Thank You, Mo'ne Davis

Every now and then a story comes along that warms your heart. This is one such story:

A couple of days ago news broke of a knuckle-dragging jock who plays first base for the Bloomsburg University baseball team. The latest athlete to make a fool of himself on Twitter, Joey Casselberry

 had this to say, "I hear that Disney is going to make a movie about Mo'ne Davis. What a joke! That slut got rocked by Nevada!"

To refresh your memory, Mo'ne Davis was the adorable girl who pitched her way into our hearts during last year's Little League World Series as a twelve year old. Since then she has appeared on the cover of Sports Illustrated and has been interviewed on television and even made a few commercials. For referring to a now 13 year old girl with a sexualized word like slut was a reprehensible thing to do and by doing so Mr. Casselberry has proven himself to be a boorish moron. However, when his University promptly expelled him from the team, I thought it a little heavy handed. We DO still have a First Amendment, after all. My wife disagreed, reasoning that while we are free to say whatever we wish, we are not free from the consequences of our remarks. Fair enough, but still I thought the dismissal rather Soviet-like.

Well, this morning Miss Davis rescued me from my despair. She sent an e-mail to Bloomsburg University requesting that they reinstate Mr. Casselberry:

" Everybody makes mistakes. Everyone deserves a second chance. I know he didn't mean it in that way. It hurt on my part but it hurt him even more. I know how hard he's worked. If it was me, I would want to take that back. Why not give him a second chance? I know that people get tired of seeing me on TV, but sometimes you need to think about what you say before you say it."

Mo'ne, this is where you drop the microphone and walk off the stage! Wow! It takes a 13 year old girl to speak the wisdom of the ages to us, to remind us of our humanity and offer up forgiveness and reconciliation over vengeance and retribution. It takes a 13 year old girl to demonstrate dignity, grace and class.

Just in case my two children are reading this, I want my grand children to grow up to be like Mo'ne.

A Question For God at 4:30 am

This morning, at approximately 4 am, my eyes blinked wide open. There would be no more sleep. I hate it when this happens. Pam is sound asleep. Lucy is curled up in her doggie bed by the door. Every living thing seems to be asleep except for me. So I lay there staring at the ceiling for thirty minutes, then give up. What to do at 4:30 am eastern standard time?

1. Check on my bracket. Last Thursday I went 10-6. Friday I was also 10-6. Then over the weekend I went 10-6 again. Thanks to Villanova and UVA, my East Regional bracket has been destroyed, but everything else is still alive and kicking. Thanks, UVA for absolutely nothing!

2. Read the overnight news. Apparently Ted Cruz is running for President. Let's see now, he hasn't yet served even one full term as a U.S. Senator but is running for the Presidency.  Sound familiar? 

3. Check my email. Here's one from Proactiv+, a "special deal" which promises to rid me of troubling acne once and for all. Great...only 35 years late. Here's another one offering me heartfelt congratulations for having been selected to receive a free box of Swiffer samples.

4. Look at the weather forecast for the week. Lots of cloudiness in store but mostly in the 60's.

5. Do a little casual reading, an article about ten phrases you can no longer say because they are sexist. Make mental note not to say, "aw man!" or "ladies and gentlemen" ever again.

At this point I realize that I am hungry and have been for several days now since Pam and I are attempting a diet. Actually it's Pam that's doing the diet, I am simply along for the ride. However, I do need to drop ten pounds so I am making an attempt to eliminate between meal snacking. It's not until you decide to do such a thing that you realize just how much snacking you do. Good Lord, I'm a snacking machine! Couple of doughnuts here, a bag of chips there and before you know it, you're piling on a thousand calories a day. But, those particular calories are, in a word, awesome, so giving them up is difficult. People who know about such things tell you that the first thing you need to give up if you want to lose weight is...bread. See, this is the sort of thing that bothers me. It's one of the first things I'm going to ask God when I meet him. Why did you create bread...warm, aromatic, delicious bread, if it makes us fat? And what about butter? Bread and butter together is about as comforting and delicious as food gets, and yet we have to swear off the stuff if we want to look good in our swim suits? It's just not right.

