Does It Matter?

Pick your battles. I've been given this advice over and over and over again. In parenting with rambunctious kids: pick your battles - address the worst behaviors first and worry about the rest later. In politics: pick your battles - there are too many issues to take all of them on at the same time. At work: pick your battles - don't burn out by spreading yourself too thin. In personal conflicts: pick your battles - sometimes the dispute isn't worth the effort.

In theory, this makes sense. I understand the value of the statement and my friends would tell you they have received this piece of advice from me. In practice though? I suck. It is hard for me to let things slide. I don't enjoy sweeping sins under the rug; I'd rather light the rug on fire and deal with everybody's dirt. I want to talk about it. I want to argue over it. I want to wage war. I want it resolved so I never have to see it again. My rational side knows not every battle needs fought while my emotional side says, "LET'S GET READY TO RUMBLE."

This isn't a new perspective. My passions are not unique. In the ninth chapter of the Gospel of Mark, there is a story of the disciples wanting to pick fights. It begins in verse 38 when they complain to Jesus: "We saw someone driving out demons in your name and we told him to stop, because he was not one of us."

I referee these disputes all the time with my kids. "Dad, I told her to stop singing and she won't stop. Make her stop!" "Dad, he's spinning in circles again and he won't stop. I told him to stop but he won't listen to me." "Dad, he keeps bumping into me and I don't like it."

The disciples didn't want someone else working under the name of Christ. They followed Jesus, traveled with him, dined with him, laughed and cried with him. They felt as if they were the only ones qualified to do what God called them to do. Jesus had a different perspective than his friends. He replied, "Do not stop him. For no one who does a miracle in my name can in the next moment say anything bad about me, for whoever is not against us is for us."

Paul echoed this sentiment in his message to the Philippians. This letter was written while Paul was in prison. In his absence, other believers stepped up to carry on Paul's ministry. The differences in personalities and styles caused some disagreements and Paul wanted to silence those quarrels. He explained how some people preached out of envy, rivalry, selfish ambition, or to cause trouble for Paul, while others did it out of goodwill and love. Paul could have gone on the attack and criticized anyone insincerely joining the ministry or preaching to inflate their own ego. Instead, he picked his battles. He wrote, "But what does it matter? The important thing is that in every way, whether from false motives or true, Christ is preached. And because of this I rejoice."

I wish I was more like Paul and took the high road a little more frequently. However, I don't ask, "Does it matter?" Instead, I tend to take the disciples’ approach. Run into the fray kicking and screaming and sometimes pouting. "But but but ... They're wrong. They need to quit. Oh dear God make them stop ... "

But does it matter? What if I'm wrong? What if they're wrong but it's not causing any harm? What if they're not wrong and I'm not wrong we're just different? What if we're trying to accomplish the same goal from divergent perspectives? We might disagree on a multitude of issues, but do we agree on what is most important? Is it worth the fight?

There are battles that need to be fought and won. Occasionally though, judgement can wait. Sometimes, there are more urgent issues to tackle. Other times, I might need to step back and let someone else throw some punches. In a world where I would prefer being right all the time, I should learn to pick my battles.

Bailing Out

Through geekery alone, my knowledge is significant. I can crack open a book, read, and absorb information; surf the internet and flex my Google-Fu; take classes and attend seminars. The possibilities seem endless. But there are limits. There are things that you cannot fully understand until experienced through hands-on application. I can argue superiority between Star Trek and Star Wars because I've seen all the movies and TV shows; I've played video games and board games related to both franchises. I've experienced both fandoms so my knowledge is equally practical and intellectual.

However ...

There are things where (until recently) I've had no need to learn through visual, auditory, or kinesthetic pursuits. Farming is one of those topics. During 1985’s Farm Aid concert, I knew American growers faced a financial crisis, fighting against political pressures. However, I was only six years old so the technical details and shifting dynamics in our economy were far beyond my grasp. I knew nothing of the changes corporate agriculture had on independent and small family farms. First grade curriculum doesn’t include the concepts of supply and demand, property rights, mass production, or GMOs. Even as I got older and learned about economic principles and American civics, costs and efforts required to harvest food were irrelevant to me. I was a product of the suburbs, completely disinterested in the agrarian lifestyle. I saw the American heartland as endless amber waves of grain, boring scenery between me and Grandma's house. I valued purple mountain majesty and fruited plains, preferred the scent of cedar groves and alpine meadows over dairy air, and would rather hear honking horns than mooing bovine. I was content to keep it that way. If I could go to the grocery store and buy prepackaged delights, then the plight of the farmer was not my concern.

Priorities have shifted over the past several months. Farming is no longer something other people do; it's a part of my daily life. My health improved because of the work it takes to build fencing and stack hay. I appreciate the view from my back porch where I watch the sunset every evening. I love the darkness at night, revealing a vast expanse of stars undiminished from the light pollution plaguing city folk. I also understand how hard you must labor to enjoy this life and how much it costs to maintain it.

We love our horses. Horses eat a lot of hay. Hay can be expensive - especially when the horses eat (roughly) a ton of food each month.

Until now, the financial side of equestrian care was a foreign subject. Money spent on field fencing is staggering for someone who has never investigated those prices. A trip to the theater for the newest Marvel movie (including soda and popcorn) is cheap compared to the price tags on saddles at the tack shop. I've been exposed to the world of rodeos, household repair, and farm maintenance. I now spend time in North 40 and Home Depot the same way a younger version of me once occupied Hastings and GameStop. I’ve become familiar with how expensive it is to maintain a farm with goats, geese, ducks, chickens, horses, and a free-spirited rabbit who does whatever it wants; I also see how hard my neighbors work with their pigs and cattle. We purchased hay from local farms - all of which are grown and harvested by young families or old men wanting to be productive after retiring from the workforce. I’m grateful for how much they spend on equipment and the hard work they do to cut and bale the hay we buy to feed our animals.

When I hear people talk about their motivations behind voting or Trump, it makes sense to me. Vibrancy fades once you get out of urban centers and bedroom communities. Small towns in rural America have been shrinking. I've driven through many dwindling municipalities with boarded up windows, signs announcing store closures, and empty streets on what should have been a busy day filled with people shopping for goods, services, and supplies. Their populations are leaving for better opportunities in bigger cities, costs of running a farm are increasing, profits from selling meat and produce are slimmer. Their way of life is slowly disappearing. Livelihoods of many Americans depend on their land, their crops, their livestock. They see an uncertain future, a possible end to their lifestyle. Justified or not, many of them blame Obama and Democratic policies for these changes. Afraid of losing everything they've ever known, they believe Donald Trump was the only candidate who cared about them. They thought Trump was the one would protect the familiar, he would be a champion of their values and interests.

Economic, social, political, and demographic insecurity. They were unsettled by changes in the populace from gay rights and immigration to lower attendance in their churches every Sunday morning. They saw massive societal shifts and it scared them. People who are anxious of losing their status, power, or influence can act irrationally. Fear makes us stupid. Trump tapped into those fears and exploited them. Now, the farmers who voted for him need rescue from the negative impacts of his administration.

It's sad because it was all entirely predictable. We could see this coming. Trump campaigned on promises of trade wars and tariffs. Democrats raged against his plans. Comedians and late-night talk show hosts mocked him. Conservatives voiced tempered concern. Economists predicted disaster. When Trump threatened trade wars, we all knew it wouldn't end well. We all knew what would happen. Those of us who opposed Trump tried to warn everyone. Yet Trump still won the election. The predictions of doom came true and the people hurt the worst by Trump's tariffs are (or were) his biggest supporters. Trump offered a $12-billion bail out to offset the consequences of harm caused by his trade war.

