I took this picture today along the way to the VA Hospital at American Lake, WA. I have passed this outdoor pantry several times and never thought to stop to truly ponder the state of our veterans, especially the homeless and the physically and mentally challenged veterans. Many of our veterans faithfully served our country, whether it was a single rotation in Afghanistan, or a long career of 20 plus years such as mine.
Each time I visit the Veterans Administration (VA) hospital, it breaks my heart to see the state and condition of some of our veterans seeking care. Some hobble in, some come in wheelchairs, some are still strong and can walk in to get their care; but even some of the ones who seem OK and able to walk might be silently suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). Some might even be contemplating suicide; but they put on a brave face as they interact with others. Some are physically broken, disheveled, in need of a shave or a bath. I remember once going for care and a lady veteran was wearing three or more layers of clothes and all her earthly belongings she had stashed in a shopping cart. But she was smiling and not complaining. I imagine like most of us, she was proud of her service.
I wanted to highlight this gesture of the pantry for two reasons. First, this pantry is in an affluent community along the route to the VA Hospital. The residents of this community are thoughtful enough to provide some food for veterans in need. The other reason I share, I am proud of the service of my comrades in arms and I am grateful that I had an opportunity to serve alongside so many of these brave Americans.
Finally, I refuse to accept that my service, or the service of my fellow veterans should be disrespected by anyone, especially those who seek the highest office in our country. We are neither losers nor suckers. We are the true Patriots who demand respect from our current and future leaders.
Recently, a toddler was allowed to run free in a museum and no surprise, he broke an ancient, invaluable vase. Boys will be boys, some say, let them freely explore.
One of my sons was a curious, active child. As parents, he challenged us. For example, I came home one day to find him swinging a cat around by the tail and turning it loose to see if it would land on its feet. He succeeded in his experiment and increased in learning; but it was also a cruel act. He quickly learned compassion for others including the cat.
I’m a proponent of early childhood education and freedom of expression when it comes to children. However, I expect children to become adults and put away childish things. I would hope that the guidance and support they received as children would lead them to become compassionate, responsible, and respectful adults.
The world is a complex place and demands well adjusted adults to function in the capacity of adults and not toddlers. We are in a season of decision in our country. Given the demands for qualified, thoughtful, compassionate, responsible, and honorable leadership, we must decide if we will let “boys-be-boys” and let our toddlers break this wonderful jar, America.
A couple of the underlying theories of my dissertation on intergroup leadership are Social Identity and Social Categorization. In a review of these theories, I learned about “in-groups” and “out-groups.” I also learned about “US” versus “THEM” and how dominant groups (US) work to isolate or disenfranchise less dominant groups (THEM).
Competition and separation are key attributes of our American culture. We segregate into the lower class, middle class, upper class, and the class above all classes. The one percent. We further segregate into our ethnic groups, black, brown, and white. We divide by our politics, Red versus Blue, and those that claim to be neither Blue nor Red. Additionally, we separate by religions of varying beliefs. Within each of these classes or groups, organic groups form and become nested groups.
Each of these classes or groups are usually competing for the same scarce resources. If we suggest that the groups are competing for the same resources, we might make a broad statement that it does not matter which group we belong to. All of us share a need for the same or similar things. A conclusion we might draw, is, based on our basic needs, hunger, nurturing, security, and self-sufficiency, group affiliation is immaterial in the bigger need for survival.
In my life experiences, I voluntarily and involuntarily slipped in and out of the dominant and disenfranchised groups. I learned to navigate within those groups to ensure my survival. However, my experiences as I associated with either an “in-group” or an “out-group” were instrumental in forming my philosophical worldview. For example, I learned that members of some groups disenfranchised me for being a member of a specific group even though I had no control over my placement in that group. Over time, I realized I formed generalized opinions of the entire oppressive group based on their treatment towards me. But I was in a situation that forced me to confront my own biases. I share a real-life story below.
My spouse and I moved from St. Louis to Memphis to further our careers. My youngest son Jonathan was living in Montana, and we decided to move him from Montana to Memphis to attend college. We planned for the trip. I flew to Montana and Jonathan, and I loaded his belongings in his Mazda truck, and we started on a roadtrip to Memphis.
