Faithful Companion

The following is an edited excerpt from a chapter in my yet to be published manuscript ...and I dedicate this to my faithful companion .

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"The word companion is said to have it’s roots in the latin
'cum – pane', or 'with bread', meaning two or more sharing bread(meals) on their journey together. "

The Society of Jesus(The Jesuits) was originally called “The Company of Jesus." Some have suggested that this name comes from St. Ignatius roots in the military (company) and the Jesuits were known as “soldiers of Christ.” But the Jesuits thought of themselves as “companions” of Jesus being broken and being fed by Jesus on their journey together. Jesuits are well known as ones who share in their journey as partners and friends of Jesus with all they encounter. Maybe it had to do with that they were sharing in the “bread of Christ”. ....

...The term companion implies intimacy, mutual unconditional dedication and love. In some dictionaries the definition includes examples of spousal relationships to demonstrate the lifelong commitment. In the Catholic Church , and many religions, marriage is a “sacrament”, a consecrated relationship. When one speaks of having a companion we automatically associate that this relationship has a special connection with a bond that exceeds that of all other relationships. This bond doesn’t need words to be said to affirm that this relationship , as this association is a spiritual one with those involved. Those "companions" know that they are called together for a purpose that is greater than themselves as individuals.

There are all different kinds of companions who join us on different kinds of journeys. Companions can be found in spouses, religious congregations, intimate friends, companies, organizations and any group of two or more with a common mission. But I believe that core qualities that qualify the relationship to be that of a “companion” are for the relationship to be:

* One with a synergistic mission (a common single purpose objective or essence) of the duo or group

* Intimacy – mutual trust and unconditional respect and love,

* Collaborative – true sharing and giving without want or desire of return to help achieve the common good.

I have a very special companion. He has the uncanny ability to sit and listen to me. If I complain about this or that, he listens intently. When I am lonely or sad he is quick to lend a comforting ear. If it is a time when I just want to explore and talk about the interconnectedness of the universe or the lack of spirituality in politics he pays attention to every word. He is quick to forgive my moodiness and just as quick to celebrate a laugh and smile. In the silence of the early morning hours he accompanies me in the solitude of prayer. Did you ever have a soul mate that mirrors your own feelings and perspectives? That’s my companion. When my daughters come home for an extended stay I must admit his enthusiasm is much more demonstrable than my own but he reflects what is in my own heart.

There have been sometimes when I have confided in him solely. He need not say a word to show his compassion. Just his presence is “compassion” enough. He makes no demands of me. We just enjoy being together. Early on in our relationship he was filled with youthful exuberance and would push the behavior envelope but we learned to adjust to each other. He is loyal to me to a fault. I have no doubt that he is a spirit sent by God .He is companion in every sense of the term. Patient friend, confidante, collaborator, protector, faithful and supportive. His spirit is more authentic than mine. We are all creatures of God and this creature is a blessing to me and all he encounters. He is my true companion. He is a Labrador Retriever. His name is Dylan Valentine. Yes, and we do share our food, mine for him and some of his for me!"

copyright 2008

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For my dear friend and companion Dylan Valentine who left this world after 12 wonder-filling years on May 28,2009( and for all faithfull companions.)

Though I miss him his spirit remains. I thank him for his unconditional love.

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I am not there

Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am in a thousand winds that blow,
I am the softly falling snow.
I am the gentle showers of rain,
I am the fields of ripening grain.
I am in the morning hush,
I am in the graceful rush
Of beautiful birds in circling flight,
I am the starshine of the night.
I am in the flowers that bloom,
I am in a quiet room.
I am in the birds that sing,
I am in each lovely thing.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there. I do not die.
- - Mary Elizabeth Frye

amdg

Economics , Poverty and Compassion

Sitting around the fire-pit the other night we were talking about the topic that consumes most of our lives now , the state of the economy. After sharing some of my recent discoveries from a book I recently read, Ginny said smugly “I am surprised that I haven’t read this in your Blog.” I thanked her for the wonderful idea. You see we were talking about how she had to take a “furlough day” as part of a budget cutting effort and while getting our car serviced the service manager spoke about how each of his employees had to take a cut in pay or lose their job. We have neighbors who have been laid off from work, homes in the area in foreclosure, the college where I work is becoming more prudent in their budget management and we speculated why a friend’s parent would return to work after retiring just a short time ago. …And on and on and on.

Quite frankly what really upsets me are the infomercials on how to make money off your neighbor’s misfortunes, i.e. their mortgage foreclosures. Vultures!!! Then there are the commercials with big bosomed ladies in tight low cut and short skirts touting how “anyone can benefit” from get rich quick schemes in a tough economy. I wondered if these women were financially independent and did this to help mankind. Have you seen the recent investment house commercials? One asks the question about retirement and if we thought the road to retirement “was going to be an easy ride” and another that suggests that we need trust investment advisors who have experience. OK, come on now. Most of us were doing our part by working hard and saving money for the future and our trusted financial advisors and money managers led us down the path to this dark hole in the economy. In fact they were clueless about what was going on . Maybe my Uncle Frank was right….”if I put my money under a mattress (and he did) I know where it is and how to get it!”