Money fixes everything.

How do you get a slice of that $12-billion pie? Our farm needs two more pastures fenced in, a new round pen, deer fencing erected so we can start our garden, privacy landscaping planted to shield our pool from view of people driving by, and several trees need to be felled or pruned. A pest control treatment would be nice. Our work truck broke down and needs replaced. When you live on a farm, there are always a list of projects you'll complete if/when you get a little extra cash. Our list is a little longer than most.

Realistically though, my family won't qualify for any funds. Nor will my neighbors, or the ma & pa farms where we purchase hay. Operations like ours are ineligible. The $12-billion will not be going to independent and family farms with small acreage. Instead, large corporate owned farms are getting it. Companies who stock the frozen foods isle at major grocery stores. Ag-industry giants who supply beef and French fries to fast food chains. The bailouts are gifts to big businesses, not to the people who need it most.

Let’s treat those poor farmer-CEOs the way many conservatives malign impoverished Americans. They don't deserve welfare, need a hand up not a hand up. It's time they pull themselves up by the bootstraps. They're just lazy. I don't pay my taxes so these people can have money handed to them – no strings attached. Who do they think funds their free lunch? They better not be buying beer or cigarettes. If they're unable to pay their bills, they should go get a second or third job. They could drive their tractors for Uber or list their farms on Airbnb. Perhaps they should be drug tested before they get a bailout. Why not drug test all their employees? Hopefully none of those employees are undocumented workers; we'd have to deport them.

If all else fails, we can vote differently in November than we did in 2016. We might still be scared; hopefully we're smarter.

The Double Negative

After a disastrous summit in Helsinki, Donald Trump finally did something I never thought I'd see him do: he retracted his comments and admitted a mistake. Perhaps only because of the backlash. Accusations of treason from Democrats, liberals, and constant critics were echoed by supporters like FOX News pundits and GOP stalwarts. So, Trump took a mulligan.

“It's not really treason if I misspoke.” In this instance, "I misspoke" seems equal to "Please don't impeach me."

At the news conference, Trump said, "They said they think it's Russia. Uh, I have uh President Putin. Uh, he just said it's not Russia. I will say this, I don't see any reason why it would be." In other words, "My people said it's Russian, Putin says it wasn't, I believe Putin."

According to Trump, only one word was victim to his faux pas: would. What he meant to say was wouldn't. His (supposedly) intended statement was "I don't see any reason why it wouldn't be." Trump clarified it was "sort of a double negative."

Double negatives are common grammatical errors where two negative words cancel each other out. In mathematics, subtracting a negative number is the same as adding a positive integer or the negative number's absolute value. Language follows similar patterns. The negatives negate each other. When Pink Floyd sang "We don't need no education," the grammatically proper interpretation would assume they do need education. If someone tells you "You don't have to go nowhere," what they're really saying is you do have to go somewhere. Items described as not uncommon really are common.

Double negative trouble is that the speaker usually doesn't mean to contradict their own statement. Pink Floyd is declining a need for education. “Ain't no" is an uneducated method of saying "isn't." Double negatives only function like a true double negative when used to make a point. Like when I say I can't not write, I truly mean it's a thing I cannot not do. In other words, I must write. It's a part of who I am; if I wasn't a writer, I wouldn't be me.

There is reason to doubt Trump intended to use a double negative; no accidental slip of the tongue? It's possible, but I doubt it. I am skeptical for several reasons.

1. Putin was questioned if his regime meddled in the 2016 US elections. His answer didn't mention anything about meddling, only denied collusion. Then Putin offered to help Muller's investigation on the condition allowing Russian authorities to interrogate American intelligence agents. Trump called it "an incredible offer." If Trump genuinely believed Russia meddled, he wouldn't think allowing Russian authorities to help investigate Russian meddling is an incredible offer. If he trusted American intelligence over Putin's denials, Trump wouldn't be impressed by an offer that permits the interrogation of American agents by Russian officers.

2. When asked if he holds Russia accountable for anything, Trump answered, "Yes I do. I hold both countries responsible. I think that the United States has been foolish. We've all been foolish, and I think we're all to blame." This remark is just as offensive as Trump’s response to the carnage caused when neo-Nazis marched through Charlottesville. It puts all parties on the same level when one side clearly is more nefarious. If Trump genuinely believed Russia meddled, he wouldn't assign blame to both sides.

3. The double negative doesn't fit within the context of Trump's full response. Given the opportunity to denounce Putin, Trump said, "My people came to me. Dan Coats came to me. And some others. They said they think it's Russia. Uh, I have uh President Putin. Uh, he just said it's not Russia. I will say this, I don't see any reason why it would be. So I have great confidence in my intelligence people, but, uh, I will tell you that President Putin was extremely strong and powerful in his denial today." Let's place his misstated claim into the full statement.

"My people came to me. Dan Coats came to me. And some others. They said they think it's Russia. Uh, I have uh President Putin. Uh, he just said it's not Russia. I will say this, I don't see any reason why it wouldn't be. So I have great confidence in my intelligence people, but, uh, I will tell you that President Putin was extremely strong and powerful in his denial today."

Doesn't work. His answer began with opponents: his people versus Vladimir Putin. Then he said Putin denied it in an "extremely strong and powerful" way. Finally, the misstated statement was what Trump described as "the key sentence in my remarks." It was the most urgent thing he said, prefaced by the unnecessary phrase "I will say this," as if to say "this is important, you better be listening." The original makes more sense in context of the full statement than the corrected version Trump acquiesced. Besides, if Trump genuinely believed Russia meddled, it wouldn't matter how extremely strong and powerfully Putin denied the meddling.

4. Even when admitting he believed the US intelligence community, he added a caveat as if to say he might not believe them. In a meeting with GOP lawmakers the day after returning from Helsinki, Trump read a prepared statement: "I accept our intelligents community’s conclusion that Russia's meddling in the 2016 election took place. Could be other people also. Uh, a lot of people out there." (Yes, he said, "intelligents." There was even a pause between intelligent and the s to make it plural. Bygones.) Allegedly, he meant to say he had no reason Russia wouldn't meddle. Yet his statement was completely undone when he floated the idea that it could have been someone other than Russia. If Trump genuinely believed Russia meddled, he would place full confidence in the findings provided from all intelligence agencies without adding the possibility they could be wrong, no inclusion it could be other people or a lot of people. If Trump believed Russia meddled, he would admit it was Russia and only Russia.

5. His posture is one of defiance. The reading of the prepared statement clarifying his statement was super awkward, as evidenced by him saying intellligents instead of intelligence. It also shows the statement wasn't his idea. He was uncomfortable the entire time, sitting with a scowl on his face and his arms crossed in anger, like a petulant child giving a forced apology to an older brother for kicking him in the balls. In fact, the only time he appeared to be comfy in his statement is when he went off script. Then he sounded more assured and smug. Donald only acts like that when he's using his own words. If someone else wrote it, he sounds defeated like an obnoxious child punished for kicking his older brother in the balls. If Trump genuinely believed Russia meddled, he would say so with the same swagger and confidence he uses when speaking at rallies and in ad-libbed statements at press conferences. He wouldn't read it like a hostage under duress.

Trump revealed himself when he sided with Russia. Despite walking back on his comments, it's clear he still believes Putin. Does it matter? Probably not. Many of the Republicans who condemned his Helsinki performance are now acting like it's no big deal. If you believe his mea culpa, Trump's words and actions are irrelevant. He could say, "Yup, Russia did it and I don't care. Thanking him is patriotic." You'd reply, "Spasibo comrade."

