The New Normal

Being an American has suddenly become freaking exhausting. With the dawn of each day comes some new public insult about which I am supposed to be outraged. Some B-lister says something offensive on Twitter, and all hell breaks loose. Boycotts get formed. Demands for firing ring out on social media. Then, someone from the other tribe starts with the charges of hypocrisy, since just a few weeks/months ago some B-lister from the other tribe said something offensive but they still have a job. Then it becomes a contest about which insult was more grevious. Is sexism worse than racism? What about homophobia? Where does it rank on the hierarchy of offense? Once it becomes a debate about who is at the top of the greviance totem pole, then it’s full on war. How dare you complain about mere sexism, when I have to deal with systemic racism? Then somebody on Twitter points out that they carry the quadruple burden of being a disabled, lesbian, immigrant person of color. Immediately, a GoFundMe page gets established, and straight, white, woke males are strongly encouraged to belly up to the reparations bar and fork it over. 

Literally every day in my country, somebody, somewhere is pissing somebody else off. No sooner had we settled in to the Rosanne Barr thing when Samantha Bee steps up to the megaphone for her fifteen minutes of fame. Then, out of nowhere, people from my tribe start ringing their hands over someone named Joy Reid. (I’ll have to take their word for it, but apparently she’s on TV in the morning.) After Googling her I discover that she has a history of homophobic social media posts. When they first came to light, she claimed that nefarious actors had hacked her, (the my dog ate my homework excuse for the digital age). Whatever. Eventually, it all blew over, and she’s back in business...I think. Anyway, this was given as evidence of liberal hypocrisy...or something. In America it’s getting to the place where if we didn’t have double standards, we wouldn’t have any standards at all!

The thing is...I just can’t keep up with it all. I don’t think I’m much different from anyone else in that as a human being I have a limited reservoir of outrage. I can’t live my entire life being buffeted from one insult to another. At some point, for self preservation purposes, I have to decide to let stuff go. I mean, if I hear someone like Rosanne Barr say something stupid and offensive, don’t I have to consider the source? Do I have a reasonable expectation that a gasbag like Barr wouldn’t say something stupid and offensive? No, I do not. It’s what she does. Every B-lister that lands in the news for outrageous comments all have one thing in common...they are all desperately competing for eyeballs. With the proliferation of social media, and the millions of voices it magnifies, civility and kindness just wont do if you want to make a splash. In the old days the saying went...the squeaky wheel gets the grease. Today, at least on social media, it’s more like...the provocateur gets the clicks. When we allow ourselves to be offended by them, they are empowered, and we are reduced.

Of course, I can already hear the reaction to this view...That’s easy for you to say! You’re a straight, white, male, small business-owning, Christian, libertarian-leaning suburbanite. What the hell do you know??!! Probably nothing.

There’s an awful lot of blame to go around for the shocking disappearance of basic decency in our public discourse. It’s been slipping away for years. But, I feel confident that the current occupant of the White House shares a respectable amount of responsibility for its recently dramatic decay. The first Tweeting President has sowed the wind with a million juvenile rants and petty insults. Now, we are all reaping the whirlwind. The question is, how do we ever put the genie back in the bottle after he’s gone? I don’t think we can. This is and forever will be...the new normal. Yay.

Thanks, Mr. President

You would forget your head if it wasn’t attached to your shoulders...was a common accusation hurled at me by my sainted mother. I was always dashing off to school and leaving some vital thing at the house. More often my forgetfulness centered around some chore she had ordered me to complete which I had left undone. Selective amnesia, she called it. It wasn’t as if I didn’t have a powerful enough memory. I could recite the starting lineup of the 1969 Mets in game six of the World Series, backwards...still can. You need someone to remember the name of some obscure character from Twelfth Night, or if you’re having trouble recalling the name of the winning general from the Battle of Malvern Hill, I’m your guy. In other words, when it comes to useless mind-cluttering minutia and inane trivia, I’ve got a mind like a steel trap. But if you need to remember something consequential like a password, or where you left your car keys, or that 10:30 doctor’s appointment? Not so much. Turning 60 recently hasn’t helped in the mental acuity department, since now I instinctively blame the calendar for every error I make. But, yesterday, I found encouragement from the oddest source...Abraham Lincoln. In my Memorial Day readings, I stumbled across...this:

Executive Mansion,
Washington, Nov. 21, 1864.

Dear Madam,

I have been shown in the files of the War Department a statement of the Adjutant General of Massachusetts that you are the mother of five sons who have died gloriously on the field of battle.

