Rick Warren Begging For Support of Prop 8

The Proposition 8 debate is getting testy in California. Aside from my own brush with the creepy proponents of the divisive proposition, the ad spots endorsing the passage of prop 8 are turning increasingly deceptive and pathetic.

Every ‘Yes on 8’ ad stars a child in the role of victimized, unsuspecting student who was nearly sold down the Freddy Mercury Expressway by an educator in a California public school. And why not? What quicker way to a parent’s heart and vote than a good scare?

The ‘Yes on 8’ effort has been massively funded by the Mormon church, which is strange since they pretty much have their own state. Right there with them providing moral (no pun intended) support is California’s many Evangelical churches.

Walking that tightrope between policing the morality of the state and maintaining their tax exempt status is Orange County’s own, Rick Warren and Saddleback Church. Warren has been especially panicked regarding prop 8 and talks about it every chance he gets. He talks about the “sanctity of marriage” and protecting what marriage has meant for “more than 5000 years.”

I find it amazing that the church would go to such extreme lengths to protect the sanctity of marriages like Britney and K-Fed, Jacko and Lisa Marie and Liz Taylor and Larry King’s combined eighteen failed marriages but not Ellen’s one marriage or Star Trek’s, Sulu’s nuptials to his companion of several years.

Equally as perplexing is the time and money that Saddleback and Rick Warren are dumping into a bill that would not only assault the state constitution, but is designed to foster hate and discrimination while the wait list for marriage counseling at Saddleback Church is currently six months. What would Jesus think?

In Warren’s video plea to members he insinuates that both John McCain and Barack Obama supports prop 8. While Obama and McCain did state that they personally view marriage as between a man and a woman, Obama very clearly said that he would oppose any amendment of the Constitution to define marriage at all.

View Warren’s message here, and a clip of Joe Biden clearing the air here.

Obama's Closing Argument

Barack Obama called this his infomercial. His campaign has called it his closing argument. In either case, it is an effective and sincere tool to reach voters with less than a week to go. Here it is in it's entirety:

My Brush With the Devil, Death and the Law (in defense of marriage)

When I start my day late, my eating schedule gets thrown off. Today, I skipped breakfast and ate lunch at 3:30. By 9:30 I was starving and a tad anxious thanks to the stresses of work in a Bush economy. So, like any red-blooded American white guy, I set out on a walk to grab a burrito. At such an hour, I skipped the fries and opted for a second stop for a small cup of frozen yogurt. I really like the tart flavors. Tonight, I opted for a combination of blueberry, peach and pineapple.

On my walk to Del Taco I passed a gross mass of campaign signs from an assortment of candidates most have never heard from and will forget long before they vote next Tuesday. One sign stood out. It was a hand made sign on a wood steak. It was drawn in crayon – by a child. It said, very simply, ‘No on 8’. Proposition 8 in California is the divisive initiative that will in effect undo the state’s legalization of same sex marriage. It is attempting to rework the state constitution to define marriage as between one man and one woman.

I am very clear on this. The constitution – no matter state or federal is no place to define marriage as anything. Altering the constitution to exclude anyone for any reason is just not appropriate. The ‘Yes on 8’ group is running a series of creepy ads that actually say that public schools will be forced to ‘teach gay marriage’. This is of course not true. The state superintendent of public schools has said that marriage instruction of any sort is not part of any public school district’s curriculum. No matter to the supporters of eight. “Protecting the family” is serious work and who better to do the dirty work than the kids?! All of the, ‘Yes on 8’ TV spots feature children in the staring role.

The handmade sign that I saw had been defaced by a big, bold, black marker. The ‘8’ had a big ‘X’ through it. On the left side, written vertically was ‘fags’ on the right was ‘yes’. At first I walked past it, but quickly turned back and pulled it from the ground and tossed it behind the large bushes.

On my walk back I passed several ‘yes on 8’ yard signs. I left them all alone. I’m a free speech guy who feels that everyone deserves to be heard no matter how wrong they might be. As I stood waiting for the crosswalk to change, I saw one last sign. It was across the street on the opposite side I needed to go to get home. The vision of the ‘fags/yes’ sign returned to my head and I took off for the sign. I figured I would wait until no cars were around and pull the sign up and toss it aside. Instead of just knocking it over, I pulled the sign up and started heading down the street with it. I was going to give it a proper burial amongst the rest of the trash.

I looked both ways a couple times and waited until no cars were within hearing distance. No more than five seconds after yanking the sign up a compact car pulled up along beside me across the street. The woman inside took me by surprise. It was as if she crawled straight out of the gutter, onto the street.

She called out, “excuse me?”

I looked over and did not say anything, continuing to walk.
“could you put that sign back on the corner?”

All I could think to say was, “I’m moving it.”

Then, the real fun began. The woman drove along side of me for the next hundred yards. When I got to my corner she crept behind me at a nearly immobile pace. I passed my street and kept walking and turned the next corner. I glanced back and saw the headlights lurking behind me. She was following me. As she got to the corner, she waited in the intersection to see where I went. I jaunted right down a side street that would lead me back to where I grabbed the sign. I picked up my pace, glancing back every couple seconds. I stuffed the now mangled, twisted sign into a bush when I was out of sight from this monster in the Corolla. I heard the alternator on her car click on and then saw her lights getting closer. Then, she stopped. I turned the corner onto the busy street where all this started and ducked behind a giant tree. I looked back and saw that she turned into the opposite direction. I slipped back onto the sidewalk and started heading down toward the corner in another attempt to head home. By this time I had nothing in my hands and all I would have to do would be to deny ever having the sign if I was questioned. I could even pretend to hate fags too if she ever confronted me in front of a cop. Just then, I saw an Irvine police car jet through the intersection to which I was headed. She had called the cops. I was officially a fugitive from the Irvine police and heaven’s prison guard. Who would get to me first?