Remembering Reagan

Roughly a decade ago and a half ago, I was tied up in a conversation which left me feeling older than anyone under the age of thirty should ever feel. It was halfway through George W Bush's presidency, shortly after he won re-election, and a group of coworkers were discussing politics in the breakroom. One girl, who was in her younger twenties at the time, was complaining of rumored changes working their way through congress.

"Did you know they're trying to pass a law so people not born in the US can become president?"

I didn't know that because it wasn't happening. Even if congress was debating such changes, it would require a constitutional amendment. Such a drastic change was unlikely then and would be practically impossible now.

Then she continued with her reasoning. "It's because Arnold Schwarzenegger wants to be president, but he can't because he was born in Germany or somewhere like that. So, congress is trying to help him out."

One of the other coworkers at the table asked, "What's wrong with that?"

"Because," she answered, "he's an actor. Actors shouldn't be allowed to be president."

"We've already had an actor become president." I objected to her reasoning.

"We have?"

"Yes." I spoke, but there were a few heads nodding in confirmation.

"Who?"

"Ronald Reagan." I said.

"Who's Ronald Reagan?" She asked.

Who's Ronald Reagan?!? Really? I did some quick math. Ronald Reagan would have been in office when this girl was born. How do you reach legal drinking age without knowing who was president in the year of your birth? For someone to be so ignorant of such recent history … It made me feel ancient. I had to walk away.

image courtesy of Chicago Tribune

I remember Reagan. Granted, he led our nation through a significant part of my childhood. I remember Farm Aid. I remember the speech when he said, "Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall." I remember the First Lady's "Just Say No" campaign. I remember the revelation of Iran-Contra details and Reagan accepting responsibility. And I remember his farewell address.

The current trend for Republicans is bracing Reagan as a sacred American icon. However, what stands out most in my memories of Reagan places him at odd with the modern GOP. He was philosophically consistent from the beginning of his administration to the end, yet he was willing to compromise with those who disagreed with him. He admitted his faults and failures. He valued intelligence and pragmatism. He promoted civility and respect. Whether he succeeded or not, he aimed to meet the needs of the average American and he adjusted his policies as culture and situations changed. Even among those who disagreed with his politics he was generally well liked, and he carried a dignity that elevated the office of President.

As for those policies? Well, they are not the kind the GOP would approve of today. He supported waiting periods for purchasing guns. He supported a climate treaty which eliminated the use of a few chemical compounds. His immigration stances were far more liberal than the current “build a wall” rhetoric, and he supported the amnesty immigration bill introduced by Teddy Kennedy - a Democrat. He was adamantly critical of the Russians, calling the USSR "evil." His foreign policy was less isolationist and more interventionist. Despite making major tax cuts at the beginning of his presidency, Reagan raised taxes eleven times during his two terms. His frequent increases explain why his successor campaigned on the promise, "Read my lips: no new taxes."

Looking back, the 80s was an odd decade. Horrendous fashion but fabulous music. The movies were either gloriously awesome or embarrassingly terrible. It was a difficult time to be a geek, but a great era for those who loved cocaine. At least we had an honorable President. Someone we could respect. Someone who inspired. Someone who is remembered fondly. On days like today, I kind of miss Reagan.

Ode to Mullets

It's the Kentucky waterfall, the neckwarmer, or the Camero cut. The official hairdo of NASCAR, ice hockey, country music, butt-rock, meth addicts, and our worst memories of the 80s. If you have one, I'll assume you drive an El Camino and listen to Nickelback. It's even a movie trope. When you see a kid with a mullet in the theater, you know he's a bully. Or a redneck. Or both.

image courtesy of New Line Cinema and Warner Bros Pictures

In the early days of Bush Jr's presidency, my friend Steve and I spent a couple afternoons mullet hunting. We'd hang out at Boise Towne Square or drive through Garden City looking for people with the regrettable hairstyle so we could take a photograph of them. Somewhere on the internet, in the days before social media, there was a website full of hilarious pictures of mullet-topped citizens. It even had them sorted by classifications, coiffured subspecies. There was the frullet (part afro, part mullet), or the skullet (bald on top, long and flowy in back). The website was completely driven by user submissions and Steve's goal was for them to use a picture he submitted.

We never got a picture good enough to be sent to the web collection of epic mullets. But a juvenile with a kidlet (kid with a mullet) flipped us off, and we were chased through the mall by a body builder unironically dressed like a member of The Power Team.

image courtesy of The Power Team

There are times I wish I had a camera with me to sneak a photo of some creative mullets. At a birthday party for a friend of a friend several years ago, there was a mullet of preposterous proportions worn by the birthday boy's mother's girlfriend. It started with mall-bangs up front (like Tiffany in I Think We’re Alone Now), Farrah Fawcett feathering on top, buzzed in racing lines on the side, and the mullet sprouting down the back. But it was no ordinary mullet, it was divided in half. The left side was cut a few inches shorter than the right side and neither half was trimmed straight; the two sides were cut at odd angles - one of which was sharper than the other. Finally, out from underneath the staggered mullet, like Obi Wan in Episode 1, a thin Padawan braid pony tail hung down to her waistline. It's like her hairstylist asked her what she wanted and she replied, "Give me one of everything."

It's been a good long while since I've witnessed one in public, until this week. It was a mullet that was trying not to be a mullet but clearly was still a mullet.

Between his build and facial features, he looked like Milton from Office Space. His fashion choices were similar too, only substitute current geek-chic glasses for the oversized wire frames and add a minimalist tribal tattoo sleeve.

image courtesy of 20th Century Fox

As for the hair? It was that weird moldy blonde, similar in color and texture as Donald Trump, and slicked back the way Trump’s sons do. Then in back it went down further than you’d expect, ending in a peculiar pointy shape - as if it was once a rat tail cut off while he slept by a prankster sibling.

Mullets have often been referred to as business up front and party in the back. This hair cut was New Yorker up front and homeschooled from Athol in the back. Never have I been more confused by someone else’s haircut.

Thankfully, the mullet has faded from use. Billy Ray Cyrus abandoned it years ago and it's been shunned by most everyone in the public spotlight from politicians to race car drivers to aging metalheads. The mullet is known as a cultural embarrassment and I hope it remains stigmatized for years to come.

Where I've Been: the Sights Camping @ Two Rivers

Terminating Apartment Life

Tomorrow is the last day in my apartment lease. For the first time since I moved there in September of 2013, I am not renewing. It was a great place to live when I moved in, but a change of ownership a few years back changed things for the worse. This move is the beginning of a new chapter in my life, and it's also a farewell to a residence I am relieved to leave behind. In honor of my final day at Treetop Apartments, here are three things I will not miss about living there, plus two things I will.

I won't miss constant rent increases. With the original owners, my rent didn't change the first time I renewed my lease. Then the new owners came n and rent has increased every renewal since then. The amount I paid with my last rent check is nearly $200 dollars more than what I paid four and a half years ago. When I first moved there, two car garages were included with the lease a their two-bedroom apartments, but under the new owners garages cost extra on top of the lease of a two bedroom unit. Water, sewer, and garbage was originally included in the rent, but those services became an additional charge added to the rent after the new owners took over. And about a year ago, all residents were given notice we were required to carry renter’s insurance effective immediately - increasing the cost to live there and changing the terms of the lease with short notice.

