I recently read the
obituary in The Scranton Times for Theresa (Tess) Gleason.Instantly I knew who she was.More specifically, she was one of my grade
school teachers at John Adams Elementary School in Scranton.As I write this, I can still see her face in
my memories of back then, which is quite the accomplishment considering how
long “back then” actually was, both in terms of years and aging neurons.This kind of memory speaks to the power of
teachers.
I have a theory of
sorts:The folks that publicly complain
about teachers the most (think “…they get summers off”, etc.) have likely been cursed
by not ever having had a really good teacher in their life.If the spew from these folks wasn’t so bad
sometimes, well, I’d likely have pity on them.As it stands, I have been blessed in my life to have had really good
teachers.Including Mrs. Gleason.I remember that she was positive, encouraging,
and really good at teaching science.If
you know me, well, then you know how important the latter was in the grand
scheme of my life.As a youngster, I was
something of a mess, in more ways than one, mostly because I think I was/am
wired differently than most, at least in terms of how I think about
things.As an older adult, I see that
now as a gift, and on many occasions, I’ve actually gotten compliments for my
different approach to things.In all
likelihood, it was small acts of encouragement from teachers like Mrs. Gleason
that helped me get from there to here with (most of) my marbles intact.
Now it would be true to
say that I am prejudiced in favor of teachers.My late ex-wife was an outstanding teacher.My oldest daughter follows in those
footsteps, teaching English to kids whom others would just as soon ignore.I am absolutely positive that, just as I
remember Mrs. Gleason all these years on, so to do/will countless other
students have memories of my ex-wife and oldest daughter.Great teachers have that kind of power.This explains why some with egos that are
fragile and a reach for power that exceeds their grasp are the loudest when
criticisms are leveled at (especially public school) teachers.They are simply jealous and…as noted
above…they likely don’t have any teachers they fondly remember.
Rest in Peace Mrs.
Gleason.You’ve no doubt done well.
Apparently the "Border Czar" under the current administration is very upset at New York Rep. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez for actually informing fellow human beings about their legal rights. Citation here:
I will state categorically that I have issues with many of the things that Rep. Ocasio-Cortez supports. However, informing individuals of their actual, legal, Constitutional rights should be something we all support. Unless of course you only want those rights to apply to you (and, let's be honest here, people who look like you).
By the way, this is what the "Border Czar" is upset about...
In case you didn't know, U.S. Constitutional rights and protections extend to aliens...here legally or otherwise. You can learn more about this by reviewing a presentation by Penn State's Law School here. The second slide is the most important...
These Constitutional rights are the ultimate protection against a big, intrusive government, and by their very nature these must apply to the least among us, or they truly have no real value for anyone. The fact is that the rich and the powerful will always have the resources to get their way (an example is how Rupert Murdoch gained his citizenship). In a perfect world the rules would apply equally to the privileged and those "not so much", but as my first Director at Prudential (Augie Urgola, God rest his soul) used to say, "It ain't a perfect world". While Constitutional rights don't fix this, they at least provide for a kind of safety net.
Finally, even if you support the current president, you should be exceptionally skeptical of any notion that basic rights can be stripped from those who have become a kind of political pawn in a never-ending war for power among politicians. Any politicians. Rights taken away from an immigrant today create a precedent that rights could be taken away from you tomorrow.
There's a wonderful song from the 1970's by Neil Sedaka that he wrote for his friend, the late John Lennon (yes, that John Lennon) called The Immigrant. Over the past few weeks I have been thinking about this song from time to time, so I wanted to share it.
Why have I been thinking about it?
Well, Ms. Rivers and I have what we call the "5-minute rule" at home. This basically states that we have about 5 minutes each day to talk about the crazy and sad stuff coming out of Washington D.C.. This is intentional, for several different reasons, including the fact that we don't want to buy into the whole intentional blitzkrieg of nonsensical madness from the current administration. This doesn't mean that we don't notice this stuff...it simply means that we try and notice what really is important.
One of the really important things to notice has been the on-going demonization of Hispanic immigrants coming into our country. Think "rapists, murderers" and the like. Never mind that the best data out there shows that immigrants (legal or otherwise) actually commit crimes at a lower rate than the population as a whole*. Anyway, why the focus on Hispanic immigrants in the first place? I have a theory: Dictators...real and pretend...always need a foil, a group of folks to demonize, so as to inflate their sense of self-superiority and distract their followers from reality. The current group being demonized fits the bill for two important reasons:
If they are not citizens, they don't vote.