A few minutes after seeing the IPD car, heaven’s Corolla was again behind me. This time she passed me and turned left away from where I was headed. To be safe, I opted to head one more street up and then circle back. As I headed into the neighborhood into what I thought was safety, I heard the unmistakable hum or a supped up V8 cruiser behind me. I was busted. I kept walking. The officer slowed down and waved me over. I walked up to the door and a friendly looking officer with one stripe on his sleeve smiled and asked me if I lived here. I told him where I lived and he asked me if I had seen a man between eighteen and twenty who was pulling up yard signs.

I laughed and said, “no, not tonight.”

“it wasn’t you was it?”

I laughed bigger and said, “no”

He thanked me and sped off into the night.

So the night ended on a high note. I feel safer and younger. The police responded to an urgent 911 call and defended the rights of those who are defending the families of California in less than eight minutes and I was confused with a man half my age. God bless America.

Movies For Smart People

Rachel Getting Married is the first Oscar worthy film of 2008. Jonathan Demme's effort as director is so fresh and unique that you will be left thinking about this film for a couple days after leaving the theater.

The film is shot in a psuedo-documentary format that leaves you feeling as if you are actually there as Kim (Anne Hathaway) leaves rehab. You will feel like you have a seat at the table of the rehearsal dinner as well as an aisle seat at the ceremony itself. I can't remember a more interactive film.

The film is Oscar worthy on a few fronts. Anne Hathaway's performance is virtually certain to garner her a nomination for best actress. Debra Winger, while far more subtle is no less impressive as Kim's emotionally disconnected mother.

Rich, sentimental, tragic, emotional and profoundly excellent.

Rachel Getting Married Trailer

Religulous is Bill Maher at his finest. What will surprise you most is how the really funny parts didn't even make it into the trailer.

Maher manages to poke holes in and lampoon all of the world's major religions by simply asking the questions that anyone honest about what they believe and not routinely asks.

Most impressive about this film is how it manages to be so funny without being offensive. Instead of snarky and rude, Maher is informed and well-read on the theology he exposes. Time after time, the true believers are tripped up by what they don't actually understand as it is explained by the agnostic asking the questions.

Religulous Trailer

William Weld Joins Republican Exodus in Obama Endorsement

Former Massechusetts Governor, William Weld has joined a growing list of prominent Republicans who are endorsing Barack Obama.

Obama Draws 150,000 in Colorado While McCain and Palin Look Desperate

What has six arms, six legs and an IQ of 80? Give up? Elizabeth Hasselbeck and the Palins on stage in Tampa. While the 'sassy' co-host of 'The View' talked wardrobe and flag pins in her introduction of Palin, Barack Obama drew more than 100,000 in Denver and another 50,000 later in Colorado Springs.

Obama allowed John McCain to frame his comments during his appearence on 'Meet the Press' earlier in the morning. McCain could only name four of the five former Secretaries of State who were endorsing him and confirmed in two different ways that his policies were consistent with those of the Bush administration as well as the GOP.

Meanwhile back in Tampa, Hasselbeck flipped her hair, bit her lip and stood almost constantly with hands on hips as if her candidate was the one up twelve points in national polls.

This week the Obama is planning similar events in Ohio, Pennsylvania, Virginia and Florida.

Christian Right Intensifies Attacks on Obama

BY ERIC GORSKI AND RACHEL ZOLL
Terrorist strikes on four American cities. Russia rolling into Eastern Europe. Israel hit by a nuclear bomb. Gay marriage in every state. The end of the Boy Scouts.

All are plausible scenarios if Democrat Barack Obama is elected president, according to a new addition to the campaign conversation called "Letter from 2012 in Obama's America," produced by the conservative Christian group Focus on the Family Action.

The imagined look into the future is part of an escalation in rhetoric from Christian right activists who are trying to paint Obama in the worst possible terms as the campaign heads into the final stretch and polls show the Democrat ahead.

Although hard-edge attacks are common late in campaigns, the tenor of the strikes against Obama illustrate just how worried conservative Christian activists are about what should happen to their causes and influence if Democrats seize control of both Congress and the White House.

"It looks like, walks like, talks like and smells like desperation to me," said the Rev. Kirbyjon Caldwell of Houston, an Obama supporter who backed President Bush in the past two elections. The Methodist pastor called the 2012 letter "false and ridiculous." He said it showed that some Christian conservative leaders fear that Obama's faith-based appeals to voters are working.

Like other political advocacy groups, Christian right groups often raise worries about an election's consequences to mobilize voters. In the early 1980s, for example, direct mail from the Moral Majority warned that Congress would turn a blind eye to "smut peddlers" dangling pornography to children.

"Everyone uses fear in the last part of a campaign, but evangelicals are especially theologically prone to those sorts of arguments," said Clyde Wilcox, a Georgetown University political scientist. "There's a long tradition of predicting doom and gloom."

But the tone this election year is sharper than usual and the volume has turned up as Nov. 4 nears.

Steve Strang, publisher of Charisma magazine, a Pentecostal publication, titled one of his recent weekly e-mails to readers, "Life As We Know It Will End If Obama is Elected."

Strang said gay rights and abortion rights would be strengthened in an Obama administration, taxes would rise and "people who hate Christianity will be emboldened to attack our freedoms."

Separately, a group called the Christian Anti-Defamation Commission has posted a series of videos on its site and on YouTube called "7 Reasons Barack Obama is not a Christian."

