Who's at Fault in Columbia?

                

And this, ladies and gentlemen, is at the root of what happened in Columbia, South Carolina. We have all seen the video by now, a school police officer dragging a student out of a chair and then throwing her across the room. We see twenty seconds of a confrontation and must fill in the rest of the story with our imaginations. The battle lines have already been drawn. Some are lining up in full support of the cop, others are blaming the school teacher and administrators for failing to maintain order. Others are blaming the cop and are ascribing to him racist intentions. Many fewer are blaming the student for her insubordination. So, once again, thanks to a cell phone video, we find ourselves in the midst of another divisive social tinderbox. But all I can think about is my many encounters with teachers and administrators during my time in the public schools. Times have changed.

Two incedents come to mind, one from Elementary school and another from Middle School. I should state up front that I was the sort of student who had a habit of finding trouble. I was generally well liked by my teachers, but caused them mountains of trouble since I had ADHD before anyone even knew what that was. My parents were called in for conferences so often, they were on a first name basis with everyone in the Principle's office. But, the vast majority of my misdeeds were handled...in house, and mostly by my teachers. For example...

My fifth grade year, I had a giant of a black man for a teacher...Mr. Northington, tall, impeccably well dressed and movie star handsome. He was the kind of teacher who you could never pull a fast one on. It was as if he had eyes in the back of his head. Anyway, one day, out on the playground during recess, I happened to see one of the school bullies knock one of the smaller kids down on the ground and then start to kick dirt on him. This particular kid was a truly obnoxious bully, a fourth grader, I think. For some reason, this particular episode riled me up to the point that I took it upon myself to confront the bully and before long the two of us were wrestling on the ground and drawing a crowd. Of course, Mr. Northington saw us and came over to break it up, but only after waiting until I was on top of the kid. Then he sat us both down and gave us the "violence is never the answer" speech and sent us both to the Principle's office where I received a days suspension, which was waived in exchange for me staying after school to help the janitor clean out the toilets every afternoon for a week! But the next day, Mr. Northington sat me down and told me that he was proud of me for taking up for the kid who had been bullied. Apparently, he had been watching everything from beginning to end and waited as long as he could before breaking up the fight. It never occurred to me until later that both Mr. Northington and the little kid who got pushed down into the dirt...were both black.

Later, in Middle School, me and a buddy of mine decided that we would play a trick on another bully, this one too big and mean to confront physically. We had gym class together and this dude was constantly harassing all of the skinny, unathletic kids. So my friend and I came up with the brilliant plan of sneaking into the locker room, stealing his pants and flying them up the school flag pole while he was busy playing four square outside. Somehow, our gym teacher instantly knew it was me who was responsible so that afternoon we were called to the Principle's office over the loud speaker. Our principle was a beast, big and loud with a marine's haircut and a highly polished wooden paddle hanging from a nail on the wall behind his desk. He lets my buddy off on a technicality then turns to me..."Dunnevant? How come everyone knew that you were the one behind this? Have you ever wondered about that?" Then he laid out my choices for punishment..." Three licks, or three days?" I always chose the licks, that way, my parents didn't have to find out about it. But, just before administering the blows, he says to me..."For what it's worth Doug, Tommy deserved it, and I liked your style!"

I relate these stories to illustrate the seismic shift that has occurred in the classroom over the last fifty years. When I was in school, the teacher was the law! If I ever came home complaining about one of my teachers, my parents always took the teacher's side. They always assumed that the teacher was right, and if I was having trouble with her or him it was because I was a knucklehead. Consequently, I always was a little bit afraid of my teachers, because I knew that they had the power to make my life miserable. Today, teachers and administrators have to call in police officers to remove defiant students from class, because they are prohibited from laying a hand on a student. Students know this, and behave accordingly. 

Do I approve of the heavy handiness of this particular police officers' tactics? No. But, it never should have come to this. It's past time to restore the authority of teachers and administrators to discipline disruptive students. And while we're at it, how about we ban cell phones from inside the classroom?

Can't Believe I Fell Asleep!

Game one of the 2015 World Series is in the books, and I'm kicking myself for falling asleep after the Royals tied the game at 3 in the bottom of the 6th. While I slept another eight pressure packed innings were played, complete with a game tying home run by Alex Gordon in the bottom of the eighth, a Buckneresk error by first baseman Eric Hosmer, stellar relief pitching, and then Hosmer gaining redemption by ending the game with a sacrifice fly to give the win to the Royals in the bottom of the 14th. Holy Crap.

