle of rum.

From the trouble that’s at my door

From the trouble where e’er I go

From the misfortune I abide

And from the courage I’m trying to show.



Oh, it get me down sometime. It get me down but only

A little look around and I find that I am not so lonely.

We are in the same boat brother

We are in the same boat sister

And my images come”



Now to each of you.



Roy

I wish you could be here this year, my brother. I sure do miss you. The you we knew as kids, in all your rebellious and loving big brother way. I think about that every once in while. I would think of it more, but it causes an allergic reaction: my eyes get watery, I get shivers, and my throat closes in on me. But every once in a while, it’s worth having that reaction. The reward is great.



I’m glad you are at a better place right now than you were some months ago. It does my heart well to know that you are seeking to find yourself, and I hope you do. I hope that you understand God in spirit, not image. Question everything. Some people would have you believe that the Bible exists in order to close off discussions (i.e., “God said it, I believe it, that settles it” mentality). I tend to believe that the Bible, at the very least is there to broaden and open up discussions. Understand the words in their context, and do not be like so many people today who claim God, but see not love. Do not become like them. You are beautiful as is. Realize your beauty and become who you are supposed to be. I say this to you, I say this to me.

How strange. We are into our 30s and now you’ve spent more years away from my life than together. You left home for the Navy when you were 17, you are now 35. We’ve had our brief moments of time since then, but I wish for that day when you and I will laugh at all that was, and play a baseball game again with cards and tin foil, with me beating your butt again and again. Soon I hope. Soon. I don’t the future and we’ve wasted so much time already. Let us not live with regrets. Let us throw off all which hold us back from being fully realized. I send you love.



Michele

I know I’ve told you this before, but I will share it again. When I’m performing on stage and have to go through some emotional rigors in some of my characters there are times when I bring back memories of some of your pain . . . I use this pain to stir up the depths of sentiment I need to pull off whatever character I’m displaying. I think of all the crazy things as kids we experienced. I think about how close we’ve always been; how deeply troubled I feel when we have a tension in our relationship; how hard-headed you are sometimes; how right I always am . . . wink. Wink. I realize that your headiness is a positive mechanism for you. It helps you survive. You were the first girl in the family, given little voice without taking it for yourself, and so you took it.



You know what? I still cringe when I think about your arrival back from Jamaica when you were younger. The very first day you came back we were so happy to see each other, (I don’t know where Roy was), and we were playing make-believe something. Who knows? But you were so excited you started running and cracked your head on the corner of a wall. I remember the panic I felt. I remember thinking that I might not see you again. I remember feeling guilty, thinking that it was my fault. I was so happy when you were stitched up. I felt so protective of you. I still do.



I remember when you had pneumonia. I remember that kid Eric and his thumb tacks on your seat. (I would personally torture him today! Umm . . . with the love of the Lord, of course.) I remember the pain you would later feel by the double standard (gender-wise) in our home. I remember other pains as well . . .



I remember the loneliness you felt when I went away to college, and I want you to know that I felt it as well. It killed me to know that I couldn’t be there physically for you in some of your darkest hours, but I was always there. Always. I remember how we laugh so freely with each other. How all I need to say is “tingle, tingle,” and you lose it. And most importantly, I love how real I can be with you, nothing is sacred. I love that. And I love you.



Dad

I hear your voice in my voice. Whenever I speak to Saskia I hear you, Dad. It’s a powerful feeling. Your blood it courses through my veins. Tessin claims that some of my faces are your faces. I suppose that’s why they call it genetics, right? I am happy that you never believed in quitting. I am not sure I would be where I am today if I had a father who gave up at every crossroads. You have taught me discipline and as the years have gone on, I’ve had the beautiful opportunity to see your vulnerability as well, and it brings me joy. Not because you feel vulnerable, but because vulnerability is a human facet. It completes us. We are changed into full beings when we make our selves vulnerable. After all, Christianity is based on such a principle. Without vulnerability we would never acknowledge God’s grace, power, or love.

I understand things now that you could never explain to me. I had to experience them for myself. I look back and see a man who was driven to never fail, and you didn’t, Dad. Even when you made mistakes, you bounced back, you grew. I cannot expect anything else from you. I have watched you grow as a man, a father, a fellow traveler, and the journey, though painful at times, has been magnificent to watch.



I hope this coming year will bring you more peace, whatever the outcomes may be. I think about the million of black males who have never known their father, and I stand humbled. I think about the million of people who have never been told to believe in their dreams, and I hear your voice telling me that I’m just as smart, and that defeat is only in the concession. These are the things I will most remember. And without doubt, I know that I love you richly.



Mom

“My mom is such a beautiful soul that she even makes the flowers smile.” And with those words, I inform my audiences everywhere about the powerful influence you have had on my life. Your love WOWs me all the time. I think back to those days when you worked with the mentally challenged (the mental retardation population). I remember how they scared me, how uncomfortable I was when I would go with you to pick up your check. Their difference frightened me, until I saw how comfortable you were around them. You never flinched, nor acted as if they were any different from me. You spread so much love to them. I feel like a fake at times, because when I look at my love in comparison to yours, I feel small. Your love is like great earth, mine is only a mound of dirt. To love like you love, Mom, will be a lifelong process for me. You show love even when you are uncomfortable. It may take you time to become comfortable, but you still love. Thank you for passing this on to me.