The commission accuses Obama of "subtle diabolical deceit" in saying he is Christian, while he believes that people can be saved through other faiths.

But among the strongest pieces this year is Focus on the Family Action's letter which has been posted on the group's Web site and making the e-mail rounds. Signed by "A Christian from 2012," it claims a series of events could logically happen based on the group's interpretation of Obama's record, Democratic Party positions, recent court rulings and other trends.

Among the claims:

- A 6-3 liberal majority Supreme Court that results in rulings like one making gay marriage the law of the land and another forcing the Boy Scouts to "hire homosexual scoutmasters and allow them to sleep in tents with young boys." (In the imagined scenario, The Boy Scouts choose to disband rather than obey).

- A series of domestic and international disasters based on Obama's "reluctance to send troops overseas." That includes terrorist attacks on U.S. soil that kill hundreds, Russia occupying the Baltic states and Eastern European countries including Poland and the Czech Republic, and al-Qaida overwhelming Iraq.

- Nationalized health care with long lines for surgery and no access to hospitals for people over 80.

The goal was to "articulate the big picture," said Carrie Gordon Earll, senior director of public policy for Focus on the Family Action. "If it is a doomsday picture, then it's a realistic picture," she said.

Obama favors abortion rights and supports civil unions for same-sex couples, but says states should make their own decisions about marriage. He said he would intensify diplomatic pressure on Iran over its nuclear ambitions and add troops in Afghanistan.

On taxes, Obama has proposed an increase on the 5 percent of taxpayers who make more than $250,000 a year and advocates cuts for those who make less. His health care plan calls for the government to subsidize coverage for millions of Americans who otherwise couldn't afford it.

One of the clear targets of this latest conservative Christian push against the Democrat is younger evangelicals who might be considering him. The letter posits that young evangelicals provide the margin that let Obama defeat John McCain. But Margaret Feinberg, a Denver-area evangelical author, predicted failure.

"Young evangelicals are tired - like most people at this point in the election - and rhetoric which is fear-based, strong-arms the listener, and states opinion as fact will only polarize rather than further the informed, balanced discussion that younger voters are hungry for," she said.

In an interview, Strang said there are fewer state ballot measures to motivate conservative voters this election year and that the financial meltdown is distracting some voters from the abortion issue. But he said a last-minute push by conservative Christians in 2004 was key to Bush's re-election and predicted they could play the same role in 2008.

Kim Conger, a political scientist at Iowa State University, said a late push for evangelical voters did help Bush in 2004, "but it is a very different thing than getting people excited about John McCain," even with Alaska Gov. Sarah Palin as his vice presidential pick.

Phil Burress, head of the Ohio-based Citizens for Community Values, said the dynamics were quite different in 2004, when conservative Christians spent some energy calling Democrat John Kerry a flip-flopper but were mostly motivated by enthusiasm for George W. Bush.

Now, there is less excitement about McCain than fear of an Obama presidency, Burress said.

"This reminds me of when I was a school kid, when I had to go out in the hall and bury my head in my hands because of the atom bomb," he said.

Waiting For November 4th

BY LARRY DAVID
I can't take much more of this. Two weeks to go, and I'm at the end of my rope. I can't work. I can eat, but mostly standing up. I'm anxious all the time and taking it out on my ex-wife, which, ironically, I'm finding enjoyable. This is like waiting for the results of a biopsy. Actually, it's worse. Biopsies only take a few days, maybe a week at the most, and if the biopsy comes back positive, there's still a potential cure. With this, there's no cure. The result is final. Like death.

Five times a day I'll still say to someone, "I don't know what I'm going to do if McCain wins." Of course, the reality is I'm probably not going to do anything. What can I do? I'm not going to kill myself. If I didn't kill myself when I became impotent for two months in 1979, I'm certainly not going to do it if McCain and Palin are elected, even if it's by nefarious means. If Obama loses, it would be easier to live with it if it's due to racism rather than if it's stolen. If it's racism, I can say, "Okay, we lost, but at least it's a democracy. Sure, it's a democracy inhabited by a majority of disgusting, reprehensible turds, but at least it's a democracy." If he loses because it's stolen, that will be much worse. Call me crazy, but I'd rather live in a democratic racist country than a non-democratic non-racist one. (It's not exactly a Hobson's choice, but it's close, and I think Hobson would compliment me on how close I've actually come to giving him no choice. He'd love that!)

The one concession I've made to maintain some form of sanity is that I've taken to censoring my news, just like the old Soviet Union. The citizenry (me) only gets to read and listen to what I deem appropriate for its health and well-being. Sure, there are times when the system breaks down. Michele Bachmann got through my radar this week, right before bedtime. That's not supposed to happen. That was a lapse in security, and I've had to make some adjustments. The debates were particularly challenging for me to monitor. First I tried running in and out of the room so I would only hear my guy. This worked until I knocked over a tray of hors d'oeuvres. "Sit down or get out!" my host demanded. "Okay," I said, and took a seat, but I was more fidgety than a ten-year-old at temple. I just couldn't watch without saying anything, and my running commentary, which mostly consisted of "Shut up, you prick!" or "You're a fucking liar!!!" or "Go to hell, you cocksucker!" was way too distracting for the attendees, and finally I was asked to leave.

Assuming November 4th ever comes, my big decision won't be where I'll be watching the returns, but if I'll be watching. I believe I have big jinx potential and may have actually cost the Dems the last two elections. I know I've jinxed sporting events. When my teams are losing and I want them to make a comeback, all I have to do is leave the room. Works every time. So if I do watch, I'll do it alone. I can't subject other people to me in my current condition. I just don't like what I've turned into -- and frankly I wasn't that crazy about me even before the turn. This election is having the same effect on me as marijuana. All of my worst qualities have been exacerbated. I'm paranoid, obsessive, nervous, and totally mental. It's one long, intense, bad trip. I need to come down. Soon.