Marriage and a College Education

This morning I read a column by George Will about the worsening dating/marriage prospects for college educated women. In it he bemoaned the declining college graduation rates of males vs. females. He also quoted from an article written by a recent Princeton graduate named Susan Patton who opined:

"Men regularly marry women who are younger, less intelligent, less educated. It’s amazing how forgiving men can be about a woman’s lack of erudition, if she is exceptionally pretty. Smart women can’t (shouldn’t) marry men who aren’t at least their intellectual equal. As Princeton women, we have almost priced ourselves out of the market. Simply put, there is a very limited population of men who are as smart or smarter than we are . . . It will frustrate you to be with a man who just isn’t as smart as you."

Of course, Ms. Patton makes a good point, men are overly attracted to pretty women. For too many of us a well-filled out sweater trumps all else. Where she goes off the rails is in her narrow view of what makes someone "smart." For Ms. Patton and scores of others, smart equals highly educated. While a college degree certainly helps in the acquiring of knowledge, it cannot bestow wisdom, nor can it confer common sense. The fact is that there are many facets to intelligence, some of them can be measured and analyzed but many cannot. Take Pam and me for example.

We are both college graduates, she from James Madison, Summa Cum Laude, me from University of Richmond, Thank the Laude. I consider myself reasonably intelligent. I am well read, knowledgable of world affairs and history and possessed with an encyclopedic memory for millions of things from which I can make no money. Pam, on the other hand, knows virtually nothing about world affairs,
even less about history, and has trouble remembering where she left her cell phone. So, which one of 

us is  "smarter?"

I will not here open this subject to a vote by the readers of this blog for fear of being humiliated. But to answer this question is difficult, because smart is extrordinarily difficult to quantify. The fact is that I am smarter in some areas than she is, but in other areas she makes me look like a moron. If I were tasked with formulating and executing a plan for teaching a struggling 3rd grader how to learn his multiplication facts, I would be lost. If I were asked to plan and organize a dinner party for 8 guests, it would end up looking like an episode of the Three Stooges. But, ask Pam to offer up an informed opinion on the efficacy of index fund investing in a bear market, or the deleterious effect of the designated hitter on baseball statistics and well...it wouldn't be pretty.

The fact is that Pam and I are two kinds of smart. She tends to be smart in areas that I am ignorant and vice versa, which has contributed to 31 happy years together. Can a woman with two Master's 
degrees find happiness with a plumber with a high school diploma? Not likely, but certainly not impossible. Love is funny that way. How do we measure devotion, faithfulness and selflessness? Are these not vital to a successful marriage? From which department at Princeton do you acquire such things? My advice to Ms. Patton is to maybe come down from her educated high horse for a while and open herself up to the possibilities for happiness in that great marketplace of humanity out of which she has priced herself. Finding a mate is not a financial transaction, Ms. Patton. It is a matter of the heart, a magical discovery where two independent people find someone who compliments them, who provides a contrast, who brings something new and different to your life and makes it better. Sometimes that person has a Doctorate, but sometimes she just might be a plumber.

Unfinished Business

I am a bad son. My mother died almost three years ago and my dad last year and I still haven’t finalized their graveside markers. I’ve only been to visit the graves once. My sisters both have been many more times. The entire thing just creeps me out for some reason. Perhaps when I get older, I will feel differently. But, I had put it off long enough, so Paula met me over there today to finish things up.

When I walked in the office, the old familiar feelings of extreme discomfort returned. I noticed a display advertising a new “community” called the “eternity gardens” which featured finely trimmed walkways and park benches strategically placed along the way. There appeared to be some kind of sale going on because several of the premiere eternity gardens lots were marked as SOLD in big bold letters. Apparently, people are just dying to get into the place.

But soon, we were in the capable hands of a sales associate. My dad’s plaque would be provided by the Veterans Administration due to his service in the US Navy during World War II. There would be a cross in the middle. My mother’s plaque would be a little trickier. We were told that outside of her date of birth and date of death and her name, we would be limited to four descriptive words to summarize her life on this earth. They suggested, “Beloved Wife and Mother.”