I am a lucky person knowing that I have a mother who would have begged on her knees to save her son; a mother who’s been emotionally beat down, but still she rises; a mother who accepts the way things are and tries to change what she can; a mother who has delivered more of God’s voice in her silence, than one thousand ministers who fill churches and television stations with holy rhetoric, rhetoric that clangs with emptiness.



I am better because of you, Mother. I am better because of your love, and it is with this love I shower you today.



Little Boo

I mentioned it earlier, but I still have images of you coming off your Kindergarten bus and running into my arms. It tickles me to replay the images of you bouncing up the stairs and bouncing along the wall. I remember you sleeping and I would whisper the words, “Doo doo. Bathroom. Poo poo,” and when you would wake I would ask you what you dreamt about and you would tell me that you had a weird dream about going to the bathroom. I was so proud of myself.



I remember the days in college when I felt depressed. I would call home and hearing your little voice made me smile. I was at peace.



And then I remember getting into a fight with this girl in Bellingham because she said bad stuff about you. That was the one thing I couldn’t tolerate. I couldn't let anyone harm you in any way. I still feel that way. I know you are an adult now (whatever that means), but I am so protective of you, maybe to a fault, but I don’t think so. I’m not unrealistic about it. I accept the fact that you will one day probably get married (when you’re 36) and have kids right around that time. O.K., maybe not, but you get the point.



I feel somewhat responsible for the way you see life. I like that. I like the fact that we can have talks about art films without ending up feeling disconnected.



I like how sensitive you are, how peaceful. How like me, like mom, you try to see the good in everyone, and maybe we’ll get burnt a little more along the way, but I have no regrets about it. I like how you’re always thinking. I like how we play the game of protecting each other, not sharing certain things with each other for fear of letting the other down; not realizing that letting each other down would be rather difficult.



Oh yeah, the CD is a general map of myself, pieces of myself difficult to express in words at times. Follow it like some crazy map. It’s my journal to you.

I love you.



Tessin

My beautiful nymph. This is a new year for us, certainly, a somewhat challenging one with the new life on hand. I am happy to take this journey with you . . . still. I want you to remember that change is the only constant thing in our lives right now. This is comforting to recognize. I am happy to have a desperately creative soul for a partner in this life. You are an amazing woman. Your love is like the tastiest chocolate; I can’t stop moving; I am high from it. It is truly of God, and though I, at times, show the face of fear, I have never had a doubt that I should be with you. My life without you would be empty space and shadows. You fill me with laughter. You fill me with affection. You never allow us to settle into the IS. You always push us into the MORE. Without you, I would be less than I am now. I mean that. Not just words.



Where do we begin in raising Saskia? How do we teach her how to love and be in love? I look forward to the day when we can reclaim our romantic life. I must be conscious of this aspect, in fear that we may lose it if it is not nourished.



I am certain we will face more challenges than we know of right now, and some of these may test us beyond our human understanding. I hope that in those moments we learn how to reach out for God’s voice in our friends, in our families, in our quiet, tearful prayers; that we learn not to give in before we try everything; that we fight for each other like stifled breath.

Thank you for finding me. There you are, Peter. There you are. “When I get home you’re cooking supper on the stove, and the greatest gift of life is to know love.” – Indigo Girls.

Like love, like always.



Kee Kee

Little Bo Bo. It’s your first Christmas and though you will never remember it, know that you are loved by all. Eventually, you will also know the hate of those who don’t know you. It’s not about you, Baby, it’s about them. Remember that. As the days go on, I hope to see you continue along a path of beauty. I hope that your mother and I will be able to pass on to you our acceptance, an openness that happens only when you get to know people. Never be afraid to love, no matter who it is. Your parents will accept you unconditionally. Your journey is your own. You, my child, belong to a tomorrow that your mom and I are not allowed to visit. So, we’ll take care of you, until you must take care of yourself. Never be afraid to grow, to learn. For by learning and loving you shall embrace your name: Saskia – protector of her people.

Warm kisses. Daddy loves you, Kee Kee. Daddy loves you.



And so there it is. A Christmas letter for the whole family. Revelations of privacy made public. My heart is laid bare. Merry Christmas in this beautiful year of 2004. And onward we go, my family.





Love always,

Michael, Mike, Mikey, Wingy, Daddy, Babe

6 Degrees

as the night comes to a close

i think of sleep . . . deep . . . restful

full and thick with the movement of dreams

i press my lips into this fantasy

hoping not to wake



not yet . . .



monday moves like vipers

a stinging sensation static

constant controlled caresses

her arms these legs

spread touched warmth

the novelty, the newness



and tuesday moves in

strong,

lingering,

like the scent of monday

fading quickly



msf

12/14/04

snapshots. click.



April 25, 1987. Sophomore year high school. went out that night. got trashed. this was a repeating pattern. came home that night. i remember praying to God asking not to wake ever again. i was tired of my life, tired of living. was not going to commit suicide, but i would have been happy if i were to have died. what pain i create. i have been nothing but pain to my parents, to myself. started when i was young.



Click.



1979. I was living in Waltham, Massachusetts. Used to shoplift baseball cards. I was eight. Got caught for the first time that same year. Mom slapped me in the face right in the middle of the store. I stole one of those triple packs, two of them. I gave up one. They never saw the other. Dad read me the ten commandments later that night. He didn't beat me with a belt or fist that time. I thought I got off scotch free. After the 10 commandments, I went to my room and opened up the undiscovered pack.



Click.