A Strangely Beautiful Thing

My friend, Lawrence lost his father today. Lawrence and his wife, Jacqueline and their children have been precious to me and have quite simply facilitated my survival over what has been the toughest year of my life.

Having recently lost my own father, I am well aware of what is certainly coursing through Lawrence’s soul right now. Though difficult and emotionally exhausting, it is also a beautiful and fitting step in the process of life.

I have heard the stories of courage of Lawrence’s family, specifically his stepmother, Joan as if they were read with clarity from a book with no pictures. To have his father pass into whatever is after this life provides a long overdue feeling of peace. I’m certain that everyone is happy for that.

Lawrence and I have spent a lot of time talking about this moment in his life over the last several weeks. The knowledge that it was fast approaching mixed with the uncertainty of how he would react and recover was a tremendous weight on the shoulders of a strong and capable man. His sense of purpose and place in the lives of his own children and family has never wavered or been stronger. Most impressive to me is the grace with which he continued on as a model husband and father; practicing guitar with his boys, helping his daughter with her homework, honoring and encouraging his wife with loving and encouraging words. All the while, much of what he knew in his life before his own family came along was being lost to time.

In the days leading up to his father’s death, I strongly encouraged Lawrence to settle in at his dad’s bedside until he was gone. He did that and seems happy that he did. If there is anything more beautiful and precious than escorting from this life one of the beings who brought you into it, I will never know what it is.

They say that our life flashes before our eyes in the moments before death. I can say that my life as it related to my father flashed before my eyes in the hours before and after his death. As Lawrence’s loss sits heavy in my heart, I hope that he too is experiencing this flashback in glorious, stunning detail. I hope that his reverence for his dad is crystal clear and that the memory of his touch and smell are firm in his memory banks. I want him to see in his mind, the strength and texture in his father’s hands and the sound of his voice. Mostly I hope that the tears that pour from his eyes in the hours and days that lie ahead are tears of love and joy and forgiveness and release.

The epilogue to the beauty of a loss such as this is found in the realization that the last layer between Lawrence and his own mortality is now gone. As he parts with his father in physical terms, it will no doubt occur to him that his children will do the same with him. Their small, growing hands will be on him as he draws his last breath as his were on his father. I hope they never look the same as he returns home and that his inspiration moving forward is drawn from the abundance of love and support of his family. If we do indeed reap what we sew, Lawrence will be more than cared for as he eases into what is next.

Colin Powell Endorses Obama

Former Secretary of State Colin Powell endorsed Sen. Barack Obama, D-Ill., for president on Sunday, criticizing his own Republican Party for what he called its narrow focus on irrelevant personal attacks over a serious approach to challenges he called unprecedented.

Powell, who for many years was considered the most likely candidate to become the first African-American president, said in an interview on NBC’s “Meet the Press” that he was not supporting Obama because of his race. He said he had watched both Obama and his Republican opponent, Sen. John McCain of Arizona, for many months and thought “either one of them would be a good president.”

But he said McCain’s choices in the last few weeks — especially his selection of Gov. Sarah Palin of Alaska as his vice presidential running mate — had raised questions in his mind about McCain’s judgment.

“I don’t believe [Palin] is ready to be president of the United States,” Powell said flatly. By contrast, Obama’s running mate, Sen. Joe Biden of Delaware, “is ready to be president on day one.”

Powell also told NBC’s Tom Brokaw that he was “troubled” by Republicans’ personal attacks on Obama, especially false intimations that Obama was Muslim and the recent focus on Obama’s alleged connections to William Ayers, a co-founder of the radical ’60 Weather Underground.

Stressing that Obama was a lifelong Christian, Powell denounced Republican tactics that he said were insulting not only to to Obama but also to Muslims.

“The really right answer is what if he is?” Powell said, praising the contributions of millions of Muslim citizens to American society.

“I look at these kind of approaches to the campaign, and they trouble me,” Powell said. “Over the last seven weeks, the approach of the Republican Party has become narrower and narrower.”

In an interview Sunday on Fox News, McCain said he was not surprised by the announcement.

“I’ve always admired and respected General Powell,” said McCain, who cited the endorsements he had received from former Secretaries of State Henry Kissinger, Alexander Haig, James Baker and Lawrence Eagleburger. “We have a respectful disagreement.”

Bolstering Obama’s international credentials
Obama said in an interview airing Monday on NBC’s TODAY that he welcomed Powell’s support and looked forward to discussing what role, if any, Powell might have in an Obama administration should he be elected.

“Here is what I can say for certain: He will have a role as one of my advisers. He has already served in that function even before he endorsed me,” Obama told NBC’s Matt Lauer. “Whether he wants to take a formal role — whether there’s something that’s a good fit for him — I think is something that he and I would have to discuss.”

Powell, a retired Army general who was chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff under the first President Bush before becoming secretary of state in the current administration, is one of the most highly decorated military officers of modern times and an admired figure in both parties. The Obama campaign is likely to cite the endorsement as an answer to critics and undecided voters who have questioned the foreign policy credentials of Obama, a first-term senator whose national experience amounts to four years in the Senate.

Powell said a major part of his decision to turn his back on his own party was his conclusion that Obama was the better option to repair frayed U.S. relations with allies overseas.

“This is the time for outreach,” Powell said, saying the next president would have to “reach out and show the world there is a new administration that is willing to reach out.”

In particular, he said, he welcomed Obama’s president to “talk to people we haven’t talked to,” a reference to Obama’s controversial statement that he would be open to direct diplomacy with Iranian leaders.