I feel how weak and fruitless must be any words of mine which should attempt to beguile you from the grief of a loss so overwhelming. But I cannot refrain from tendering to you the consolation that may be found in the thanks of the Republic they died to save.

I pray that our Heavenly Father may assuage the anguish of your bereavement, and leave you only the cherished memory of the loved and lost, and the solemn pride that must be yours to have laid so costly a sacrifice upon the altar of Freedom.

Yours, very sincerely and respectfully,
A. Lincoln.

At age 56, a mere six months prior to being assassinated, and having endured perhaps the most brutal three years of any presidency before or since, Abraham Lincoln turned out this stunningly beautiful bit of writing. In three short paragraphs, four sentences, he demonstrated for the entire nation what presidential leadership looks like. Over 150 years later, his words still stir the heart and soul. The eloquence. The epic tenderness. This is unrivaled writing. To read it, even now, is to be transported through time and space and dropped in the middle of an unparalleled tragedy, and to feel the freshness of the open wound that was the American Civil War. 

So, reading something this profoundly beautiful, written by a man under unimaginable stress, gives me great hope that whatever issues I might be dealing with can and will be overcome. 

Weddings, Funerals and Reunions

Now that Memorial Day is over, the Dunnevant family can officially be considered in full wedding-mode. There remain a mere 32 Days left before my son, Patrick Dunnevant marries the lovely and talented Sarah Upchurch in Nashville, Tennessee. Between that day and this lies a great chasm which can only be crossed through a terrifying gauntlet of caterers, event planners, photographers and incompetent hotel staff. But, cross it we will.

In the history of a family there are only a handful of things that bring everyone together in one place, and two of them are somewhat unpleasant...funerals and family reunions. Although, in recent years I have warmed to the reunion thing, generally speaking, they wouldn’t make my top ten list of fun things to do. Funerals, on the other hand, almost without exception, are dreadful things, full of sadness and weeping and featuring long lines of people waiting for a two minute opportunity to say something comforting to the bereaved, a ghastly business. But weddings? Now you’re talking! They are celebrations, an opportunity to gather together to eat and drink and shower young people with gifts and advice. The trouble with weddings is that they are a lot like sausage...nobody wants to see how they are put together. The truth is, weddings are logistical nightmares even in the best of circumstances. But, when you’re 600 miles away from the venue, it’s even worse. Thanks to the invention of texting and FaceTime we are making slow but sure progress. I say we when what I actually mean is...Pam, of course, but you already knew that.

As difficult as these things are to plan, organize and execute, once the day arrives it will be over with in a flash. We will then be left with our memories and hopefully several epic photographs. It will be worth all the effort and expense. A new daughter will be welcomed into the family and a new source of stories added to the family lore.

Then, we get to spend three weeks of rehab in Maine. Yes!!!

What’s So Great About America?

Freedom of Religion, Speech, and the Press

Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion or prohibiting the free exercise thereof, or abridging the freedom of speech or of the press, or the right of the people peaceably to assemble and to petition the government for a redress of grievances.

The Right to Bear Arms

A well-regulated militia being necessary to the security of a free state, the right of the people to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed.

The Housing of Soldiers

No soldier shall, in time of peace, be quartered in any house without the consent of the owner, nor in time of war but in a manner to be prescribed by law.

Protection from Unreasonable Searches and Seizures

The right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects against unreasonable searches and seizures shall not be violated, and no warrants shall issue but upon probable cause, supported by oath or affirmation, and particularly describing the place to be searched and the persons or things to be seized.

Protection of Rights to Life, Liberty, and Property

No person shall be held to answer for a capital or otherwise infamous crime unless on a presentment or indictment of a grand jury, except in cases arising in the land or naval forces, or in the militia, when in actual service in time of war or public danger; nor shall any person be subject for the same offense to be twice put in jeopardy of life or limb; nor shall be compelled in any criminal case to be a witness against himself, nor be deprived of life, liberty, or property without due process of law; nor shall private property be taken for public use without just compensation.

Rights of Accused Persons in Criminal Cases

In all criminal prosecutions, the accused shall enjoy the right to a speedy and public trial by an impartial jury of the state and district wherein the crime shall have been committed, which district shall have been previously ascertained by law, and to be informed of the nature and cause of the accusation; to be confronted with the witnesses against him; to have compulsory process for obtaining witnesses in his favor; and to have the assistance of counsel for his defense.