1981-1984. Bellingham, Mass. Mike Burke. My best friend. Dangerous. A year older, same grade. Lost his virginity when he was 10 to a girl who was 13. Taught me about girls. Wanted to be like him. One day he asks, "what's your favorite song?" At the time it was Amazing Grace. I told him that and he told me that I didn't know any Rock 'n' Roll and my breath stunk. Two things happened that day. I promised myself that no one would ever tell me that I didn't know music, and no one would ever tell me that my breath stunk. I became obsessive about both.



My parents bought me a total of 8 cassette tapes, and within a year I had accumalated over 150. Stole every one of them. Got busted again. Was supposed to go to juvy, but my mom told the store owner that she would get down on her hands and knees and beg in front of him for the entire store. The store owner said that was unnecessary. He would let me off the hook, if I promised never to return to the store. I still remember her crying. I cry sometimes over that whole incident. The love of my mother . . .



There were other things too. Almost burnt down my house and my parents car. Shot a bottle rocket at a cop car. Lit many fires. Tasted my first beer: age 11. Bunny told me he would beat me up if he ever heard that I was drinking. Scared me. So, I snuck it. Tortured girls. Stole money from people. So much pain. Looked at those magazines with Brett Mulvey. We learned a lot from each other. And then there was Dan R. That was different. He was strange, like so many of my friends, but something was off . . . He was 17, I was 11. I think he might be a child molester today. I forgot for a long time. Then I remembered . . .



Click.



Spring 1993. Then I remembered Dan R. I thought I had forgotten. Took a psychology class at Evangel. Talked about a lot of abuse related material. Physical abuse, sexual abuse, emotional abuse. I wasn't sure what the teacher was talking about. She kept saying that if you've been hit by belts or fists it was abuse. If you've been sexually taken advantage of against your will, it was abuse. If you've been verbally demeaned, constantly screamed at, made to feel frightened or intimidated, that was abuse. She made me laugh because she was wrong. Those things couldn't be abuse, because they happened to me . . .



Felt on the edge. Wanted to jump from this train of Life. Randy Stonehill sang the words screaming from my soul.



"Lost and drifting on this river of longing. Bowed and bloody from the weight of the sky. Longing to call out for someone's forgiveness, but we're not sure who or why. Maybe we're frightened like children in the darkness, chasing shadows in the strangest dreams. Sometimes living feels harder than dying. Sometimes it feels like we're trapped in between."





Tried to talk to my mom. Wasn't working out. Reminded me of another song,



"I can't talk to my mom, I sure wish I could

Can't say what I'm thinking though, 'cause she still thinks I'm good

She'd just start crying, and I'd just feel dumb

So let her think that I'm O.K.

I can't talk to my mom" -- Jim Weber



Charlie was there. I called him up one day at college and told him everything. He didn't judge me. He told me that it was not my fault. I cried for the first time about this. I always thought it was my fault. Sometimes i still think it is. Sometimes I still cry . . . like now.



Click.



April 26, 1987. It was God for me. That's what saved me. I woke up on that Sunday morning and I remember praying, "All of You or none of You." Became a Jesus freak in high school. I was scary. Had no balance -- extremist. Told people that they needed to be like me or they were going to hell. Left Christian leaflets in the boy's bathroom. Scared my sister Michele away. Needed to be that extreme, I guess. I needed to be as far away from the other life I had. I learned more balance along the way, and by the time I hit my senior year in college, I realized that everything was not hunky dorey. Funny, it would be my Christian college that would later temper my extremist attitudes. I saw the "truth," and decided to question all of it until I found some truth.



Click.



December 4th, 2004. Here in Austin, Texas. Met this guy who is in the Army. Was stationed in Iraq for a time. On one excursion, there were four guys in Humvee, two of the guys literally lost their heads, and he was paralyzed with fear. He had never seen someone's head be ripped away from their body. I couldn't help but to think, why them? not him? so close, yet he survived. The inches that save us. It made me think about my own life. why those others? not me? I survived. I never had to go to jail nor abuse others nor wind up dead from my own hands. There were inches for me as well. The inches that saved me.



Click.



December 6, 2004. I feel so thankful!

From a student at a local New Jersey school.



Mykee,

I've been meaning to write to you for a while. You came to my school a few months ago, and I just haven't found the time or energy to write. I'm not one who enjoys school assemblies. I usually feel the only good thing about them is we get out of class! I didn't know what to expect as I went into the auditorium. I was walking alone since I was coming from an honors art class, and I was the only freshman in it.



Then,when i got inside the auditorium, some guy started talking to me, saying hey, how's it going, just doing some small talk. He was a young, pretty cool looking guy, and I couldn't help but thinking, OK, here's the techie or some intern for this doctor guy. When the assembly started, I was shocked to learn the doctor was this guy I perceived to be a "techie"!! Whoops...my bad... I was amazed by the end of the assembly. I felt I could relate to all his characters somehow- either someone I know, a TV character, or even me. I went through so many emotions during the assembly. You'd captivated my attention, and touched my heart.



As a teen, there are so many pressures in life. Drugs, alcohol, boys.... even school. Especially school for me! Every single class of mine is honors, except Gym. I stress enough about school work and grades!! Then, when I joined a sports team, I just said fogedda bout it to my school work. I slacked more and more. Once a conscientious student, I didn't care anymore when I was failing tests. I just lost my zest for life cuz I was too dang tired to care!!! Too much pressure, too much work. I'd start snapping at my parents for no reason, saying hateful stuff I'd never in a million years mean. I just couldn't help but wonder how everybody would feel if I wasn't around anymore. Then, your assembly came. I don't know what happened, maybe I realized that others have it worse than me and my stupid life. I started caring again about my grades and life. I even made A-B honor role!! I still snap at my parents from time to time, and still get depressed, but I'm realizing life is meant to be lived. Why else would I be here? I'm going to try and make a difference in kids lives when I'm older, after college, just like you made in mine. I guess I just wanted to say thanks. I know many of my friends were touched by your assembly, just like I was.