Around 7:00 PM on the second day of the trip, Jonathan was driving, and we had no challenges. We had driven about one hour into Kansas from Denver. Traffic was light. In the distance we saw the taillights of a tractor-trailer. The box on the truck was empty; but there was a smelly liquid dripping from the truck and covering our windshield. Jonathan was not a skilled driver, so I encouraged him to overtake the truck to get away from the smell and liquid. Jonathan sped up, passed the truck, and then carefully returned to the right lane. We were just ahead of the truck for about two minutes when a deer jumped from the median, crashed into our little Mazda, and destroyed the front of our truck.
Jonathan started to scream and panic because the hood came unlatched, flew back, and slammed into the windshield blocking his view. We were traveling around 70 miles per hour. I knew we were in lots of danger. The semi was right behind us because we had just overtaken it. I expected the truck to slam into us and push us off the road. The driver of the semi was quite awake. He saw the moment the accident happened, and he at once moved over to the left lane and zipped past us at 70 mph. It took the driver several hundred yards to stop the big rig.
Meanwhile, I needed to bring Jonathan to a safe stop. Jonathan was shouting, “what should I do, what should I do?” I knew I needed to stay calm and bring him to safe stop. At 70 mph any quick turn would have caused us to have a worse wreck. I quickly rolled down my window, stuck my head out to see where we were going. I told him to let me steer the vehicle while he lightly started braking. I guided the vehicle to the side of the road, and he applied enough brake pedal to bring us to a stop. We were safe.
We exited out vehicle to see the driver of the semi walking towards us. He was a six-foot plus around 200-pound white man. He was wearing tight blue jeans, a shortsleeved cotton shirt with a rectangular boxes pattern, cowboy boots, and a baseball cap with a Confederate flag boldly printed on the front of the cap. I was aware of the significance of this flag, so I started to make some assumptions. I looked at Jonathan and said, I am not sure about this, we might be killed out here tonight.
The driver approached us, he was pleasant and showed his concern for us. “Are you guys, ok?” He asked. We responded that we were ok, just a bit shaken up from the incident. He told us he saw the whole thing happened including the deer running across the road and jumping to get to the other side. He then offered to walk back to the scene of the accident to see if the deer was still alive. The three of us walked back as we discussed the accident. We found the deer. It was dead. The midsection of the deer contacted the right fender of the truck, and the collision disemboweled the deer.
We were in the middle of nowhere. The driver offered to hook us to his truck with a chain and drag us to the nearest exit, which was about three miles away. There was a little gas station that seemed like it closed just after the ice age. But there was a dimly lit blue phone booth with a working phone. No cell phones yet. It was about 1997. We dialed 911 and we reached the local Sheriff’s office who offered to come and check on us. The driver of the truck once he knew we were in contact with the Sheriff wished us well and continued his trip.
We sat in the dark with the only light the glimmer in the public phone booth. Outside was quiet, it was dark, and we could see every star in the heavens. Half hour went by, and some car light started down towards our location. If I could have imagined life with the Dukes of Hazard, I was feeling the moment. First a driver with a Confederate logo, and now the local Sheriff. The Sheriff was clean from head to toe. He was wearing a large white cowboy hat, a neatly pressed long sleeved white shirt wrapped around his rotund torso. Two small legs supported his large torso. He was wearing nicely pressed tight blue jeans suspended with a big brown belt with an even bigger buckle. He was complete with the beautiful cowboy boots with the pants fixed over the top of them. At about six plus feet and about 250 lbs, mostly stomach, he was a Sherif’s Sherif.
Once again, my stereotypes kicked in and I said to Jonathan, we are going to die out here tonight. Who was going to know what happened to a couple of minorities lost in the field of Little House on the Prairie? I was wrong again. The Sherif greeted us nicely, asked us about the accident and then offered to drive us to the end of his authority. “I cannot take you beyond the state line, but I know where there is a hotel at the state line where you can stay the night. The Greyhound bus stops there so you should be able to get a ride.” Then he told us if we did not get a ride in the morning, to give him a call and he would have his Sherif friend from the next area pick us up and take us to the next state line. What a night. We survived an accident with a deer and met two of the nicest people I would have avoided because of my own prejudgments.