Rights in Civil Cases

In suits at common law, where the value in controversy shall exceed twenty dollars, the right of trial by jury shall be preserved, and no fact tried by a jury shall be otherwise reexamined in any court of the United States than according to the rules of the common law.

Excessive Bail, Fines, and Punishments Forbidden

Excessive bail shall not be required, nor excessive fines imposed, nor cruel and unusual punishments inflicted.

Other Rights Kept by the People

The enumeration in the Constitution of certain rights shall not be construed to deny or disparage others retained by the people.

Undelegated Powers Kept by the States and the People

The powers not delegated to the United States by the Constitution, nor prohibited by it to the states, are reserved to the states respectively, or to the people.

On his Memorial Day, I think it fitting that people be reminded what all the fuss is about. The reason we rightfully revere those who have paid the ultimate price is because they died defending a great and noble thing, the American Constitution. This is what makes America Great, and any attempt to make America great again must begin and end with a renewed devotion to this Bill of Rights. 

Even the most casual reader of these ten amendments will notice that the rights listed are intended to restrain government power. These rights are reserved for the people...individuals, and each of them make it more difficult for government to enact it’s will. For this reason, potential tyrants from the right and left have been frustrated by them, hamstrung in their desires to run roughshod over individual liberties, to which I say...thank God.

So, give them a thoughtful read on this day. Ponder which of them mean the most to you, and what your life might be like without these protections. Then be grateful to live in a nation with something worth dying for.

The Cure For Vanity

I had just finished up a rigorous Friday afternoon workout, an hour and a half affair of muscle-toning weight training followed by a 3.5 mile run outside in the heat. There was prodigious amounts of natural sweating produced by all of this activity, then some cheap sweat from a fifteen minute session in the steam room. Nevertheless, I was feeling quite accomplished by the time I got home, reasoning that few 60 year olds would put themselves through such a regimen. I was not allowing myself to give in to the relentless physical decline which comes with age. I was raging against the dying of the light, to butcher a little Dylan Thomas. Part of my workout routine is the result of genuine concern for my ongoing health. But, honestly...most of it springs from vanity. This is the one downside of marrying someone younger and more beautiful than you. You’ve got to keep up, man.

So, I get back to the house, throw on a nice pair of dress shorts and a stylish shirt and eagerly await my wife’s return from her Friday afternoon volunteer shift at Hope Thrift. It is our night to go out for dinner. Tonight would be a date with Mission Barbecue, and I wanted to look my best for her, determined to put my best face forward, so to speak.

We arrive at MB on this gorgeous evening where, as usual, the food is sensational. I ordered something new...cheese and jalapeño infused sausage, along with my usual sides of macaroni and cheese and kickin collard greens. Things were going very well. Pam looked great and I was keeping up. Then, out of nowhere, it happened. I started feeling something happening to my face. It was subtle at first, but then more noticeable. I excused myself and retreated to the bathroom on a reconnaissance mission. The mirror revealed that it was not, in fact, my imagination. Something was happening to my right eye, and that something involved swelling.

Now, at this point I suppose I could share a picture of my eye for illustration purposes, but my vanity and self respect argue against that idea. Words will have to suffice. Simply stated, it’s as if someone with a hypodermic needle decided to fill my eyelid, along with the place normally occupied by dark circles, with water. The resulting image is quite disgusting, making me look like Joe Frazier after the Thrilla in Manila. So, now instead of a semi-handsome, well preserved husband, Pam has to look across the table at a guy who is looking more and more like Elephant Man with each passing hour. This morning, it is much worse, a disturbing sight. I have taken Benadryl and administered eye drops, so far without positive result.

This isn’t the first time this has happened to me. Several times I have come down with grotesquely swollen eyes. The cause remains a mystery, and no remedy has been found. It just runs its course, taking its good old time. Meanwhile, I wear dark sunglasses and remind myself that this too shall pass. Luckily, my wife understands that beauty is more than skin deep, and in my case...way more!!

Photographs and a Birthday

One of the great and eternal privileges of parenthood is the authority it bestows upon us to embarrass our children. We are greatly assisted in this endeavor by the existence of old photographs. You parents out there know what I mean...not this new crop of digitized, perfectly framed, edited, posed and photoshopped things that people call photos today. No, I’m talking about the old 35m click and hope photos from the old days. You remember, right? One of the kids would have a birthday party and you would take an entire roll of shots, drop them off at the Kodak booth, wait a week to get them back, only to discover that half of them featured junior picking his nose.