Thanks a lot, cheers...



Response:



I'm always touched by the depths that my show touches in people. It often moves me. That's all I want. I just want people to care . . . more . . . than they did before coming into my show.

bleeding eagle

(for M.J.F.)

It doesn't all make sense . . . this life . . . at times deeply overwhelming

tears and pain caress like lovers . . .

relief seems like a passing dream or nightmare

relief seems like shadows

and shadows seem dark

but to you, I want you to remember

shadows remind us that light is near

never be afraid of shadows

the cut, the blood, the pain

trickle like the moon

and like the moon

they are false

their reflection is only reflection

their cold, their distance are their true nature

seek the lesson of the moth: light

seek the lesson of the eagle: soar

rise up dear soul

rise up, dear M.J.F

the light is near, you face the moon

turn towards that which brings you life

turn away from that which bleeds your life . . .

you are an eagle . . . face your destiny

bleed no more and rise

I received this email a few days ago:



Mykee,

Once again I find myself doing the things I have tried so hard to stop doing and I dont know what to do. Your presentation at my school helped me so much im hoping you can lend me some advice.... I dont know what to do with myself any more. I cry myself to sleep at night and often have flash backs of the experiences I have had of abusive relationships. People talk about me at school and I can't find the strength to stop self mutilating...

please help me...

much love always,



If I could tell you the amount of people who write to me or personally show me their pain, I would be writing for weeks on end. I feel so sad and touched when I read emails such as these. Here's what I have to offer. Some options.



1. Find someone who you trust and talk. The ugly monster gets weaker if you talk. Get to a counselor. If not a counselor, then a teacher or principal or parent or neighbor, but find someone who you can trust.



2. Write. Draw. Whatever. Get it out. Write about it in poetry. In journals. Draw it out. Sing it out. Curse it out, then curse it out again. This last suggestion is best done alone (hint! hint!).



3. Find others who have been in the same situation or a similar one.



4. Read. Here's a book about cutting: http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/detail/-/0439324599/qid=1101017028/sr=8-1/ref=pd_csp_1/104-5569958-0158320?v=glance&s=books&n=507846



5. Here are two teen websites to check out: http://www.teenadviceonline.org/ and

http://www.teenlineonline.org/. Check them out. They have been helpful to others.



6. Of course you could write me, but I am slow on the rebound because of my schedule, but mark it urgent and I will respond quicker.



I'm often asked, "what helped me?" Friends, youth pastor, prayer, teachers, poetry, cemeteries (i'll explain), accepting all that I couldn't change and changing all that I could, and creating situations that made me laugh.



Cemeteries. I like to walk around cemeteries during the day. When I do I check out what is written on the tombstones. I like to see the ages of the people as well as any pithy adages. I am not saddest by the young children who have died. I am most moved by those who lived to be 90-100 of age, because I cannot help but to think about how many days they actually lived, not existed, during their lives. Cemeteries give me a renewed passion for living no matter how down I am. It puts things in perspective for me. I suppose it much akin to the Langston Hughes poem, Still Here, "But I don't care. I'm still here."



I love you all, my friends in pain. I meditate and pray on your behalf. My hug goes to you.

My baby Saskia . . . 5 months old.

Picture Dis Homey

"War! What's it good for? Absolutely nothing! Say it again."

Edwin Starr, "War"

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Come you masters of war

You that build all the guns

You that build the death planes

You that build the big bombs

You that hide behind walls

You that hide behind desks

I just want you to know

I can see through your masks

How much do I know

To talk out of turn

You might say that I'm young

You might say I'm unlearned

But there's one thing I know

Though I'm younger than you

Even Jesus would never

Forgive what you do

Bob Dylan, "Masters of War"

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

There's a good chance that C.A.R.E. worker, Margaret Hassan, was killed by her captors. I'm sure the video will be released soon.

We are not safer now than before . . . We enter this dangerous void of pain. I stand at this precipice wondering when will we as thinking, processing beings learn to look beyond hate to solve our conflicts.

How odd that in a society where we encourage our children to resolve their conflicts through peaceful methods, we practice something entirely different as adults.

Margaret Hassan is a victim who gave her life working for the good of all humanity. She believed in the good of human existence, and yet she fell victim to human depravity. No words comfort at this time. No lasting peace shall ever ride upon this vehicle called violence.

I want no part . . .

Apparently, an unarmed Iraqi rebel was slain by a US marine. Some people are screaming that the US marine should be brought up on criminal charges for breaking the rules of combat. Give me a break! He need not be brought up on charges. He did his job. Is there really nobility in killing? Is it not all savagery? If you support the war, this is part of war. There is no honorable way of shooting somebody in the head. The blood decorates the wall just the same. I support this soldier, because it reinforces what I feel about war. War is meant to kill people. You define an enemy and you do your best to destroy that enemy. Why all this pretense about order? If I cut off your limbs 'til you die or I shoot you in the head, it's one and the same.

There are innocent victims in this war. Margaret Hassan was one of them, the Iraqi rebel was just a victim, not innocent. Both were prey. In war, we are all prey. Let us bow our heads, keeping our heads, and pray to end a world of prey.