And, if all that wasn't enough, I learn that after his 6 innings of work, Royals starter, Edison Volquez, having gone to the clubhouse to watch the game on TV, is informed by his wife that his Dad had passed away earlier in the day. He sent his teammates a group text to congratulate them on their amazing comeback victory and to tell them about the loss of his father. Volquez became the third Royal to lose a parent this season.

I know that the quickest way to lose readers of this blog is to write about sports in general and baseball in particular. In The America of the 21st century, baseball has lost a lot on it's fastball. To many it seems slow and old. When a game goes extra innings and lasts over five hours, the long knives come out for the baseball haters out there. But for me, this the most "team" of all team sports, which features a series of one on one match-ups, still captivates. Despite my shameful decision to get some sleep before a long day coming up, it was the very first thing I looked up at 6 am this morning. Who won the game?? When I read the news, I vowed to watch every game through to it's conclusion the rest of the series, even though I have no rooting interest one way or the other. I suppose, if pressed, I would prefer that the Royals win, since, well...New York. But for me and a rapidly declining legion of people like me, what matters is...baseball. It's the series, it matters not who the teams are. It's a best of seven match-up between the American and National League champions, slugging it out after a 162 game season, the lightening round sprint to the finish of a grinding marathon. I will not miss another inning.

When I discover that a new acquaintance is a baseball fan, it covers a whole host of sins. I can overlook a person's communist affiliations, their strident atheism, even their vegan eating habits once I learn that they are passionate about the game. We then become friends, no other questions asked. What unites us is just greater than what divides us...at least while the game is on. And that's a start, right?

Long live baseball.

Things Could Get A Lot Worse

I see that the world didn't magically fix itself while I was away. No matter how often or how long I remove myself from the daily grind of life, when I return the world is just as screwed up as it was when I left. But, at least it hasn't gotten worse, and yes, things could get a lot worse. How, you ask?

A stock purchasing algorithm malfunctions, causing a 2000 point drop in the Dow Jones industrial average, the ripple effects of which cause a global financial panic, wiping out the retirement savings of a half a billion people.

One of the refugees pouring into Europe from the Middle East carries with him an exotic bacterial infection that spreads like wildfire throughout a camp outside of Berlin, killing thousands and causing the German people to rise up against their government, killing Angela Merkle and establishing the Fourth Reich.

On his first day on the job, a young North Korean lieutenant inadvertently initiates the launch code for a nuclear attack on Seoul, South Korea. The only person who can stop the launch sequence is the supreme leader, Kim-Jong-un, who has left explicit instructions not to be disturbed while he spends an afternoon pulling the wings off of butterflies. Three million people are wiped out in the ensuing inferno.

Nick Saban dies of a sudden, massive heart attack, setting off an unprecedented wave of suicides throughout the State of Alabama.

The entire political landscape in the United States is blown up when it is revealed by the National Enquirer that George Soros and Charlie Koch have been involved in an ongoing sexual relationship for the past ten years. 

See? Things could get a lot worse!

A Rock and a Hard Place

There is a dark and ominous cloud on the horizon of American political life. It's off in the distance, bleak and menacing, and for the moment at least, a year away. But make no mistake, it's out there, large and getting larger with each passing day, gestating into a level five storm of epic proportion. I know it's coming, despite the mind games I play inside my head trying to pretend it isn't there. I know...that as sure as night follows day, in November of 2016, I will walk into a voting booth and be asked by my country to choose between Donald Trump and Hillary Clinton. It will be the political version of Sophie's choice, the mother of all conundrums, a rock and a hard place of galactic difficulty, the devil or the deep blue pantsuit.

Not very long ago, it would have been unthinkable that someone as boorish and superficial as Donald Trump would be considered presidential material; he of the orange hair, the serial trophy wives, the limited vocabulary, and slimy business dealings. Generally speaking, reality television has not been considered the preferred career path for someone who aspires to become the leader of the free world. But this is 2015 and apparently anything is possible. When my finger is poised, trembling, over the lever a year from now, I will try to imagine The Donald sitting across the table from some dignified head of state saying, "By the way, you do know that I'm way richer than you, right?" A more appropriate slogan for his campaign would have been, Make America Groan Again.

Then my eyes will be diverted to the name beside the capital D...Hillary Clinton. At this point drops of sweat will be forming on my brow as I contemplate the hole in the space time continuum that might open up if I actually pull the lever for this fiendishly clever, real life Lady Macbeth. The specter of such an accomplishment-free, pathological liar running lose in the White House for the next four years is surpassed in horror only by the specter of her husband becoming first dude. The promise of a smooth transition to Chelsea in 2024 will be of little comfort to me as I consider rubber-stamping phase two of the Clinton Oligarchy.