Ok, she certainly was beloved, and no doubt was a fine wife and mother, but those four words together seemed almost comically incomplete. It would be like summarizing Albert Einstein’s life with, “Really Good With Numbers,” or eulogizing John Lennon with, “Fairly Decent Song Writer.”

No, “Beloved Wife and Mother” wasn’t going to cut it. But if not that, what? How was it possible to immortalize such a profoundly influential life in four words? Of course, almost immediately I began with the wise cracks.

“I’ve got one. How about Draw Back a Nub?

Paula then chimed in with, “I’ll Be John Brown.”

Of course, family members would be entertained by such a graveside reference, but others might wonder what was wrong with us. So, over the next few days we will try to come up with four words that properly capture her unique personality and provide the appropriate level of dignity.

I can’t help but wonder what Mom would make of all this. Would she be ticked that we haven’t done it already, or would she be appalled that we are making such a fuss? 

“Wild Woman of Winn’s”

“Give Money to Missions”

“Y'all Leave Douglas Alone”

Wise Woman, Faithful Friend”

This is going to be hard.

Aaron Schock. A Cautionary Tale.

Aaron Schock. Remember that name. He has become the poster-boy for everything that is wrong with politics. His story is a story of greed, corruption and hubris. It is also a story of ego and stupidity. It all started in 2008 when the people of the 18th district of Illinois decided to elect a 26 year old to Congress. Let that sink in for a minute. What possible reason could there be to justify sending a 26 year old to Washington? What could this kid possibly have done in such a short life to deserve such a position? What life experiences did he have that would convince a majority of voters that he had the requisite judgement and wisdom to represent them and their interests? But, I digress.

So, the kid was good looking and fit, so much so that he landed on the cover of Men's Health magazine. That's something, right? God knows that DC could use more people who aren't ugly and out of shape. So, he had that going for him. But then the guy started watching Downton Abbey, and was blown away by that awesome house. So, he goes out and drops $40,000 of tax money on an amazing office makeover that makes his digs look like Lord Grantham's library. From there it was all down hill. 

There was the fabulous $500 a night room at the London luxury hotel, the lavish travel to glitzy destinations, the pricey restaurants, the private jets, all on a mere Congressman's salary. Eyebrows were raised, even in a town as cynical as DC. Soon, the boys over at Politico started asking questions. The straw that broke the camel's back was the Tahoe. The good Congressman bought the SUV in 2010 from a big donor who owns a dealership in his district. Just last year, he traded it in on a brand new, $70,000 Tahoe, paid for with campaign money, but registered in his name. The old Tahoe had 89,000 miles on it. Unfortunately Schock had billed the tax payers for reimbursement of work related mileage totaling 170,000 miles. Once Politico started snooping around, it was just a matter of time, after all, he was a Republican. The Congressman resigned yesterday. 

This isn't just a story about yet another slimy politician lining his pockets at the public's expense. This is a story that perfectly illustrates what is wrong with politics. What has happened to this country when politics has become a career path instead of the last act of a life of accomplishment? The Founders envisioned that those we would elect to represent us would be those who had distinguished themselves by a life of industry and wisdom. There would arise an aristocracy not of birth but of talent. Nearly 250 years later we are confronted with a 26 year old man who thinks he has the skill, wisdom and chops to become a leader of men. Now listen, I love twenty year olds. My kids are in their twenties. I used to be twenty. But while it is equally true that age does not always bring wisdom with it, very few twenty-somethings have the life experiences required to handle the cess-pool of dysfunction that is national politics. When I consider how I thought about life and the world around me at 26 compared to what I know of the world now, it is laughable to think I could have made the kinds of wise, well reasoned decisions needed to govern a nation back then. Although I had just graduated from college and gotten married at 26, I was basically an idiot, in the sense that I knew so much less than I needed to know, and unfathomly less than I thought I knew. Congressman? Are you freaking kidding me??

Don't shed any tears for Mr. Schock. In no time, he'll land a sweet six figure job on K Street.

Preachers and Gulfstreams

I will not mention his name. I will not provide the name of his church. To do either would be to feed his Olympian ego. But, I can't just let this story go without comment.