The head of Margaret Hassan shares the same peace as the blood splattered brain of the Iraqi soldier. Both rest now, as the dead bury the dead.

I close with this:

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Some of us who have already begun to break the silence of the night have found that the calling to speak is often a vocation of agony, but we must speak. We must speak with all the humility that is appropriate to our limited vision, but we must speak."

Martin Luther King, Jr., Beyond Vietnam: A Time to Break Silence

"There's no place in this world where I'll belong when I'm gone

And I won't know the right from the wrong when I'm gone

And you won't find me singin' on this song when I'm gone

So I guess I'll have to do it while I'm here . . .

Can't add my name into the fight while I'm gone

So I guess I'll have to do it while I'm here

And I won't be laughing at the lies when I'm gone

And I can't question how or when or why when I'm gone

Can't live proud enough to die when I'm gone

So I guess I'll have to do it while I'm here"



Phil Ochs, "When I'm Gone"



I'm deeply saddened today . . . I was sitting here at my computer listening to the late Phil Ochs song, "When I'm Gone." I popped open my Explorer browser and I was greeted by the headline,

"Chinese American author Iris Chang found shot to death." She was responsible for a powerful non-fiction book called, The Rape of Nanking. This was a seminal book that uncovered the mistreatment of the Chinese during WWII at the hands of Japanese soldiers. Chang's compassion to uncover the atrocities done to her Chinese people was stirring. Sadly, it looks like she may have fallen victim to her giant heart. Preliminary reports indicate that Chang died from self-inflicted gun wounds. Ironically, the words of Phil Ochs song ring eerily prophetic. I have about a 1,000 CDs and I happened to be listening to that song at that time.



Strangely enough, Phil Ochs died by his own hands . . .



Be encouraged my friends. Suicide does not provide the answer we need. We need your voice in this fight. We need you to struggle with us.



"And I won't be running from the rain when I'm gone

And I can't even suffer from the pain when I'm gone

Can't say who's to praise and who's to blame when I'm gone

So I guess I'll have to do it while I'm here . . ."

I am not typically drawn to the politics of this two caste system, but I must admit, I am totally intrigued by what it has meant to this country in current times. Each side has been vying for desperate positioning. The debates have been charged with vigor on both ends. Both candidates presenting what they consider their best face. The differences between the two men have been glaring. I' ve been fascinated by a certain issue, however.



In the vice-presidential debate, John Edwards made a specific reference to Dick Cheney's daughter, Mary, being a lesbian. In fairness to Edwards, he brought this up in reference to a question posed by Gwen Ifill to the vice-president:



IFILL: The next question goes to you, Mr. Vice President.

I want to read something you said four years ago at this very setting: "Freedom means freedom for everybody." You said it again recently when you were asked about legalizing same-sex unions. And you used your family's experience as a context for your remarks (emphasis added).

Can you describe then your administration's support for a constitutional ban on same-sex unions?



The vice-president discussed the president's position on this matter. Then it was Edwards turn to give his 90 second response. At one point he said, "let me say first that I think the vice president and his wife love their daughter. I think they love her very much. And you can't have anything but respect for the fact that they're willing to talk about the fact that they have a gay daughter, the fact that they embrace her. It's a wonderful thing. And there are millions of parents like that who love their children, who want their children to be happy."



I found Edwards mentioning of Cheney's daughter being lesbian to be benign; it was referenced to by Ifill's question. There were plenty of Americans who did not realize what Ifill was referencing and Edwards put it out there more directly. That being said I believe Edwards used it politically as well. Edwards must have realized that by making it clear that Cheney's daughter is a lesbian would benefit him politically. Why? Because there exists a significant contingency within the Republican chambers who believe that to be gay or lesbian is "wrong," a matter of choice an individual makes. This same contingency also believes that the parents are to blame if their son or daughter "turns out" to be gay or lesbian. These nonsensical thoughts are a reality within a certain segment of the Republican worldview and Edwards used that to tarnish the Vice-president's image. It shouldn't work, but it probably does amongst certain segments of this country. Cheney did not appear to be offended by this reference because it was in the context of the question. However, many republicans spat hell-fire and brimstone about Edwards' reference after the debate.



To further the cause, Kerry implemented it in his last debate with the Prez. Kerry's invocation of Mary Cheney came off much more disingenuous, too political. The question never mentioned Dick Cheney's daughter, but Kerry saw a political chance and took it. It angered the Cheney family. Angered? Hmm . . . angered them that Kerry mentioned that she was a lesbian? Yes, it was political, but why anger about mentioning orientation? Here's what I've observed.



There are three groups of responses around this public acknowledging of one's homosexual orientation. The first group are people who see mentioning someone's son or daughter as being gay or lesbian equivalent to mentioning someone's son or daughter being a convicted child molester. It becomes the nasty "L" or "G" words. This group is mostly made up of politically conservative individuals who see gay and lesbian as something shameful and evil.



The second group made up of both conservatives and liberals and all in between see this reference to Cheney's daughter as slightly uncomfortable, but not unmentionable. They believe that talking about it is equivalent to mentioning a daughter who has breast cancer in a conversation about healthcare. For instance, if the question was addressing the administration's statutes regarding healthcare, and Edwards or Kerry mentioned that this should be an important issue to Bush or Cheney because their daughters or wives battled some debilitating illness, this second group views homosexuality under the same microscope. They see homosexuality from a disease model.