I won't miss parking spaces hard to find. When you pull into the parking lot, there are signs posted warning parking is for residents only. Those signs used to mean something. The original owners had a contract with a local ma & pa towing company. The husband and wife team drove through the lot at random intervals throughout the day and night. They inspected all cars parked in the apartment lots for a parking pass. If they found a car without a pass, they'd tow it. When I moved in, a coworker told me he once had his car towed from that lot after he'd been parked there for less than five minutes. Things changed with the new owners. They terminated the contract with the small towing operation and signed a new contract with a bigger company. The new towers only come to take a vehicle if the property owners request it. Surprise, they never make such requests. The result is a parking lot that is always full and mostly filled with cars lacking a parking pass.

I won't miss dog poop everywhere. There are signs posted advising residents to pick up after their pets. But my neighbors are lazy. Often, there are doggy landmines scattered in every greenspace at the complex and squat-dropped into the grass between the side walk and street. I've witnessed the phenomenon myself, stood on my balcony and watched a neighbor bring out his German Shepherd. It assumed position in the grass at the bottom of the steps to my apartment, dropped its effluence, and the pair walked back to their building. The human never returned to collect his dog's waste. The first summer we lived there, I discovered (in an ironic twist) a pile of poo directly in front of one of the "no pooping" signs. This might seem like an odd complaint considering my new residence. We have two dogs, two cats, five horses, four goats, a rabbit, and a large mixed flock of chickens, ducks, geese and turkeys at the farm. When we do barn chores, it's nearly impossible to not step in it. Everybody poops, including the animals. But there's a difference. If your dog poops in your yard, it's not a big deal. But if your neighbor's dog poops in your yard, you raise a ruckus. I also expect to step in scat when walking through the horse pasture and goat pen. I don't expect it when walking to the manager's office or the mailbox. Some people have no respect and I'm glad they're not my problem any more.

I will miss not having to do yard work. This is by far the greatest perk of apartment life. They employ a maintenance staff to mow the lawn and trim the trees. Or they hire a landscaping company to do it all. As a person who loathes yard work, I was grateful to never worry about the grass growing too tall or weeds that need pulled. It was always someone else's circus, someone else's monkeys. With this move, lawn care is my responsibility once again. The first time we mowed this spring, it took three days. My goal this summer is to teach the kids to do it. Then all I'll have to do is supervise.

Finally, I will miss the sounds of baseball. The sliding glass door to the balcony of my apartment faced Ramsey Park. Walk out the front door, down the stairs, across the driveway, then through a gate in the chain link fence and you'll find yourself on the Prairie Trail next to the Ramsey Ballfields. Staring every spring and lasting late into the fall, evenings became game time with field lights lit up well past sunset. Baseball and softball games frequently lasted until 10pm or later. Even though I am not a huge baseball fan, I still find the sounds of the sport comforting. It reminds me of my childhood listening to Dave Niehaus on KJR and attending Mariners games at the Kingdome. The crack of the bat, crowds cheering, occasional "steeerike!" shout from an umpire, snippets of stadium anthems over the loudspeakers. It's the perfect ambient noise, the soundtrack to a relaxing summer night. I long ago lost count of how many times those sounds lulled me to slumber over the last four and a half years. Sure, I can and will still attend Spokane Indians games, JJ still has a few years left in little league, and I hope to see the M's a few more times at Safeco Field. Yet nothing will replace hearing it played live, right outside the bedroom window, night after night.

As for the farm life, we’re all excited. Christian told me he had always dreamed of living in the country. Some dreams do come true. And the sunsets here are hard to beat.

Civility isn't Civil

In 1993, XL & Death Before Dishonor released a tragically underrated album - Sodom and America. Deep metal grooves with insightful and sometimes subversive hip-hop lyrics akin to Rage Against the Machine. One line from the song ‘Fatal Blow’ has stayed with me through the years: "I don't give none, but I demand respect." 1993 is also the year I endured the worst harassment at school. My experiences repeatedly proved XL's statement to be true. The biggest bullies on campus demanded everyone show them respect, often violently. Yet they refused to show others any level of respect.

Twenty-five years later, bullies haven’t changed, and ‘Fatal Blow’ sounds prophetic. Those who most often desire respect rarely treat others with courtesy. Those who virulently demand freedom of speech for their own beliefs or political stances tend to support suppression and censorship of other beliefs or political stances. Those who campaigned hardest for fiscal responsibility are also financially irresponsible. Those who most ardently expect transparency in others possess many secrets to hide. We have a President who values loyalty above all other qualities, yet he is loyal to no one except himself. And now those who act uncivilized are asking other people to act more civilly.

All because Sarah Huckabee-Sanders was politely asked to leave a restaurant. Suddenly, there's an outcry for civility. I don't want to discuss whether the Red Hen in Lexington made the correct decision. I don't care if doing so was or wasn't within their rights. My concern is with this concept of civility. Because I do not think it means what they think it means. Either that or civility isn't civil.

It's interesting how the people complaining loudest about a lack of civility were the same individuals who once wore t-shits with vulgar names to describe Hilary Clinton and joined the crowd shouting "LOCK HER UP." These are the people who cheered when Trump offered to pay the legal fees of any supporter who beat up a protester. When Trump bragged about sexually assaulting women, these people dismissed it as "locker room talk."

Now, according to these moral police, the Red Hen in Lexington needs a lesson in civility. So far, this is how these lessons have been presented:

• By waving a confederate flag in front of Red Hen.
• Throwing piles of animal feces toward the Red Hen while shouting "Make America Great Again."
• Writing zero-star reviews on Yelp to lower their average score.
• Writing zero-star reviews on Yelp for other Red Hen restaurants, even though those other establishments are not affiliated with the location in Lexington.
• Sending death threats to the Red Hen both in Lexington and other locations.

Let's be clear, if you must send death threats to those you perceive as offensive, you've already lost the argument.

photo courtesy of Washington Post

Maybe this is you. Perhaps you're concerned about a senior member of Trump's team being asked to forfeit her accommodations because of who she is and where she works. It's possible you might be thinking this flap at Red Hen highlights how much the civility of public discourse has eroded. If that is you, if you're now asking our society to become more polite and civilized, allow me to ask you a few questions.

Where were your calls for civility when Trump mocked a disabled reporter?
Where were your calls for civility when Trump called NFL players sons of bitches?
Where were your calls for civility when multiple women came forward with credible allegations they had been sexually harassed or assaulted by Trump?
Where were your calls for civility every time Trump insulted a political opponent?
Where were your calls for civility when Trump said the press was the "enemy of the American people" or when Secretary Sanders accused the press of intentionally deceiving American citizens?
Where were your calls for civility when neo-Nazis and white nationalists started marching in the streets with tiki torches? Or when one of those racists ran over and killed a protester? Or when Trump said some of those white supremacists were very fine people?
Where were your calls for civility when Trump used the term "shit holes" to describe a group of mostly African nations?
Where were your calls for civility when Trump backed a senate candidate who was facing several accusations of inappropriate sexual conduct with girls as young as 14?
Where were your calls for civility when you found out Trump's lawyer paid off a porn star to silence her claims of an affair?
Where were your calls for civility when Sarah Sanders claimed it was biblical to separate children from their parents? Or when she refused to answer legitimate questions? Or when she shut down a reporter because she thought he only wanted more TV time?
Where were your calls for civility when Trump and Sanders both blamed the Democrats for creating a law that doesn't exist?

The list of offensive things Trump has said, done, or tweeted is longer than the Appalachian Trail. His propensity to lie is staggering. The second-place competitor for the most frequent liar is Sarah Huckabee-Sanders. Whatever they're doing is the opposite of civility.