This would seem like a good place to end the story; but there is more. We checked into the motel. The innkeeper was nice. We explained to him our dilemma. He told us to get some rest, and, in the morning, he will call a friend who has a body shop to help. The next morning, we called the owner of the body shop told him our story and he offered to drive several miles to our location to get the keys of the truck. As it turned out, he said he had a complete front for a Mazda truck that will fit ours. He gave us his number and went on his way. We waited for the bus. It only came through once a day. The innkeeper was nice enough to let us stay in the room without paying extra until the bus came. I had also prejudged him.
We made it back to Memphis a couple of days later smelling like we had no prior hygiene training. But we survived the ordeal. About two weeks later, the body shop owner called to say the truck was ready. At the time I worked for FedEx and flew on the company’s plane for free. I hitched a ride to Denver on a cargo plane. There was a pilot deadheading and he and I sat in the cargo area during the flight, and we chatted.
The flight landed at Denver, and I had no idea where the body shop was and how I was going to get there. The pilot told me he knew where the body shop was because he travelled to the town regularly for supplies. He offered me a ride somewhere between his house and the body shop and dropped me off at a hotel for the night. He told me he would get me in the morning and drive me to the body shop. We drove for about two hours until we reached the shop. We said goodbye to each other, and I paid for the truck and got on the way.
I learned quite a bit about myself, my prejudices, my assumptions, and my lack of faith. I also learned that we are one race, one people just trying to survive on this planet. I choose to believe that there is some good in all of us. There is more that binds us together than what separates us. The key thing is that we must guard against people of influence who look to divide us.
We must learn to love each other and not allow selfish persons to compartmentalize us into “US vs. THEM.” We can tear down the boundaries that separate us, if only we are willing to try.
When I walk away or I’m dragged away from the table of life, I want to be remembered for licking the plate of contentment and joyfulness clean.
I want to eat a meal of happiness and contentment everyday.
I want to savor every morsel of life that is embodied in the intricate flavors that tingle the senses of my tongue of adventure.
I want to leave each table where I am invited cleaner than I found it and I want my hosts to be rewarded with the spices of life for having invited me to share the table of life experiences with them. I want our meals to be long and deliberate. Not the fast food of shallow relationships.
I want the crumbs of pettiness that fall to the ground feed the dogs and cats of doubt under the table of discouragement. I want to shake off my napkin of minutiae and wipe my mouth clean of any words of discouragement to anyone.
Even the most scrumptious meal last until everyone is full or all the food was exhausted. Today, I’ve eaten my share of life at the table of bountifulness and I am blessed to have dined at your table.
Boxing is not a sport for people with weak stomachs.
I awoke this morning feeling like I was punched in the stomach without prior notice. Ever had that experience? In my lifetime, I’ve been punched in the gut several times, literally and figuratively. What I learned from each experience, is that no trauma is exactly like the previous one.
As a former boxer, I received several gut punches in a single round. Each punch was different. Some I overcame quickly, others I had to work through. Jan 6, 2021 was by far one of my hardest gut punches. This morning, as I reflected on the implications of what success of the insurrectionists might have meant to our democracy and our future way of life, I’m feeling a stomach pain similar to when I lost my daughter due to a tragic car accident.
I don’t intend to be melodramatic, but as a black man living in America with a clear understanding of the underlying rationale for the insurrection, it not only makes my stomach ache, it makes my entire being feel as though I went 15 rounds with Mike Tyson.
I am not sure how we as a society would have been governed when I considered that every level of government, law enforcement, the Congress, and 77+ million citizens thought that overthrowing democracy in America was a great and rational idea. I will not complete my thoughts in this post; however, I would ask that you critically think about what our future state would have been, if the insurrectionists had accomplished their objective.
I would not have entered a boxing ring with Mike unless I felt I was equally strong and equally prepared. How does a disenfranchised citizen prepare to go 15 rounds with a backward facing government?
This morning I was feeling a bit discouraged. As I was sitting at my kitchen table with my head down, eating and contemplating my challenges, I looked up and saw this beautiful image above.
Instinctively, I jumped up and grabbed my camera to capture the moment. The beauty of the valley against the background of the sky and clouds was punctuated by this amazing rainbow.
Jesus shared with his disciples they should not be anxious. Given enough time, most things will work themselves out. Jesus did not tell his disciples they won’t have worries; but rather, He would ensure their peace when they encounter challenges.
Today, I have a major outside project; but it’s raining heavily. It’s ok though, we need the rain.