The third group sees homosexuality as a minority issue like race or gender. There exists no offense in mentioning what someone is. It is not a shameful nor disease laden topic. If instead of being lesbian, Mary were black and the Cheney's had adopted her, there would be relevance in this group to mention that the Cheney's have a black daughter when talking about civil rights and affirmative action. One's orientation is not a pejorative reference. This third group is filled with consciously evolved beings, mostly liberals, but not exclusively. There are some moderate conservatives who fit smoothly into this category.



I try to operate from this third category in regards to this issue. Orientation will never be shameful to me, nor will it be considered a disease. It is like my race, but like my race, I hate the fact that it is used as political positioning. I am reminded of some lyrics by Run-DMC,

"I'm proud to be black, yall.

And that's a fact, yall

And if you try to take what's mine

I'll take it back yall

It's like that . . ."

I was struck by a conversation I overheard this morning in a bagel shop. Two men were talking politics, and one man said: "Basically, people will vote for the candidate who will most affect them personally." I immediately had a reaction that did not agree with this statement. It got me to thinking . . .



From what I can see, most people fall into one of three categories. Sometimes people fall into multiple categories, but usually one is more prevalent. The three categories of voters are as follows: 1. those who vote strictly on how they will be affected 2. those who vote on how a politician will affect the county, state, or country 3. those who vote for politicians who have the best global outlook.



Most people fall into the first category, as was suggested by the man in the bagel shop. People want to know if this presidential candidate will speak for them or their community. African-Americans who vote this way want to be insured that the black vote will count (even in Florida!). They also want a politician who will work at creating a fair, institutional playing field. Gay and Lesbian voters of this style want to see what specific messages will be addressed to their community. The very wealthy of this persuasion want tax break messages. Those who are hunters or gun owners are interested in where this candidate stands on gun laws and the National Rifle Association (NRA). And so forth . . .



The second style of voters take it a step further. Not only do these people want to be assured that their personal needs will be addressed; they are also interested in knowing that what they idealize will be catered to as well as what they oppose. Much of what happens in this stage of voting can be seen in the political buzz words: pro-life v. Pro-choice, gay/lesbian issues v. the religious right, death penalty and gun laws, military enhancements. People who are involved in these debates are not necessarily affected by them. Most who oppose the death penalty do not personally know anyone on death row, yet they will attend rallies upon rallies to free Mumia Abu-Jamal. I attended one of these rallies before I even knew who Mumia was. I found out that day that there were a lot of people who knew little to nothing about him as well. Only after the rally did I do my research. There are Christians who protest against the laws that will allow gay and lesbian couples to marry. They are red-faced and irate because to them any law that will allow gays and lesbians to marry (not one another, because that would be o.k.) is an annihilation and desecration to the sacred institution of marriage. But come on?!? Do people really get married because they want to enhance the sacredness of the institution??? Wow! I must have been sleeping for a long time, because I thought most American marriages take place because two individuals love each other. I certainly didn't get married to enhance any institution, and I don't remember the last person I've known who has. What's more important is how is someone's marriage my concern? Who cares??? Let's be real. If this issue is really about the sacredness of the institution, then why weren't these same people who rant, rave, and protest standing outside of Britney Spears' home when she, ON A WHIM, married Jason Allen Alexander. Somehow marrying someone on a dare, in a state where ordaining marriages is slightly more consecrated than a cable sitcom, does not seem to fit the definition of sacred. No. No. Obviously, the issue is far greater than the pretense of the sacredness of some institution. But this is what happens for people who vote in this manner. Issues do not have to personally affect them for them to be of interest. In fact, issues that have nothing to do with them is often more alluring. For this section of voters, the candidate in question is equivalent to a sports team. What uniform does he wear? The question may be better suited, is he a Yankees or Sox fan?



The third section of voters, those who vote towards that which is best for the world, has few members. However, this is where I find myself. I am more concerned about what a politician in question will do for the world at large. My decisions are not solely based on what will suit me. In fact, I have supported candidates who did not necessarily look out for my best interest financially, but had a better global plan. America is considered a super power in the world, but too often we behave like a super bully or super dictator. This is not only a criticism of the current administration, but a critique on any of the administrations who have made me feel unsafe. And before I hear any rant about me promoting some liberal agenda, let me make you aware that I would have been as outspoken during President Johnson's administration during the Viet Nam war.



The other night I was watching the Democratic National Convention and John Kerry was giving his speech. I was intrigued that he spoke very boldly about strengthening the military. Most democrats do not favor building up the military. At one point during his speech, he started on this riff that contained the words: "What if . . ." I couldn't help but to think of the same thing. What if all these politicians were less seasoned with rhetoric and more flavored with action? What if instead of just taking out the most dangerous weapons out of the most dangerous hands, we were to take out the most dangerous weapons? What if we tried to build a greater world, not just a greater America? What if God bless America became God bless this world? What if the enemy is no further away than the closest mirror? What if we were to work to build a world where A.I.D.S. is a distant memory and female genital mutilation would not be ignored? What if we were to create governments of interfaith? What if we were to rid this world of religion, replacing it with true spirituality? What if we stopped using God to justify our crimes and hatred toward each other? What if we were to have dreams of castles in the sky, and worked to build the foundations under them?