“I think that [Obama] has a definite way of doing business that will serve us well,” Powell said.

Sins of My Father (Part Four) - By the Time I Get to Arizona

My summer trips to Charleston continued through my eighth grade year. It was in that summer that I started to recognize that my dad had issues and struggles that I knew nothing about. My mind was growing and developing and I was anything but an incurious teenager. I was beginning to form opinions and attitudes and ask ‘why?’ and ‘why not?’ often.

I looked forward to accompanying my dad to his baseball games. He managed an amateur team made up of guys who either just missed making it or missed it a long time ago. Most of his players were in their late twenties and many of them had families. It was similar to beer league softball except far more intense and the players were far more skilled and talented.

Often, my grandfather would come with us and hang out in the dugout or coach first base. I went along at usually watched for about three innings and then went looking for something else to do until the game ended. On one drive to the ball field I entered into what I thought was a light hearted debate about drugs with my father. My cousin Vicki had used marijuana during the school year and was hanging out with some general ‘undesirables’. This had created quite a ruckus in the family. When I suggested that in the big picture, this was really no big deal it was clear to them that I needed to be scared straight. Poppy and my dad took to teaching me about weed on the way to the game. Dad told me that pot was every bit as dangerous as any other drug and could actually kill you. While eighth grade certainly wasn’t inundated with pot, it was around and the social warning label that had been placed on it in my mind was starting to fade and come into a truer focus.

Midway through the debate, Poppy accepted that I was not a user or even vulnerable to be and eased into his seat, listening to the Cincinnati Reds game on the radio. Dad persisted, digging his heels in, insisting that Vicki’s joints and bongs would lead to her literal demise. Ready to give up and move on, I responded to one of his inane claims by saying, “you’re crazy!” Dad nearly drove off the road. His blood pressure shot through the roof. In the rear view mirror I could see that his eyes were bulging and glaring at me with an anger with which I could not personally relate. He barked, “I AM NOT CRAZY!” I was stunned still, with no idea how to respond. I just stared at him in the mirror. “Do you hear me? I am not crazy!” Poppy stepped in and told him to settle down. Slowly he did, but his reaction was like nothing I had ever seen in anyone, especially him.

In the several seconds that this exchange took place I wilted. Sitting alone in the backseat I melted into a mix of confusion, guilt, pain and rejection. My eyes filled with tears as I wished to myself that I could go home. The thought of flying home early passed through my mind. The more I thought of it, the more I wanted to go and the more I cried. I stared out the open window with the wind in my face so that my tears would blow off my cheeks and not be seen. We all sat quietly for the rest of the drive.

In the dugout at the field, Poppy sat down and told me that dad was very sensitive to being called crazy. He went on to chastise me for being disrespectful, attaching a long list of bad luck that my dad had experienced in his life as if that alone bought him extra understanding from a son he saw once a year. While I was still hurting, I let it go. Most of the emotion that surged through me was guilt for hitting what was clearly a nerve in my father. I didn’t ask what should have been the logical follow-up question; “why is he sensitive to being called crazy?” That would have begged the questions, “is he crazy?” and “what is wrong with him?” Looking back, his reaction to me seems almost cartoon like. I think it was less a reaction to my lack of fear and proper respect for marijuana and more of an issue of me not buying into his experience and authority on the topic. Not as a father, but as someone who knows. He failed to sway me and I reacted in a way that passively challenged his sanity.

Of course, his contention that pot kills was not something that I thought made him truly crazy. It seemed that all adults towed this company line and I called anyone with which I disagreed, ‘crazy’. It was that simple. However, this was the first time in my life that I felt anything other than unconditional love for my dad. It was also the first time that I wanted to react back in a hurtful way. I nearly launched back with the, “you were never there, you have no right…” barrage that kids of divorce often employee when hurt. But more than any of this, his reaction along with Poppy’s explanation created the first time I ever wondered what it was that happened to my dad to make him how he was. Everything else came into an unhealthy, dysfunctional focus at that time: he bounced from job to job, lived with his parents and had little regard for the integrity of the truth in any vain. Suddenly, in the backseat of his car I saw my dad as the tremendously flawed man that he was.

What I did not see nor did I have the ability to properly relate to, was the pain that he felt. At that time, I didn’t understand it and could not have known the depths to which he repressed it.

Perhaps it was the years of living with and being raised by my mom, but I was of the opinion that I had earned a lifetime of parental immunity from my dad when it came to him being upset at me and lashing out. All parents slip up and lash out at their kids, but typically they have a sense of equity in the process from which to draw. It became clear to me in a flash that he did not and in my mind did not have the right to raise his voice at me. Of course being the peace-keeper, the codependent in training, I quickly let all this go and moved on as far as my reaction went. I guess I figured if we all just pretended like none of this ever happened, things would be easier. So I did and they were.

Baseball more often than not accentuated what was best about my dad. He was often generous and paternal to young men who needed a father figure. The man that he was to so many of those guys was an aberration, though. There was very little truly paternal about my father. His parenting instinct was almost non-existent and his judgment was suspect to say the least. The position that he assumed with so many of his payers through the years was most often a hybrid of mentor and friend. The language he used in their company was unlike any that even I, at fourteen had ever heard. Off the field he never used this language, but on it he used profanity in context that made no sense. Where many would ‘damn’ or ‘shit’, he would opt for ‘piss’ or ‘cunt’. I have never heard the word, ‘cunt’ used on a baseball field since. I actually thought about helping him how to more effectively curse, teaching him the context that he lacked.