We have a misunderstanding of what civility means. Judged on recent cries for decency, it seems the current request is for people to be nice. If being civil means being nice, we need some history lessons. The Civil War wasn't civil. The Civil Rights movement wasn't civil. Civil disobedience is never civil. While the text book definition of civility hints at formalities of politeness and courtesy, the word's origin stems from being a good citizen. When a government grows corrupt or tyrannical, when institutional treatment of at-risk populations becomes inhumane or unbearable, when those in power abandon the norms of decency and civility, the most civilized thing for a citizen is to raise a little hell.

Former President, Franklin D Roosevelt, once quoted a Bulgarian proverb, "It is permitted in time of grave danger to walk with the devil until you have crossed the bridge." While there are many who would disagree with me, I believe we are living in an era of grave danger and we have some bridges to cross. The recent calls for civility from Trump supporters is like terrorists asking us to build bridges while they set explosive changes on the support beams. Some men just want to watch the world burn, so if we are to get to the other side of this bridge, we may need to walk with the devil. Or, as Jack Nicholson said while playing the Joker, "Have you ever danced with the devil in the pale moonlight?" Well, I feel like dancing.

I will practice civility, but I won't be civil. If XL & DBD's song ‘Fatal Blow’ was prophetic, so was another tune from a completely different genre. A dozen years ago, Dixie Chicks released ‘Not Ready to Make Nice.’ What seemed so rebellious in 2006 is now an anthem in my summer playlist for 2018. Because, like the ladies from Dallas sang, I'm not ready to make nice or back down either. I'm mad as hell and don't have time to go round and round and round. I'll be civil, but I'm done playing nice.

You're concerned, I'm sure. You see my combative and defiant language here and suggestions about walking or dancing with the devil; you fear the worst. I can hear your voice asking, "But nic, what would Jesus do?" The Jesus I know told his disciples to be as shrewd as serpents and as innocent as doves. It's time to be a little shrewder. And if all else fails, flipping tables is still an option. So, you can take your hypocritical request for civility and shove it up somewhere uncivilized.

Who loves the little children?

There was a simple song I learned in church when I was a kid. If you were a preschooler from a Christian family in the 80s, you probably learned it too. We sang it often in my childhood church: Jesus Loves the Little Children. You know the words, “Jesus loves the little children, all the children of the world. Red and yellow, black and white, they are precious in his sight. Jesus loves the little children of the world.

It was a comforting concept for us kids under the age of six. If Jesus loves children, and I am a child, logical deduction means Jesus loves me. They gave us coloring sheets of Jesus, drawn to look like a surfer dude in a bathrobe, surrounded by kids our age. Jesus and the kids were always smiling in these pictures, images of love and hope even if it was a smidge myopic. We were told Bible stories of how the disciples tried to keep kids away from Jesus, but he scolded them and insisted on playing with the youngsters. These stories told us of a Jesus who said the kingdom of God belongs to children, and how grownups need the faith of a child if they want salvation.

image courtesy Catholic Sistas

Innocence of childhood was foundational. Jesus loved us, and adults should seek to discover our pure faith. As I grew up, the churches I attended continued to elevate school aged children as our most prized populations. They were the next generation. They were our future. And Jesus loved them.

My personal faith has matured over the years. I struggle to see the world with child-like wonder, yet I still believe kids are precious and should always be protected. I believe in a Jesus who said it would be better for a person to be drowned in the sea with a millstone hung around their neck than to bring harm to a child.

While watching and reading news stories over the last week, I kept singing this song in my head. Jesus loves the little children. Jesus loves these immigrant children. Jesus loves kids brought into America by parents illegally crossing the border. Jesus loves kids torn away from parents seeking asylum. Jesus loves these kids who were endangered in their homelands. Jesus loves all the children now sleeping on concrete floors, caged in by chain link fencing. Jesus loves the children held in overcrowded tent cities somewhere in the Texan desert. Jesus loves the little children of the world, including those from Mexico, Guatemala, and Honduras. Jesus loves them, even if we don't.

I'm beginning to wonder if the elders and Sunday School teachers who taught me this song really believe what it says. Maybe they don't. Maybe it's a sham. Looking at the evangelical community now, a more accurate title would be "Jesus loves the little children, but not these children." I remember the lyrics and the colors listed: red, yellow, black, white. I recognize brown was not included and think perhaps that was intentional. I am stupefied how the people who once told me stories of Jesus saying, "Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these," now have no issues seeing Latino kids detained and in tears because it's a necessary deterrent.

This is cognitive dissonance. One cannot profess faith in a God who cherishes and defends children while approving of an inhumane policy that needlessly separates children from their families, cruelly housing them in emotionally (and possibly physically) abusive environments. You cannot simultaneously teach of a God who loves all the children of the world and harbor disgust for immigrants, refugees, and asylum seekers. Belief in a God who calls you to love and care for orphans is incompatible with supporting a government who creates instant orphans and uses them as a bargaining chip.

I shouldn't be surprised though. The church leaders who once warned me that gambling was a sin voted for a man who owned multiple casinos. They told me to stay away from strip clubs, but you can find strip clubs inside buildings emblazoned with the name of their anointed one. They urged me to never look at or watch pornography, yet they've embraced a man who has appeared on the cover of Playboy and married a woman who worked as a nude model. They taught me about the depravities of porn and prostitution, but the rumors of their president having affairs with porn stars and Russian prostitutes don’t matter to them. They preached about the sanctity of marriage yet approve of this man who went through multiple divorces, has had several documented affairs, and often boasted about having sex with women married to other men. Their lessons on pride are overshadowed by their infatuation with the most arrogant president of modern times. They once valued truth, now they celebrate a man who has (on average) lied 6.5 times every day since taking office.

If this is you I'm talking about, I won't denigrate you. But I can't take you seriously either. You follow tenets of faith that value fidelity, humility, honesty, and compassion. You also wholly approve of a president who does not display any of those traits. You're free to support Trump, yet I fear by doing so you walked through the wide gate and are now walking the wide road to destruction. I hope you enjoy the world you exchanged for your soul. While border patrol is herding kids into tents and cages, I eagerly await the end of this chapter of American history. In the meantime, I still believe Jesus loves these little children, even if you don't.

It's Gonna Be Biblical

This is a strange time in America. Politicians are referencing scripture in press conferences. The Bible became a trending topic on Twitter. A comedian read it on TV to the response of cheers and applause. I'm a little conflicted. I should be excited - a theology nerd and religious geek. I believe a better understanding of Biblical texts is a good thing even if the reader isn't a Christian. Yet I also lament to see divinely inspired words twisted to support immoral and inhumane acts of a corrupt government. The best way to overcome the misuse of scripture is to geek out with scripture. Strap yourselves in because I'm gonna pull the whole thing down.

image courtesy of Overture Films

For years, migrants caught illegally crossing the border have been detained. With families, if parents are criminally charged there's a chance kids will be taken into foster or family care. Previously, border crossers would go into detention with their kids to await a hearing from a federal judge. If the judge sends them to prison, then the kids would be separated from their parents. However, many first timers were sentenced with time-served then deported with their children, family never separated. Recently, the Trump administration adopted a zero-tolerance policy to deter all immigration. Now separated at the border; parents are immediately referred for federal prosecution and kids are designated "unaccompanied alien children." Families are immediately split, parents often unsure about why their kids are being taken, where they're going, and how long they'll be separated. Due to the influx of immigrants seeking asylum, the number of kids in ORR custody is overwhelming and housed in overloaded ORR facilities where there have been hundreds of claims of physical and sexual abuse.