I want to vote in accordance with ancient ideals. I want to vote in accordance to needs larger than my circle of friends, larger than my state, larger than my country! I want to vote with the consciouness of the world. I am my brother's keeper, my sister's keeper, and my brother and sister serve Jesus and Allah. My brother and sister have been called white trash and nigger. My brother and sister are married to other brothers and sisters, and sisters and brothers. My brother and sister live below the poverty line in Camden County, NJ and my brother and sister have flourished in million dollar homes in Bergen County, NJ. My brother and sister speak many languages and have abodes in many countries; they love and hurt and pray and sing and fear. They fear what they do not know. They fear ghosts of hunger and oppression. They fear an uncertain future. They fear that America will vote only for American interest. I have these same fears.



I know not if my vote will make a difference this time around. I know not if the candidates will make a difference. I wait for that day when the politicians will be brave enough to stand up for dreams and deliver the resources to the people most in need. We are a country who has no money to aid the poor, the sick, those in desperate need; yet, we have billions to insure the making of destructive weaponry. This should not be.



I vote with the world in mind . . .

Just some random and not-so-random thoughts.



watch people who are barefoot or have open-toe shoes. did you ever notice that the toes find the ground after the feet? almost out of fear or anticipation.



rabbits are speedy. tough to catch. turtles are slow movers. easy and fun to catch. turtles are almost laughable at how slow they are. rabbits live on average 8-10 years.



turtles live on average . . . 200 years. may we seek to be more like the turtle.



we hate what we don't know. we hate what we fear. we hate what we've been taught to hate. we hate that which is foreign to us. we hate that which is us. we hate all. we hate thoroughly and completely, yet we love with as many boundaries as there are countries.



become YES!



there is much confusion about who we are. many of us walk around believing that we are human beings having a spiritual experience. however, the truth is far greater than that. we are spiritual beings having a human experience.



"There's a dyin' voice within me reaching out somewhere,

Toiling in the danger and in the morals of despair.

Don't have the inclination to look back on any mistake,

Like Cain, I now behold this chain of events that I must break."



Bob Dylan, Every Grain of Sand

"I got somethin' to say, and I thought it might be worth to mention. If you're not pissed off at the world, then you're just not paying attention." -- Kasey Chambers



Last night I was at a camp doing a performance for campers and staff who ranged in age from 11 to adulthood. I was deeply moved by the power of my show. I don't know what to think. I certainly did not create what it has become. I fear I am not worthy enough to create such beauty. Indeed, I am only the vessel for these miracles. I am deeply moved.



There was a girl who approached me last night . . . she was probably 14. She is going to be a freshman in high school this fall. She went on to tell me some painful stories about her reputation being tarnished by the boys in her school because of one indiscretion. She spoke about boys taking advantage of her. She spoke about feeling powerless. I listened to this girl talk in detail about what she's done with other boys, and my heart broke. I was upset at the whole system of power. Upset at males and how we often make our lives invested in making others feel abused. How being a heterosexual man is frequently quantified by how many girls or women you've been with. How being a homosexual man is qualified by a similar barometer. How many girls after being victimized seek to re-create future encounters, because it gives them a sense of self, albeit a fickle one. I listened to this girl tell me that she performed oral sex with this boy in her grade, and it nearly ruined her social reputation; yet, after that incident she has repeated that act with three other boys in her school, because as she put: "I thought I had to. They wouldn't leave me alone until I did it to all three of them."



I wish that I could save them all. I think about my daughter, Saskia, and how innocent she is at 3 weeks. I wonder who she'll be when she is 14. I know I cannot protect her from all of this world's ills. My parents could never protect me. I was involved with things at age 10 that I should not have known about. I am stronger because of them, but I don't think it was the only way to go . . .



I am aware that Saskia will make tons of mistakes (I hope so). I just hope that through those mistakes she learns how to respond differently . . . better than before. What made me sad last night about that girl was that I am not convinced that she will seek to make more conscientious decisions. I encouraged her to be active in her choices, to realize that she is not powerless. I challenged her to be proactive concerning her decisions to "fool around" with some boy. I hope for the best. I fear the worst.



A friend of mine who is a counselor at that camp asked me if I was working on sainthood because of all the lives I touch. Interesting. I thought about that. Sainthood? No, I'm still working on Humanhood . . .

Well, people never cease to amaze me. The older I get, the more I realize that it is not just people who differ from me politically, religiously, or philosophically. It's the MASS mentality. Recently, there was a movie released that has caused quite a stir. The title being: Fahrenheit 9/11. It's the latest work of fellow sojourner, Michael Moore. What irritates me is the vast number of people who have made judgments about the movie or Moore, but who refuse to see the film for themselves. What's that about?!?! I don't care where one stands politically, but I do care when asinine comments are being stated without any sensible data. Personally, I enjoyed the film. I took it for what it was: a docu/mocu-mentary. Moore knows his stuff. This is for certain. Does he have an agenda? Absolutely! Is his work important? Without a doubt. Is it propaganda? Not unless you think truth or speaking out against the president is automatic propaganda.



Now, that's just my opinion. Someone else can see this movie and feel that it is nothing more than the liberal agenda or pure hogwash, and that would be their opinion. The issue at hand, however, is if the individual speaking has seen the movie for themselves. If you are going to criticize something, please be educated about your criticisms; otherwise, kindly remove yourself from the dialogue. Bumbling, slurping comments of: "That was dumb!" or "Moore needs to loose weight," hold the intellectual equivalent of a solitary leptonic photon! I desire people to be thoughtful in their bias. Good luck, right? But why shouldn't I demand more than just moronic gurgling?