This summer vacation ended differently. Nanny and Poppy and I drove Poppy’s van from West Virginia. It wasn’t abundantly clear to me at the time, but Poppy was scouting out a new place to live. He was ready to leave West Virginia and wanted to be closer to my brother and me. There was clearly an ulterior motive that was not clear to me at first, however.

After Nanny and Poppy made their move to Florida, dad moved to Phoenix. In West Virginia, he had last worked for the state medical examiners office. He had worked out a transfer to a similar office in Arizona. It immediately occurred to me; why when his parents were moving two miles from his children, he would move 2,500 miles in the opposite direction? I was profoundly confused. Even as Nanny was still putting glasses in her new shelves at her new home, I asked her why dad had decided not to come with them. She dodged the question saying that it was complicated. As I challenged her, suggesting that dad didn’t care enough to be close to us, she snapped back, “that is not true, Mickey.” Nanny rarely lost her cool, so when she did it spoke volumes. I backed off and accepted that there was something behind the scenes that I knew nothing about and probably wouldn’t understand.

I was much more comfortable prodding Poppy for these answers. He didn’t enjoy the topic any more than Nanny, but he accepted my need to know and my ability to understand. Like, Nanny he reassured me that my dad would much rather be close to Chris and me. What followed was the shell of an explanation designed to explain just enough to a teenager without telling too much. What stuck with me was that my dad had entered into a partial ownership or a stake in a local bar that he frequented with his players. I remember seeing this place. It was a fee-standing building next to nothing, near nothing with basically no windows. I’m not sure I was ever inside the bar, but have a pretty good idea what it looked like. The bottom line seemed to be that something went wrong and someone was in hot pursuit of my dad. I wasn’t sure if it was the police or someone who had maybe financed the effort. The idea of organized crime even crossed my mind. Certainly the mob wasn’t in West Virginia, were they?!

While I really had no choice but to let this go, I did so knowing that this is about as much as I would get on the subject. The truth of the matter was probably a bit of all of the theories that had run through my mind. He probably defrauded someone who had invested and had them as well as the police in route. Running in the opposite direction as my grandparents made sense. Anyone looking for my dad would certainly look in the home of his parents. It’s almost as if he went to Phoenix to ride things out. The more time that has passed on this theory, the more I have come to believe it.

As Nanny and Poppy settled in, Nanny started sharing stories from dad’s new life in Phoenix. Predictably, it wasn’t going well, and he was struggling mightily. I asked her why he hadn’t called me at all since moving west. Nanny went on to tell me how depressed he was. I asked for his number. I had decided to call him myself.
I was angry that I was in the position of having to call him. It had now been several months since I heard from him and I was angry and confused and quite worried. Mostly, I was mad as hell.

His phone rang three times and I thought about hanging up. He picked up the phone and answered in a muted, hushed voice. I had forgotten to do the math on the time change between Florida and Arizona. Again, I thought about hanging up, but quickly greeted him, “dad?”

We spoke very briefly. He was concerned with me getting in trouble for calling. I assured him that no one would have an issue with me calling. I asked about Arizona and his job. He told me that he had gone on a date with Stevie Nicks, which I did not believe. He told me that money was a problem, and for a minute I had a glimpse into the depression that Nanny had told me about. While he was happy to have heard from me, I continued to fume inside that I called him instead of receiving his regular call.

After I hung up, I called Nanny and asked for my dad’s mailing address. She gave it to me and didn’t ask why. I rummaged up an envelope and stuffed all the money I had into it and threw a stamp on it. As I walked it to the mailbox my anger started to subside. I became focused on how I might be helping him and that Nanny would be proud. Yet her unwritten rule was to do nice things for people and tell no one so that our motives remain true. So, I didn’t tell her about the thirteen dollars that I sent my dad. On my walk back to the house it occurred to me that I had probably just sent my dad cigarette money for the week, and I became angry again. With a dismissive gesture toward the mailbox, I said out loud, “fuck it.”

When my dad got the money, it did not prompt him to call me, but he did call Nanny and Poppy. My gesture moved them and they told me so and how happy things like that made Jesus as if I were nine years-old in Sunday school class. As Nanny hugged me tight, Poppy handed me fifteen dollars from his pocket.

Breaking Down the Undecided

Who are they? Why do they matter? Let's find out.

The Plan For Ohio by Mindy Green and Friends

The Plan For Florida by Sarah Silverman

Sins of My Father (Part Three)- The Sweet and Sorrow of Summer

My mother remarried in 1980. I think it was 1980. Is that something I should know? I’m never sure if that is a date that I should commit to my memory banks. I have the same issue with calling on Easter. Is Easter a “call holiday”? Anyway, she married a co-worker of Tom’s – the man that my mom saw a few times. She has always maintained that they were just friends, but in my mind they were dating. I certainly didn’t know any better. The man brought my brother and I Reds’ caps. I didn’t have the life perspective to say (out loud or to myself) “what the hell is this?” when he gave us those hats. All I knew was that I was getting new stuff. As a man, I would think that the hats were a smart move of a man making a play for a woman with two sons.

When David came into the picture, it was clearly serious. This I did not question. He was around and around a lot. He brought his son over and stayed late. Before I knew it, we were taking road trips to Winter Haven to visit his parents. It felt like a ride that was just moving fast whether I was ready for it or not. There was no emergency stop or ‘eject’ button.

As I analyzed the interaction or relationship or whatever it was, I could see that David was at the very least fun. My mom seemed to have fun with him. There was drinking and smoking and lots of laughing. Everything did seem in perspective, though.