This is only a small sliver of actual events and the story is (or should be) concerning for every American. A human rights atrocity being committed by our government. This debacle has justifiably angered many citizens from both ends of the political spectrum. Want to know who isn't concerned? The people who enacted the new policy. President Trump is blaming it on the minority party (who does not control any branch of government) for not repealing a non-existent law. AG Jeff Sessions said, "Persons who violate the law of our nation are subject to prosecution. I would cite you to the Apostle Paul and his clear and wise command in Romans 13, to obey the laws of the government." Without giving any biblical evidence to support her claim, Press Secretary Sarah Sanders said, "It is very Biblical to enforce the law."

Jesus wept.

In response to the pair of blasphemous theological amateurs, let's look at the passage AG Sessions used to support treating children like chattel. Romans 13 instructs ordinary citizens to follow the law, urging readers to submit to authorities for fear of punishment and a clear conscience.

The letter Paul wrote to the church in Rome speaks often about the law. In chapter 7, Paul explained the law only has authority over those who are still living and we (as Christians) have died to the law. He said the law aroused sinful passions, so we've been released from the law to serve God instead of "the old way of the written code." Paul continues to explain the difference between the law of spirit (God's law) and the law of sin (human law). In chapter 8, human law is described as powerless because it was weakened by the flesh, hostile to God, and does not submit to God's law. Finally, in chapter 13, the same chapter Sessions referenced, Paul wrote "Whoever loves others has fulfilled the law ... Love does no harm to a neighbor. Therefore, love is the fulfillment of the law."

The government in power during Paul’s life should also be noted. It was vile and violent, controlled by an emperor who routinely jailed, tortured, and executed Christians. Like Paul, most of the Bible was written by oppressed people under foreign occupation. The authors were governed by tyrants from Egypt, Babylon, or Rome. Instruction in the Bible includes commands for people living under corrupt leaders. It was written for people abused by those in power – not for the abusive people in power. Romans 13 tells people to follow the law, but it does not instruct governments to enforce the law. If there is any biblical advice offered to leaders, it is this: "Woe to those who make unjust laws, to those who issue oppressive decrees, to deprive the poor of their rights and withhold justice from the oppressed of my people." Even Levitical law commanded the Jews to treat foreigners residing among them as native-born citizens.

While following the law is biblical, so is civil disobedience. The Bible recounts story after story of heroes who defied their governments. The mother of Moses and her midwives disobeyed an official decree to kill all newborn Hebrew boys. Moses murdered an Egyptian officer, repeatedly threatened the Pharaoh, and led a slave revolt. Rahab, the prostitute in Jericho sheltered Hebrew spies, hid them from government soldiers, and helped them escape arrest. Daniel, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego refused to eat the foods they were ordered to eat. When the law mandated them to bow down before a golden idol, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego did not comply. Daniel continued to pray after the law prohibited prayer. Esther kept her heritage secret from the king, violated his policy to advocate for her people, and plotted against the grand vizier. In the early days of the church, the apostles were arrested, and the courts mandated they stop talking about Jesus. Peter told the court "We must obey God rather than men." The apostles were severely beaten and ordered again to cease their ministry, but they never stopped preaching.

Even Jesus's ministry defied the law. He dined with hookers and con-artists. He touched lepers and other unclean people. He embraced Samaritans and other outsiders. He healed people on the Sabbath when it was against the law to work on that day. He refused to execute an adulteress in accordance with the law. He invited an insurrectionist to be a disciple. His followers violated tradition when they didn't wash their hands before eating. Jesus and the disciples were accused of stealing grain and being drunkards. The Romans found him to be contemptuous for calling himself the son of God because that was Caesar’s title. Jewish legal experts considered this claim to be blasphemous.

Sessions and Sanders can try all they want to use the Bible to justify evil. I'm not buying it. Hopefully, I'm not alone. Saint Augustine once wrote, "An unjust law is no law at all." If our government believes it is Biblical to enforce unjust laws, then I will stand in defiance of that government. I will follow the Committee on Religious Liberty who declared in 2015 "When a government enacts an unjust law, unjust because it violates the human dignity of the citizens or exceeds its authority, the citizens have a duty to disobey that law." I will abide by the multitude of biblical commands to love and care for orphans, widows, and foreigners. I will provide food and water to the hungry and thirsty, entertain strangers, clothe those who need it, relieve the sick, visit the prisoner, speak on behalf of those who have no voice, and advocate for the weak and powerless. I will love my enemy. I will love the unlovable. I will love the broken, the outcast, and the refugee. Because love is the fulfillment of the law.

Whatever it is that AG Sessions and Secretary Sanders is talking about, it isn't love. And it isn't biblical.

image courtesy of The Root

School’s Out For Summer

Every day, for the last year, we've walked the path between my building and the apartment units to our north to get to our car and drive the kids to school. In the rush to get everyone out the door on time, I'd say "Open the door!" To which my youngest would reply, "Get on the floor, everyone walk the dinosaur." Then down the steps, around the corner, and along this sidewalk to the street where my car was parked.

Today was the last day of school. Summer break starts now. No more morning walks between the buildings. However, these early strolls have come to an end for another reason: we're moving. Their last walk to the car before school this week is the last we'll take those steps. As we say hello to summer we also say farewell to the apartment life. Seasons change and I am excited to the next one for all of us.

The New Disasters

Mount St. Helens erupted the day after my first birthday. Every year, throughout my childhood, the local news stations replayed the video of the volcanic blast every May 18th. I held a special connection to the mountain and KIRO's annual coverage of St. Helens' anniversary always felt like a belated birthday present from them to me.

courtesy of KPBS

Growing up during the 80s in the Seattle suburbs, we were bombarded with the possibilities of nature's wrath. St. Helens was one of many volcanoes in the region. Baker, Rainier, Adams, Hood, and Glacier all posed real and possible dangers to the Pacific Northwest. We had an abundance of rain and seasonal threats of flooding. There were chances of fires and blackouts caused by electrical storms. We didn't get much snow, but when we did the ice would paralyze the region, making roads anything from hazardous to navigationally impassible. My high school was next door to a dairy farm, and on warm days, if the breeze drifted from the right (wrong?) direction, the odor could be unbearable. We were given the nickname "Cow Pie High." If possible, we risked death by dairy air.

There was also the wind. When I was in sixth grade, I watched live news coverage as a windstorm blew waves over the surface of the floating bridge to Mercer Island, eventually causing the roadway to collapse and sink into Lake Washington. In January of '93, another storm blew in on the day Bill Clinton was inaugurated as president. We were sheltered in place in my eight-grade art class with Mr. Wilson when the power went out. Mr. Wilson was also the yearbook instructor, so his room was windowless and we sat in darkness for the remainder of the day. No one was allowed to leave campus until a parent came to pick us up. Later that night, as the storm raged on, my dad and I went for a walk. We watched power-lines fall and transformers ignite from the force of wind. At one point, I leaned backwards like a trust-fall and the gusts were strong enough to hold me upright.

courtesy of the Oso Darrington Daily

Seismologists constantly warned we were overdue for the “big one,” predicting a massive earthquake would reduce our region to rubble. So, we practiced regular earthquake drills in school. Two of the three quakes I experienced happened during school events. The first in January of ‘95 while the wrestling team stopped for dinner after a tournament, I was on the bus and we were parked near the epicenter. The second happened a little more than a year later in May of '96, our drama club was in the middle of our final dress rehearsal for Neil Simon's Rumors and I was hanging out back stage with one of the girls in the tech crew. After evacuating the auditorium, our parking lot was filled with scared and panicked students filled with the relief of living to retell our stories of survival.