Over the weekend I read about the "television evangelist" who had launched some sort of fund raising telethon event whose goal was to raise 65 million dollars in one weekend. Naturally, I assumed that the good Reverend was either fund raising to expand the church building, or perhaps to aid some beleaguered refugee community somewhere in Africa or the Middle East. Maybe he was planning relief packages for Ebola victims in West Africa. Possibly, it might have been for some new outreach for AIDS victims or plans to build a community center in a blighted inner city somewhere. Then I read some background on the man behind the fundraiser and discovered that his services as a motivational speaker are very much in demand. His particular brand of "prosperity gospel" is quite popular at the moment. According to the Reverend, his heavy travel and speaking schedule have given him many grand opportunities to spread the Gospel of Jesus Christ. What better way to facilitate these grand opportunities for evangelism than to buy a brand new 65 million dollar Gulfstream? Not just any Gulfstream mind you, but the G650, the finest private jet in the business. The jet-setting Reverend's plan is to persuade 200,000 people to donate $300 each, making this a grassroots Gulfstream.

I haven't kept up with the progress of the event so I don't know whether he was successful, but my trick knee tells me he will be. 

When I think of the missionaries serving all over the world in every hell-hole corner of the globe, trying to be the hands and feet of Christ, laboring 14 hours a day in the hot sun trying to provide clean drinking water in some dirt poor village in the middle of a freaking war zone, this Elmer Gantry and his Gulfstream makes me want to vomit. When I consider the thousands of pastors and priests around the world laboring mightily to spread the message of grace and forgiveness on a shoestring budget, this charleton in the 3,000 dollar Italian suit bilking his gullible congregation out of their Social Security checks so he can park his ass in Peruvian leather seats at 35,000 feet, infuriates me more than I can possibly express. But, it has always been so. There have always been hucksters, showmen, and slime balls of every description in the church. It comes with the territory, I guess.

But, that doesn't mean I have to take it. I have this blog, and I have an outlet for whenever I get truly and thoroughly pissed off. So, Reverend...here's hoping that the maiden flight of your new luxury jet hits every possible pocket of turbulence, and that you christen those fine smelling leather seats with your own vomit.

Dog Chores and a Concert

Is there anything more awesome than waking up on a Saturday morning after a week of beautiful sunny weather to find it raining outside? Not just raining, but dark and misty with low clouds and even a touch of fog. The only thing missing are the ghosts of Heathcliff and Catherine walking down Aprilbud Place.

But, I am resolved not to let the elements get me down today. I have a full schedule that includes a spectacular concert tonight. The 90 voice Westminster choir will be presenting an evening of drop dead gorgeous music tonight at St. Michael's Catholic Church. Pam and I will be boarding three of them in our home after the concert. When they discover that our son is Patrick Dunnevant they might not want to come home with us since he was probably their graduate assistant in freshman music theory class who wouldn't put up with any of their crap. Be that as it may, we are thrilled to get the opportunity to hear beautiful choral music again and to have kids in our home once more.

So, my jobs for the day are A. Dust and vacuum the house and B. Give Lucy a bath. 

Ever since Miss Lucy's arrival, it is has been necessary to meticulously vacuum the entire house every single Saturday. If I ever miss a Saturday, like I did last week, the place becomes coated with a virtual sea of doggy hair. Let this serve as a warning to my two children and their determined pursuit of dog ownership. Every dog sheds, some more than others. If you want to own a dog, you better know your way around the business end of a good vacuum cleaner! We are told by people who know such things that dogs shed more when they are nervous or afraid, which explains the sea of dog hair in my home after a mere two weeks. Lucy is to nervous dogs what Lebron James is to basketball...the King.

Giving the girl a bath is a breeze though. With my last Golden, Molly, she required weekly baths because of her allergy problems. Lucy only needs a bath once a month or so and even then she still looks and smells great. I just prefer a clean dog and I love how beautiful her coat looks afterwards. While Molly loved her bath and always looked forward to them, Lucy is a bit freaked out by the whole thing. Shocking, I know. But afterwards, she is very pleased with herself and prances around like a Diva. 

I sure hope our students like dogs, because Lucy is going to LOVE them.