On one of the early visits to our apartment, I recall playing in the main yard area in front of the main building. My brother, Chris and David’s son, Mike and I were tossing a baseball around. The ball got away from me and ended up under a parked car. I crawled under the car to retrieve the ball. I cleared the undercarriage with ease and grabbed the ball. Sliding back out and picking up our game would have been easy. In part to impress Mike and perhaps to test my mom or her new boyfriend, I pretended to be stuck under the car. I called for Mike and Chris to go upstairs and get mom for help. Shortly after, mom and David came down and peered under the car. I was certain that I was pulling this off. My mom bought it, although was not too concerned for my long-term wellbeing. I’m pretty sure David didn’t buy it, though.

He attempted to coax me into one of the gaps under the car so that I could ease out. My mom joined in, coaching me as well. Finally, frustrated by what he had to know was a crock of shit, David grabbed my ankles and jerked me from under the car in one, jolting motion.

I was hurt. Not scraped or bruised. Not hurt physically, but hurt that I was for the first time, manhandled. I’m certain that David could see that I wasn’t being hung up or snagged on anything under the car. I’m also sure he was probably over the game that I had decided would be fun. Perhaps he thought I would enjoy the ride. Still now, I can’t say why my feelings were so hurt. I suspect it had something to do with the idea that my dad would have handled things a bit differently or that he would have been in the yard playing catch with us. All I have now is the memory and the ‘post-game’ analysis of an adult who can now see both perspectives.

Whatever pain was caused by Tom’s extended stay some months earlier had faded. I had without realizing it grown used to the fact that my dad lived in West Virginia and I lived in Florida with my mother. Having David around took little adjustment. I don’t remember having a problem with it and I don’t remember being excited about it either. The fact that David had a son close to my age that came over on weekends made things more palatable.

Before long, I was told that my mom and David were moving in together. I knew that they were not getting married quite yet, and that didn’t bother me as much as it seemed to bother a busy-body neighbor across the street from David’s house. My grandmother had a bid issue with it too, I’m sure. Besides, it didn’t seem all that long before mom and David got married.

The idea of mom remarrying didn’t really have a deep impact on me. I didn’t feel protective of “dad’s woman” or place in my family’s life like I did when Tom visited our apartment. David filled in pretty well in our lives and perhaps even I felt like it was time to have a man around again. Besides, he didn’t seem intent on replacing my father. It was clear that he had deep rooted contempt for my dad, but wasn’t compelled to run in and rescue my brother and me either. Their marriage seemed separate and apart from Chris and me. Though David would go on to provide for me throughout my life, I didn’t feel like anything about their marriage was about my brother or me. That is not to say that we didn’t matter. My mother loved us intensely and in time, David did too. I’m sure that nothing passed through their heads that didn’t at least consider how we were affected.

Again, without the aid of a timeline, there was one occasion when I did react in defense of my father. Soon after they were married, my mother and David came to Chris and me and asked about what we thought about the idea of David adopting us. Chris was eight at the most, so I’m sure he had no real opinion, shifting the weight of the decision onto me. First of all, the term, “adopt” struck me kind of funny. I knew that I wasn’t an orphan or without parents, but lacked the depth to understand the idea too. My mom did most of the talking and was quite delicate with the proposal. She didn’t push and never pressured me in any way after that initial conversation. She told us that of the changes would be that our last names would change to Crawford. I always liked that name. Crawford just sounded good to me. I didn’t think that my first name went with it too well; ‘Mickey Crawford’. It just didn’t sound right.

I had spent the second and third grade telling my friends and classmates that my real name was Steve and that my birthday was on December 23rd. My real name is Mickey and I was born on July 9th. I went through a clear period of not liking much of anything about myself. Hated my first name and even hated my birthday. Mom suggested at one point that I go by my middle name. When I said that I had no interest in being called Charles, she suggested Chuck. No one could do anything about my birthday – I was stuck with July 9th. When I learned that OJ Simpson had the same birthday, I was a bit more settled on that. One thing I never hated was my last name. So the draw of a cool sounding last name and the connection to a seemingly secure and established southern family should have been tempting. While I don’t remember if I said that I did not want to change my name then or after a couple days of “thinking it over”, I knew immediately that I wanted no part of changing my name. I felt as if I had to step in and take one in honor of my father, and it was never in question. To mom and David’s credit, I never felt as if I was being pressured on the issue at all. I have since wondered on a few occasions if my position felt like rejection to David.

I never mentioned that proposal to my father. I didn’t need his thanks or approval and I think I even feared a little that the idea itself would have hurt him.

As this was going on, my father was not paying any child support to my mother. While I did not know how that worked or what it really meant, I heard it often from my mom. I knew that he didn’t pay and never really did. At that point what I knew about my dad other than what I had seen and grown to know was that he was a liar who did not pay child support. Hearing this put me in a position of balance and understanding. I did know enough to feel reverence toward my mom for managing to make it without the input of my father. Yet inside I also felt sorry for my dad. I still don’t know why. The prayers for protection of my dad intensified during this time. The only reoccurring nightmare I ever had was of my father being chased and beaten by a mob. Those dreams were going on at about the same time.

Summers were spent in West Virginia with my grandparents and my father. He lived with them the entire time we visited in the summer. While I knew that this wasn’t the norm, it did not embarrass me either. I looked forward to my visits and never questioned the living arrangements at all.

Summers in West Virginia were a true and complete joy for me as a young boy. I knew that I would get to play and watch plenty of baseball as well as be coddled and cared for by my doting grandparents. They had such pride for me as I was and that was clear. I always felt like their favorite when I was with them. Something I’m sure my brother and all of my cousins felt as well.