Every generation fears the end is inevitable. During the 1960s, my parents' generation participated in duck & cover practice, fearing a nuclear attack from the USSR. I remember regular fire and earthquake drills throughout my school years and we were sure if our end was coming, the disaster would be a natural one. My kids' generation is different. Sure, they still do fire drills, but they don't fear the planet the same way we did when I was younger. They are aware their lives could end in disaster. However, instead of fearing death from a foreign enemy or the vengeance of natural forces, they believe the most likely scenario to bring their world to a bloody halt is an angry classmate. They're subjected to active shooter drills and bombarded with headlines of school violence. After the mass shooting in Santa Fe, one of the students expressed this resignation in a TV interview when she said, "I've always felt it would eventually happen here too."

English has been my oldest son's favorite subjects this year. The class is led by his favorite teacher who has been a constant source of encouragement. Since September, Christian has enjoyed conversations with this teacher about literature and life. They frequently discussed Christian's favorite novel, The Giver, and with the teacher's support, Christian entered his first speech competition and turned into a talented and creative writer. As the school year closes, his English class was assigned one final project: they were instructed to compose a fictional story about surviving disaster. Christian was excited about this work and he composed a tale in first person perspective, a narrative where the protagonist began a normal day with annoying younger siblings, middle school crushes, educational propaganda, ambitious teachers, and conversations between best friends. He portrayed what it's like to be a junior high student whose life is interrupted in the middle of math class. The disaster he chose was an active shooter. He described the sound of fireworks nearby, witnessing an investigating teacher meeting their fate, students hiding behind desks, the fight or flight response to terror, and grief over the loss of a friend.

image courtesy of TIME

This is the modern reality students face every day. They leave their house each morning wondering if it was the last time they'll tell their parents goodbye. They spend their day pondering which of their peers will snap. They study their classrooms and hallways to determine the best places to hide if someone starts shooting. Every gym, every cafeteria, every portable. Any campus could be the next headline. Our students believe a sentiment like the girl in Santa Fe: It will eventually happen here too.

Over the last twenty years, our societal fears have devolved. Acts of God now pale in comparison to acts of man, and I mourn for America. This is what we've become. How do we fix it? More guns? Less guns? I don't have an answer. All I know is our priorities are messed up. We celebrate violence and have deified the second amendment. We've placed more value in our weapons than we have in human lives. Until we change our culture, alter the way we think about firearms and the sanctity of life, I'm not sure any solution will be adequate.

Yesterday, Christian's English teacher praised his ability to craft a story after reading the rough draft. Today, Christian turned in his final project to be graded and we're both expecting a high score. Tomorrow is his last day of school. This weekend, I'm going to hug my kids, thank God they have survived another year, and pray their fears will never come to fruition.

Questioning a Questionable Policy

Last week, Roger Goodell released a statement detailing an NFL rule change prohibiting protests during the National Anthem. This specifically targets predominantly black players who have been kneeling during the Anthem during the 2016 and 2017 seasons - athletes who are trying to use their platform to bring attention to police violence against the African American community.

Even my team protested, image courtesy of The Christian Science Monitor.

Regardless of how you feel about these protests, even if you disagree with them, you must admit the players won. They wanted to bring attention to this issue and it's become a hot-button topic. With so many pundits and politicians and football fans all over the world talking about it, players like Colin Kaepernick brought their concerns to the forefront. Their mission is incomplete, but the conversations they sparked are victories.

Until now. Per the NFL’s new rules, these protests will be penalized. Goodell released a statement explaining these changes and reading it left me with several questions. And I'm confused. Can someone please explain?

1. The statement opened with a remark that the league is committed to work with the players to strengthen communities and advance social justice. How does threatening players translate into working with them? Furthermore, how does banning protests advance social justice issues? And why are civil rights protests more punitively disciplined than troubles like rape, domestic violence, and child abuse? Yes, I realize the league has rules determining punishment for players who beat their kids, wives, and girlfriends, but the adherence to these rules have been inconsistent if applied at all. Will the application of the protest rule be as lenient as the guidelines for players arrested for violent crimes? If the NFL really wanted to advance social justice, shouldn’t they work harder to protect women and children?

2. The rule requiring players and team personnel to be on the field has been removed allowing those who don't want to stand during the anthem to be somewhere else. They can "stay in the locker room or in a similar location off the field" until the National Anthem is over. How vague. How do you define a similar location off the field? Will this turn into a boundary pushing game where protesting players work their way down the entrance tunnel to see how close they can get to the field without being on the field?

3. The official statement mentions fines for the club if any of its staff does not stand for the Anthem while on the field and "appropriate discipline" for league personnel who do the same. Again, this is incredibly vague. What are the fines? What does appropriate discipline include? Why fine the club instead of the player? Isn't that manipulative? Other reports suggested teams would be imposed a yard penalty for protesting players. When would that penalty be applied? During the first possession? At the discretion of the opposing team? What if both teams have players protesting? Do those penalties cancel each other out? Or do both teams take a hit? Does the number of yards a team loses depend on how many players protest? And is the fine a flat rate? Are clubs fined the same amount if a player protests as they would if a coach protests? Is there a bigger fine for repeat offenders? Will they publicize the appropriate discipline against league personnel who chose to protest?

4. I'm happy that Goodell addressed the false narrative that protesting players were unpatriotic. To support the claim that protesters are patriotic, he mandates a patriotic demonstration. How does that make sense? Is forced patriotism really patriotism?

5. The NFL has consistently been losing TV ratings. Fewer and fewer fans are watching games, and with this new rule in place they stand to lose even more viewers. Are they ready for the lost revenue? Are they ready for the backlash? Are they ready for the players who (reportedly) will be protesting by refusing to play? Did they really think this through? Are they prepared for the unintended consequences?

What Depression Felt Like For Me

"It feels like I'm swimming in an underground cavern." This is what I told my therapist five years ago. She eventually diagnosed me with situational depression and prescribed an anti-depressant. At first though, she wanted to know how I saw my own emotional state.

"The whole cavern is filled with water. It's dark, there's no air, and I feel like I'm drowning. Yet I know there's an escape. The cavern is connected to a larger body of water where I could swim out and surface."

This was the reality of my depression. I knew I didn't have to be there. I knew there was an alternative. I've been happy before and there was always something inside me that realized peace and contentment were possibilities. Yet I continued to exist in turmoil and pervasive overwhelming sadness.

"Why don't you swim out?" She asked.

"That larger body of water is a sewage lagoon. Sure, I could get to the surface, but then I'd be swimming in other people's crap." Although, I didn't say crap.

"I feel as if I have two options," I continued, "I could stay where I am and drown in darkness. Or I could swim to the surface; sure, at least I could breathe but I'd be treading water in fecal matter and human waste, and I wouldn't have the strength to stay there for long."

This was my mode of operation for longer than I'd care to ever experience again. My life was at a crossroads: my marriage was falling apart and my boss at the time was the type of person who should never be placed in a position of authority. When I left home to go to work, I dreaded going back home. And when I left work to go home, I dreaded returning to the office the next day. One place was the dark cavern where I was drowning and the other was the wastewater plant where I could breathe but had to deal with everyone's effluence.