I bring this up for two reasons. First, Pam has been tasked with gathering pictures of our son from his youth for use in a rehearsal dinner slideshow at his upcoming wedding. Secondly, today is Patrick’s birthday. I have spent a large part of this morning combing through several Creative Memories picture albums that my wife lovingly and creatively assembled back in the day. To do such a thing is risky business. Part of you is delighted by the memories and overcome by the realization of just how wonderful has been your life. But another part of you becomes plagued by longing and nostalgia for a time which is gone forever. Photo albums will do that.

But, here are a few of my favorites where my son is concerned...

It’s hard to believe that he was ever this small. 

This was from one of the Dunnevant Beach vacations. Some nights, after the kids had gotten their baths and put on their t-shirt jammies, we would take them down to the beach and turn them loose, making them promise not to get dirty. If ever there was a better feeling than watching them run on the beach, I can’t imagine what it was.

Actually, maybe it was this...a cup of hot chocolate while watching the sun set on Webb Lake in Maine.

This was one of Patrick’s Halloween costumes, probably hand made by his grandmother. He was Tigger this particular year...bouncy, trouncy, flouncy, pouncy, fun, fun, fun, fun, fun...

He is a fully grown man and I am very proud of him. But, for me, a part of him will always be the little boy in these grainy photographs.

Upon Further Review...

Earlier this afternoon, I had what can only be described as a surreal encounter during a routine commute from my house to my office. As is my custom, I had gone home for lunch, and was in the middle of my short drive back to the office in that dazed stupor into which we fall when driving familiar routes. My mind was a thousand miles from the section of Three Chopt Road just after you pass Pocahontas Middle School, heading east, when suddenly it occurred to me that there was a small backup in my lane. I tapped on the brakes and snapped out of my reverie long enough to ascertain the bizarre fact that this particular backup was being caused by the presence of a naked man standing in the middle of the road. 

Now, it’s not every day when you find yourself in this sort of situation. Looking back on the events of 1:25-1:30 this afternoon with the benefit of hindsight, perhaps I should have responded differently. Here’s how it went down...

So, I look up and see a very large, heavy set black man standing au’natural in the middle of Three Chopt Road and the first thought that pops into my head is...Is his house on fire? I know, that’s a weird thought, but I’m thinking that maybe he was in the middle of taking a shower and smelled smoke, then saw the flames and immediately ran out of the house to escape. Then I think, For someone who’s house is on fire, he sure is calm! No, this guy didn’t have a care in the world. He had a calm expression on his face, and seemed totally unaware of his nakedness, betraying not one iota of self consciousness. 

My fellow commuters slowed down cautiously as they approached him, not sure if he would suddenly bolt in front of their moving vehicles. This seemed a prudent response, since I believe it fair to question the mental stability of anyone standing buck naked in the middle of a busy street. By the time my car was pulling even with the guy, he suddenly began a leisurely stroll across three lanes of traffic, heading blissfully towards West Broad Village where perhaps they go in for this sort of thing. And just like that, I was on my way, trying to grasp what it was that I just saw, and battling mightily to erase the image of a 300 pound naked man from my memory.

When I got to my office, I reported this strange tale to my enraptured colleagues. Then I added a post on Facebook:

You can add...”I just saw a large, completely naked black man slow walking across Three Chopt Road”...to the list of things I never thought I would say.

Now, upon further review, perhaps I should have had a different response. My wife demanded to know why I didn’t call the police, since there was a giant naked man a mere two hundred yards from a Middle School. Maybe, if I hadn’t been so taken aback by the spectacle of the thing, it would have occurred to me to pull over and see if this poor man needed assistance, not to mention a decent pair of pants. 

Ok, for one thing, white people have had a bad few weeks lately when it comes to calling the police on black people. The last thing in this world I need right now is to get involved in anything that opens me up to accusations of racism...You only called the police because he was black!!! But, the more I think about this strange afternoon, the dumber that explanation sounds. Of the four descriptive adjectives I used in my Facebook post to describe the subject, the only one which adds nothing of interest to the narrative was black. I’m pretty sure that a naked white man would have been equally bizarre. A naked woman might have made it even crazier. 

Looking back, I do wonder about the guy. I hope he’s ok. He’s probably some poor man with mental problems who is off his meds. I saw nothing on the local news about him, so maybe he wandered back home and didn’t get hurt. I hope so, at least.

So, the moral of the story is that people sometimes don’t do their best thinking when confronted with public nudity...the bottom line, as it were.