It's usually at this point of my recurring nightmare when I wake up soaked in sweat, clutching my pillow in a death grip. But in November of 2016, I fear that it won't be a dream. I will actually have to decide between these two. Of course, I could always boycott the election altogether, or write in someone else, but I've never liked either of those options. Both of them seem like abdicating my civic responsibility. So, I will choose. As surreal as it sounds, I would vote for Hillary, basically because a Trump v. Clinton ballot is a Hobson's choice. The world is simply too fragile a place to entrust to a man like Donald Trump. The Presidency isn't a trophy that one places on a mantle right next to the gold framed photograph of Mike Tyson. It's a deadly serious job meant for someone who is, well...deadly serious. Hillary is at least deadly. Perhaps wearing the weight of being the first female President might temper her more foolish tendencies. Maybe actually having already lived in the place for eight years might have given her a respect for the White House and a finer appreciation of it's limits. Or not.

What a Trip!

Just got back from the Smoky Mountains. It's at these times when you wonder how it is that three days with your kids goes by in a flash, but a 7 hour car trip home seems like an eternity. It's after the trips when you miss them even more than you did before you left. Odd, that.

Anyway, it was a wonderful three days. There was a lot of this sort of thing going on...

Even more of this...

And this...

An plenty of this...

 

I surprised all present, (especially myself) when I opted out of the Zip-lining. It occurred to me that since the braking system of this particular activity required primarily only one thing...a strong right shoulder, I might not be the ideal candidate at this particular time. As soon as I announced my intentions not to participate, Pam immediately checked my forehead to see if I was running a fever.

So, the fastest three days of the year are over. We are back home, and Kaitlin and Patrick are back where they belong. We will see them again over the Holidays, then there will be the long absence that always begins on Janurary the 1st and ends some time during the summer. Hopefully someday, we will become accustomed to it. For now, I'm just grateful that I am able to bring everyone together for these sort of trips. I am never more proud of my kids and what they have made of themselves than I am after seeing them up close for a few days. 

One month until Thanksgiving. Sigh....

Friday Rocked

Friday was absolutely stellar. Patrick and Sarah arrived around 10:30 and we finally got to meet THIS guy

He is beautiful and very, very large. His front paws are as wide as my fist and he towers over Jackson who adores him and follows him all around the cabin. Adorable. 

After our burrito breakfast we decided to head into town to take on the toboggan ride. We pulled into the parking lot, bought our tickets and walked right in. Pam didn't have a thirty minute line wait to screw up her courage, so she was thrown off stride. Great fun. Faster than I remembered. Sarah survived.

Then it was off to the go-kart races. Despite my clear instructions to the field to wreck the new girl, no one did, and she survived unscathed. If I had two more laps I would have caught Patrick, but there's no point crying over spilled milk. 

Then it was back to the cabin for some relaxing and coffee. Everyone except Kaitlin, poor girl. Every spare minute she can be found grading papers and entering grades. She is a phenom in the classroom but the work never ends. So proud of her, I don't know what to do.

The afternoon also featured me getting beaten by my son and his girlfriend at cutthroat. I'm not sure what it says about her that she is so efficient with a pool cue. 

After a fabulous dinner of sausage, apples and potatoes, it was back to the Alpine Coaster, for our nighttime ride. It was during the wait in line when I noticed THIS...

Ok...sure, for the average person with pending shoulder surgery and bulging disks, this is probably a legitimate warning. But I am the exception, since I am blessed with superior metabolism and abundant charm that make me immune to these sort of one-size-fits-all edicts. Today brings zip-lining, which I'm sure will have similarly worthless warnings.

Meanwhile, I'm smelling Pumpkin spice French Toast.....

It's All Good

This is the view that greeted us when we arrived at our cabin yesterday afternoon. Pam just had to have iced coffee.

This morning, it's still beautiful, and my coffee is hot.

We had the day to ourselves, the two of us. We went out to dinner at the same Mexican joint we went to on the same arrival night last year. Then we bought groceries and came back home. All the while we were getting text updates from Jon and Kaitlin, keeping us updated on how many times Jackson had vomited in the car...four. They finally rolled in around 11:00 last night. Two birds in the nest.

Patrick, Sarah and Oliver are in route at this hour and should arrive in a couple of hours.

It is impossible to explain just how happy it makes me to be able to do this for my kids. Words are insufficient. We only all get to be together in the same place and time a few times a year. So these times are precious. Many words and pictures will follow here in the coming days. I will do so not for you, but for me, so that I can look back and remember it all in a few months and years when these times might become even more rare.

But for now, all I care about is breakfast burritos which I believe are on this morning's menu.