My therapist prescribed medication. She told me, "You're strong enough to make it to the surface, but only enough to tread water. This will give you the strength to swim to shore." Eventually, I overcame my depression. The chemicals helped, but only because I was in therapy. The counselling helped but only because I was medicated. I don't think either option would have benefitted me without the other.

There were other factors that contributed to my recovery. First, my boss was moved into another position and I was given a promotion. Then came divorce, a solution I would never advocate for anyone, yet I recognize it now as the best gift my ex ever gave me. I found myself reporting to a more supportive manager and was no longer in a failing marriage. My circumstances changed. I started volunteering and hiking more often. I re-engaged in hobbies I had previously abandoned in hopes of avoiding conflict. I learned a lot about narcissistic abuse and how heal after enduring it. I discovered how to take better care of my own mental health and took ownership of my mistakes. I forged new friendships and built a support network.

This is what depression was like for me. However, I understand that depression affects everyone a little differently. Our symptoms are as diverse as our personalities and our brains all function with a high degree of variance. For me, depression was temporary and rooted in my circumstances. Some experience it seasonally and others have more long term and chronic struggles. Recovery could be quick, or it could take years. It can be a mood-altering annoyance for some and physically debilitating for others. I have heard some people describe it as a sadness that will not be abated. Some individuals explained they felt an absence of emotions; no joy or sorrow, no sense of anticipation or disappointment, just feeling dead inside.

However wide the spectrum of depression, I learned some universal truths while fighting my battle. If you're there right now, please find these words as encouragement.

Your depression is real, but it isn't honest. The things your emotions (or lack thereof) tell you about yourself is twisted and skewed. Depression is a liar. You need voices that speak louder than the tapes in your head. It doesn't matter if it's a close friend, a trusted family member, a pastor, a support group, or a therapist. You need people who are going to speak truth to you about yourself. You need to hear from them frequently.

Don't be afraid to seek help. Medication isn't for everyone, but it can help. Therapy can be intimidating but I believe everyone could benefit from it occasionally. It's OK if neither are a permanent solution for you, it's a place to start and if you're brave enough to seek help from a licensed professional, then you're strong enough to find help in other (and sometimes unusual) places.

The natural world is a playground for better mental health. Take in some vitamin D. Go for a walk in the woods. Listen to the sound of a waterfall or waves crashing along the beach. Visit a petting zoo or a farm. Talk to animals. Multiple studies have shown outdoor activities and interacting with pets and livestock have unique abilities to lift your spirits and stave the symptoms of depression.

Volunteer your time somewhere. Doing something good for others is a natural anti-depressant. By acting selfless for someone else's benefit, you're also giving yourself a gift. It alleviates feelings of worthlessness and provides a sense of purpose you won't find anywhere else.

Above all, take care of yourself. And if you need to talk to someone, let me know.

Photo by Daniel Drewniak on Unsplash

The Kid & Rejection

My oldest son is in the midpoint of his junior high career. That means a year from now he'll be saying goodbye to his middle school campus and beginning his last summer before high school. These are the days he and his peers are discovering who they are and where they belong. Everything is changing; their bodies, brains, friendships, attitudes, and opinions. His age is one of awkwardness, wonder, fear, excitement, and growth. Between remembering what it was like when I was that young and watching him navigate the complex world of teenage drama, I've come to realize no one is good at doing middle school. It's weird for everyone and we all make mistakes.

Watching my boy though, I'm filled with hope. He seems to be better suited for these challenges than I ever expected. He has, like many his age, been on the receiving end of bullying. He struggles to stand up for himself, yet he has taken actions that are honorable and admirable. He's also a tender soul who desires all people to be treated fairly and with dignity. It often grieves him more when he sees someone else get bullied than when he is the bully’s target. He doesn't understand why or how anyone could be bigoted and it angers him to see others mistreated because of their appearance or beliefs. His sense of justice is pure and fierce.

It is strange and difficult to be a teen, complicated and more bizarre these days than in my youth. Kids today do all the same things I once did: attending field trips and school dances, experiencing their first crush and heartbreak, awkwardly sitting through sex-ed, make new friends and losing old ones, learning to drive, getting their first job, taking finals and writing term papers. They do all those things with the added distractions and stresses of smart phones, social media, and modern technology. They are more interconnected yet more isolated than any other generation before them.

My son opened an Instagram account this year, something impossible to do when I was in eighth grade. The version of Mario games he plays are far superior to the Mario Bros that existed in the mid-90s. He watches viral videos, something that didn't exist when I was a kid. His favorite band is no longer my favorite band, and he has the ability to listen to any song they ever released whenever he wants, a benefit the thirteen-year-old me could have never imagined.

He's at once uniquely different from yet so much like me. I see in him the boy I used to be. Short, blond, geeky, uncoordinated, picky eater. Middle school is also an interesting time for parents. I'm watching my boy mature and evolve. Every day, he's a little bit different than the day before. Taller, smarter, wiser, funnier, moodier, more odorous. At times, I'm not ready for him to grow up. And there are days I can't wait to see the man he is becoming.

Part of being a dad is navigating disappointment when your kids make bad decisions, yet this year I am incredibly impressed by my son. Even though he is a lot like me, I think he's better than I ever was. He has demonstrated unusual insight in many private conversations, times he and I share that he treasures. In one of those discussions, he told me a story of something that happened at school (and he's given me permission to share here) that blew me away. It's a proud daddy moment and I believe our world would be much better if more kids acted like my son.

Over the last couple years, he has frequently talked to me about girls that he liked - often asking me how you can tell if a girl likes you. This isn't my area of expertise, especially considering how much I was rejected when I was a teenager. Still, I gave him the best advice I could think of in the moment. I reminded him that he's too young to date and these young crushes will prove to be irrelevant when he's older. I tried to encourage him to express his feelings and find confidence in himself. A couple months ago, he finally worked up the courage to tell a classmate he liked her. Naturally, it didn't go quite the way he hoped.

The two of them were friends and she was always kind to him. According to his retelling, she was flirtatious. With a school dance coming up, he resolved to ask her to go with him. He was nervous and scared yet worked up the courage to say it. When he asked her out, she turned him down. After I picked him up from school that day, he explained how it transpired.

"Well, it was uncomfortable. I told her I liked her and she apologized to me. She told me that she didn't feel the same way because she's gay."

I apologized to him too, and said I was proud of him because he tried. He put himself out there which takes a lot of guts.

"It's OK, Dad," he continued, "I was sad at first but then I realized she was really nice about it. Besides, we're still friends. Also, she trusted me enough to tell me something about herself that she hasn't told many people."

Late that night, after his brother and sister were in bed, he said, "Maybe it's a good thing she turned me down."
"Why is that," I asked.
"Because I don't know how to dance."
"So? Why does that matter?"
"Because it would be really awkward if I took her to the dance when I don't know how to dance."
"Can I tell you a secret?" I said. Christian nodded so I continued. "You don't need to know how to dance to enjoy it." He gave me a funny look like I was speaking a foreign language.
"It's true." I said. "You don't need to know how to dance. Most of your classmates don't know how either. You can still go, even if you don't have a date. Hang out with your friends, enjoy the music, drink the cheap and nasty tasting fruit punch. If you really want to dance, get on the floor and fake it."
"How do you fake dancing?" he asked.

I demonstrated for him. I turned on an iTunes playlist and started bobbing my head. "Like this." The head bobbing slowly transitioned into a shoulder roll, some swaying, and a foot shuffle. Then I started dancing like a white guy.

The picture below is him right before leaving for his first school dance. He went and had a lot of fun. He doesn't have a crush on that girl anymore but they're still friends. And he asked me to never dance like that around him again.