Of course some of you out there would like to just pin me to having a liberal agenda as well. I want you to know that I do have an agenda! My agenda is to decrease ignorance, increase understanding and compassion, and to confront and challenge the norm. I was just as offended when the Passion of the Christ came out and some of my liberal or Jewish friends refused to see this movie, because it was "anti-Semitic," though they had not seen it for themselves. Or some of my liberal friends who ranted that Mel's movie was a right-wing conspiracy. Personally, I didn't feel it was anti-Semitic, but then again, I grew up in a home where the Christian framework was set for me. I did, however, feel that the movie more pertained to a Christian audience than the mainstream. But I would not excuse anyone who attacked Mel (via his father) or the movie (via Jesus), if they had not viewed it for themselves. (One friend said that she didn't need to see it because she read a lot of reviews about the movie. I just hope she doesn't take a similar approach to life as she did to this movie.) I ranted away at these people as well. I think that both films are important for different reasons, and I believe that both are explosive and controversial. And for anyone who knows me, the words explosive and controversial are tasty morsels that nourish my soul.



But why is all this talk about these two movies relevant? To me, it's so much larger than the movies at hand. It has to do with the attitudes of people. People are afraid of that which is different. I spend my life performing characters who have been marginalized and ostracized by other segments in society. The athlete who does not want to be seen with the Goth kid (or vice versa), because it may cast a negative image to observers. The very mention of the words "homosexual," "gay," "lesbian," "queer," or "transgender" send certain people into convulsions. When I perform my football player who is gay my monologue revolves around his desire to be understood and accepted as a human being. He seeks not to be the target of attacks. He wants to belong. He strictly focuses on orientation, not behavior. Yet, when I perform this character I am always amazed at the idiocy of some of my audience. People claim that I am recruiting kids to be gay or that I am talking about the benefits of the gay lifestyle. Granted, the people who often say such remarks have not personally seen the show, yet they judge what they do not know!!!! Still, I have had students, faculty, and parents who have issued tirades about me promoting a liberal agenda, because they fear that students will walk away thinking that to be gay is o.k. And this is wrong . . . because? Don't get me started . . . the issue of homophobia is for another day . . . or book. I want to focus on what I originally started to say. This attitude of being so set in one's beliefs that we fail to see truth outside of our narrow-minded spectrum is at the core of most of the ills today. Take any issue that raises eyebrows and tempers, extract your personal biases, and see if you can understand the other side. If you can't, try again. Or better yet, write an essay defending a viewpoint which is not your own. You will be amazed at what you might find.



Fahrenheit 9/11 and the Passion of the Christ are polarizing movies because they are approached from a distinct worldview. Nevertheless, both contain important truths to be gleamed. To write of either movie because of one's fears and biases is the equivalent of intellectual suicide. At the very least, one should approach these movies with an attitude of "I want to know what my enemy thinks." You might be surprised. Your enemy may have analogous thoughts. We will never break down the barriers of hate and prejudice in schools and other organizations, until we are ready to confront the accepted embrace of these attitudes within the larger society.

ISSUE:

MITCH ALBOM: The son must refute father's hateful rants



February 22, 2004



BY MITCH ALBOM

FREE PRESS COLUMNIST



My sister married a wonderful guy. His father was a Hungarian Jew.

During World War II, he and his eight brothers and sisters were imprisoned

in Nazi concentration camps. Some were killed in gas chambers. Others

were put on a boat that was deliberately sunk.



By the war's end, my brother-in-law's father was the only one left. For

years, his wife would find bread stuffed under his pillow, a habit from

Nazi starvation.



Every now and then some nut case says the Holocaust was faked. Usually,

you dismiss him as pathetic.



Last week, however, a man named Hutton Gibson told a national radio

host that the Holocaust never happened, that there were no concentration

camps, only "work camps," and that Jews basically made the whole thing

up.



Hutton Gibson is Mel Gibson's father.



So this nut case must be addressed.



My Response:



I'm aware of Mel Gibson's father's words. I am also aware that he was asked to shoot down his father. I know Mel disagrees with his father's stance, but to publicly castrate his father would be disloyal. My father has said some pretty crummy things about people in the past. I've confronted him over these statements, but by no way would I publicly criticize him for the security of strangers. Mel Gibson's concern, if he were to say anything about his father's views, would be the light in which the media would present his statements. The headlines would read, "Mel Gibson thinks his father is a crazy nut." In no way should Mel sacrifice his relationship with his father to please some political powers that be. I have been touched by my father, but one should not then assume that I hold to the same perspectives as my parents.



I think it's about loyalty. Gibson does not owe me or anyone else an apology for what his father has stated. This whole issue is more an attack against Christianity and Gibson's film, The Passion of the Christ, than it is about what father Gibson had stated. I'm certainly not in the business of defending other people's actions; (I have enough trouble taking care of my own actions). My opinion is that Mel does not owe the public any outward condemnation of his father. Mel's actions will speak louder than just some political verbiage. If he holds the same views as his father, it will be revealed in his words and deeds.

"I think; therefore, I am."

"I am; therefore, I belong."



Mayo High School tee shirt. Rochester, MN

It's simple. Live simply. Understand all. Know thyself. Be afraid of nothing. wonder. Find a way to de-escalate a dangerous situation. I have learned that opinions are the hardest motifs to alter, especially if dealing with people who believe they are fact. Irony rules this world. We live in a world where people hate homosexuals and love war, oppose abortion, yet support the death penalty. they see no irony. they have no vision. this life is more absurd than Beckett. i stand in awe of the ridiculous. i stand amazed by irony. our president, along with tony blair, was nominated for the nobel peace prize. george w. bush started a war with iraq. george w. bush is the president in the country i reside. simply live.