They can look and sound different.
So, when the feds raid a meat-packing plant or church or school, how can they tell who to round up? Take a guess. I had this same conversation with two co-workers (one from Mexico, the other's family is from Puerto Rico), and when I posed this same question, both simply pointed to their faces. Sometimes a gesture is also worth a thousand words.
Now should we just ignore crime by illegal immigrants? Of course not. We have a criminal justice system for this sort of thing. My point though is this: No one should be suspected of being a criminal illegal immigrant based on how they look or speak.
I think I've used up my 5 minutes.
Anyway, I don't fear immigrants, legal or otherwise. Instead, I fear greedy people in power who lack the ability to understand the very concept of empathy. If you are reading this, well, you should too.
One final, and rather ironic, note: We are all immigrants or came from immigrants. And not all of us had ancestors that came here legally either. This is an inconvenient truth for some, but that doesn't make it any less factually correct.
(*) This is the part that will make some angry, as they don't want their emotional reaction to immigration to be blunted by facts, but so be it.
or cut him till he cried out in his anger and his shame
"I am leaving, I am leaving" but he fighter still remains
(Paul Simon, The Boxer)
My brother Chris passed away 8 years ago this past January 5th, and to be honest, I was so wrapped up in work stuff that I really didn't take time to reflect on that difficult day in my life. That one is on me, and stands as a reminder to keep the priorities of life in their rightful places. I've written about Chris in prior postings over the years, so there will no doubt be some repetition coming, but so be it.
Whenever I hear the Simon and Garfunkel song "The Boxer" I think of Chris. See above. He actually was an amateur boxer, and I quoted the song in my eulogy of him back in 2017.
Towards the end of his life, Chris was an enormous pain in my rear-end, as I was forever trying to solve one problem or another for him. He was not well, mentally or physically, being a far cry from the boxer...and runner...he was in earlier years. It was as if life kept putting more and more weight on him until finally, he simply gave out. The irony isn't lost on me that this person who was genuinely strong for a good part of his life had a life ending in such personal and physical weakness.
Some of the weight on him I honestly believe was made far worse when our mother passed away, although not in the way most may think. In some respects, Chris always had something to prove to our mother, even though he never would have acknowledged that fact himself. He did, by the way, more than prove whatever it* was, as for a good part of his life he worked hard, took care of himself, and adored his daughter Miranda. He was successful by most definitions, starting with his honorable discharge from the United States Navy, through working as a postal carrier, graduation from college and eventual relocation back to Scranton. In the end though, there's no purpose for the hunt if the hunter...or the prey...are no more.
Granted that there is more to this story than simply one of a reckoning between a child and parent that was never going to happen. My brother had other quests in life that were never likely to result in anything fruitful. On some level he knew this, and I think that some of his demons were simply a manifestation of this knowledge and his being powerless to really make a change. That didn't stop a few folks close to him from really trying.
All the above noted, there was so much I admired about my brother. He was naturally outgoing in a way that a thousand me in a thousand parallel universes could never, ever be. He was a lover of cats who could also be very charming and extremely funny. I will also note that he was one of the few folks I've ever met who could successfully thread the needle of being (a supposed) conservative Republican while also understanding the realities of something like racism. What others in the family considered to be hypocrisy, I have come to appreciate as skill. He was very well read, consuming biographies and poetry like some these days go through oh so many tweets.
There was so much more that he could have done, and I often think about him, grieving for what he should have been. I know that is a sort of fool's errand and likely selfish on my part, as who knows what could have been for any of us. I also know though that in the quiet moments when the difficulties of present life aren't overwriting my brain, there is a kind of pain of not having him...in some better form...as being a part of my life. In the end, there are so few in life that really understand us, so the loss of just one is a true tragedy.
Until we meet again brother.
(*) A relevant question is this: What was "it" anyway? I think we are all hard-wired to want our parents' approval on some level, to somehow have them, namely the people who in theory know us best, be proud of us. In our case, that wasn't possible, at least not in a way that our mother could actually express. This becomes a negative spiral that can consume you until you figure out how to simply stop the cycle.