Nanny and Poppy provided the balance that was missing from my life. While my new family back home was steady and reliable and I certainly knew I was loved, my grandparents were a link to my increasingly fading memory of what I remembered as normal. Of course it never was normal when my parents were married. I have no doubt that my dad was an awful husband who failed to really attempt to provide as a father and husband should. But to me, he lived in the sanctuary. I think if I were given the choice to spend summers with my grandparents or my dad, I would have chosen Nanny and Poppy. Lucky for me, he lived with them.

My memories of those summers are sparse but full of joy. I don’t recall a lot of specifics but know that every minute was valued. I remember damp summer rains, building a tree house and Poppy’s garden. He was always so proud of it yet I never remember it ever netting anything edible. When my cousins would visit at the same time, the party was on. A few years into those summer visits we started driving out to Kansas City to visit them. My cousin, Mike and I were wired in a complimentary way that added to the fun. I could always count on him to push the envelope in ways that I wasn’t comfortable. It was a great time and if anything were to go wrong, I was secure in the fact that I always had someone to blame for any trouble that might come.

The most lasting and clear memories of those great summers, no matter in West Virginia or in Kansas City was the mornings on which we would leave. We always seemed to be booked on an early morning flight. There was a visible and thick tension as we all got up on those mornings. Leaving meant saying goodbye for another year. It was a painful and exhausting exercise.

Nanny made sure that we had a full breakfast. She was always especially quiet working away in her kitchen on those last mornings. One year comes to mind when I sat eating quietly. Chris sat next to me and kept looking at me as if he was expecting a cue as to how to act. I carefully avoided eye contact with anyone although I could feel his glances.

After breakfast, Poppy came in and tried to spin things positively, cracking jokes and making faces. There was nothing grumpy about him on this morning. As we ate, my dad was still in his room, conspicuously absent from the table. Though not finished eating, I recall walking back to his room to see what he was doing. I stood in his doorway and he paused before looking up. He was staring at a shoe. He wasn’t shining it or anything, just staring. He sat on the edge of his bed, shirtless staring at this shoe. Eventually he looked up and asked, “what’s up, boy?” I asked him if he was going to come to the table. He said that he wasn’t and that he had to get ready for work. I don’t know if he really had to work that day or not, but I could see that he wasn’t in the state to go to the airport to drop us off. He never did. My grandparents were always the ones to take me to the airport.

The goodbyes were so ardently avoided all morning that when the time actually came to say goodbye, it was a violently emotional sob. Whether I was eight or thirteen I gasped continually as my eyes gushed tears. Nanny and Poppy’s hugs were tight and assuring. Though supremely sweet and sentimental, Nanny always seemed intent on stopping her cry and quickly composing herself. Poppy cried softly as his mouth flipped upside down into a perfect frown.

The cry and accompanying hug from my dad was the only one that matched the intensity of my own emotion. As a pre-teen I first became aware of the muscles in my chest the day after such goodbyes. My chest was sore from the seizing and flexing of the muscles as we sobbed together. As we did, there was nothing to say. No, “see you next year”, no “call me when you get home”. All of it was understood and probably inaudible anyway. If I were to compile a list of top ten cries in my life, summer goodbyes would occupy four or five of the ten spots.

Another Blowout

Tuesday night’s Presidential debate was a blowout. Barack Obama controlled the tempo on every topic and simply looked more Presidential and composed. John McCain again and again looked rattled and snarky, making odd remarks toward moderator, Tom Brokaw as well as Obama.

Opinion polls conducted by CBS, CNN, FOX and every other cable news outlet supported what looked elementary on the screen: Barack Obama won the debate in a landslide. At the same time, Sen. Obama has continued to surge ahead in virtually every swing state on the electoral map. Currently, even conservative estimates suggest that Obama has 264 secure electoral votes, leaving him just six short of capturing the election. Capturing any one or two of the five remaining toss-up states would push him over the top. Obama leads in the polls in four of those states. When current polling is factored in, Obama would win the election with 364 electoral votes.

On CNN after the debate, James Carville said, “this is over – call off the dogs, wet the fire and lock up the house.” It may very well be. If this current trend holds true, everyone will get to bed early on November 4th.

Well, She Didn't Fall Off the Stage

Did you catch the Vice Presidential debate Thursday night? Of course you did, I’m not sure there has ever been more must see TV in the history of American politics. It seems even the disinterested and disconnected were dialing this one up in the anticipation that Sarah Palin might just say something about witches or dinosaurs or how her kids actually play catch with Russian children across the Bering Straight.

It didn’t happen, of course. Palin didn’t say anything all that stupid despite the fact that she rarely answered the question asked. Once she even acknowledged that she wouldn’t be answering Gwen Eiffell’s question. Continually, Palin steered questions on Iraq and the economy back to energy and anticdotes about hockey moms and ‘Joe six-pack’. She was just adorable.

If anything, Palin accomplished the only thing she could. She only looked like an idiot to viewers who were informed on the issues. Since this debate was held in America, that doesn’t amount to much. The other and most significant accomplishment of Palin’s on the night was that she continued to be downright cute and lovable. From her request to call Sen. Biden, Joe to her little wink to the camera, Palin was as cute as a bug in a rug.

She does have that quality that endears her to people in a way that makes them wish she was their neighbor or teacher. As scary as it sounds, there are many people who vote that way. Thankfully, Palin’s persona wore thin with the inexplicably undecided voters. Like in the Obama, McCain debate, every poll taken after the debate showed Biden as a clear winner.

Lost in all of the anticipation that Palin might actually run off the stage crying at some point, was the fact that Joe Biden was simply outstanding. He was concise and clear while maintaining a healthy and respectful tone toward his overmatched opponent. All Biden really had to do was show up and let her go. He did that and then some. As for Palin, I just want to squeeze her like a puppy and scratch her belly. Bless her heart.