A cartoon in the newpaper the other day illustrated a manager who had to decide between the advice on financial strategy from a MBA graduate or take the advice from a witch .The manager asks both characters something like “OK, who got us in all this financial trouble in the first place? Was it the witches? “

But I digress... and now back to this book I just read, “The Life you can Save: Acting now to end World Poverty “ by Peter Singer, a Bioethics professor at Princeton University. The book is part informational with depressing statistics about world poverty, part economics lesson about the range of attitudes from self-indulgence and paying attention to the common good, and it has recommendations for definitive action on a small and global scale to make poverty history.

Many of us worry about providing food and shelter and a good quality of life for our families. In this book by Singer there are numerous facts that would motivate many to take to the hills (or at least to a monastery) or become activists.As with many situations in our experience even the notion of "poverty" is relative. In the United States for example , 97% of those classified as poor own a color tv, 75% own a car, three quarters have air conditioning, three quarters had DVD or VCR players and all have access to (some) health care.Still more than 22,000 people die each year in the US because they do not have health insurance. But then throughout the world there are 1.4 billion people who live in extreme poverty .The World Bank defines the poverty line as earning or having access to $1.25 per day (This type of poverty is tied to having basic needs for survival.) UNICEF research indicates that 10 million children a year die from “avoidable, poverty-related causes” but we must also add another 8 million to this figure to include the deaths of older children and adults.

Some of the objections to helping the poor on a global basis include:

• They (the poor) should work for what they need or want
• We are not responsible for rescuing the poor
• America is generous enough and Americans do more than their fair share of helping others
• Giving help and money breeds dependency
• Cash is the seed of capitalism and giving it away reduces future growth
• The problems are too big to consider that we can make an impact.

Singer provides some interesting and substantive counter arguments to these objections.

I was also pleased to learn that there are organizations such as the “50% League” where those who have a lot of money or even a little more than the average citizen who give away a good portion of their capital to help others in need. See http://www.boldergiving.org. There are stories in Singer’s text that go beyond the giving of generous wealthy people such as Microsoft's founder Bill Gates and his Foundation. There is wonderful vignette of a couple who decides to live on $38,000/yr and give the difference in their earnings to charitable causes, and a little story of the family that donates 75% of their capital to those in need and much more. Singer also mentions businessman Tom White who provided tens of millions of dollars to Dr. Paul Farmer’s “Partners in Health” organization (http://www.pih.org/home.html.) Farmer who was the subject of the best selling book I also read recently, “Mountains Beyond Mountains”( my daughter Leigh gave me this book for Christmas) Farmer creates a non for profit organization to provide medical help for the poor in Haiti and Peru (before he became a doctor.)

I know there are many around the world who provide outstanding unselfish service to help the poor and less fortunate. I didn’t mean to suggest earlier that the poor in the United States do not experience difficult or traumatic circumstances. It is sad to see anyone in serious need. Reading Singer's book helped me recall an old friend I have lost touch with over the years, Karen Olson, who has been active in helping those who cannot help themselves. I first met Karen when I worked for Herb and Les. My friend Herb was providing some pro-bono consulting to help Karen with creating a new not for profit enterprise and service. In 1982 Karen was a marketing executive for a Fortune 100 company and one day on the way to work she gave her lunch sandwich to a homeless woman she met living on the streets of New York City. Moved by this experience and realizing there were significant numbers of homeless families, Karen decided to take some action.Within a few short years Karen left her job and organized what is now called “Family Promise” that has over 125,000 volunteers in 40 states who have served over 31,000 homeless families. See http://www.familypromise.org/.

There’s more to this story and Ginny said that this entry is a little long already. So maybe I will continue this story about Karen and others another time. It is with a slight relief and deep sense of gratitude that when I think about all the pain experienced by so many in the world today due to poverty that there are those who sacrifice so much to give others a second ….and even a first chance at life.





* Some books on the subject and related matters:

The Life you can Save – Peter Singer

Mountains Beyond Mountains - Tracy Kidder

Radical Compassion: Finding Christ the Heart of the Poor – Gary Smith SJ

The Blue Sweater: Bridging the Gap Between Rich and Poor in an Interconnected World
- Jacqueline Novogratz



amdg

"Home" is where the heart is!

Lindsay,my oldest,invited me to watch her play in a corporate softball game the other night. Though I was focsued on delighting in her play and the events on the field,I couldn't stop the avalanche of memories about baseball. Visions of hundreds of fields of dreams: from tee-ball and varsity softball games with both my daughters to my own meanderings and hustling around the bases of the great diamond of life. I couldn't stop this virtual video tape and thinking of how the "game" has been a home for me and how it touched and taught me so many lessons.

I recalled a chapter in my yet to be published manuscript about one part of my life and one person I met on a ball field years ago and how his spirit still lives with me today. His offer to give me a "second chance" changed my life forever.


Here is that Chapter_______________________________________________________


COACH


Baseball is about coming home. The whole point of the game is to finish where you begin – home plate – and once you are home you are finally safe.
From Kim Fabricus’ Blog on Faith and Theology

“In my beginning is my end…
Home is where one starts from…
In my end is my beginning.”

- T. S. Eliot, “East Coker”


Dave, who was a client and Vice president of sales for for a Fortune 100 company, asked me one of the most difficult questions that I have considered in a long time. I was always challenging him to think “outside the box” concerning business matters and he threw a curve ball at me that came from deep outside... the realm of our business relationship. He pierced me so deeply that my heart decided to skip a beat as I caught my breath. Right in the middle of a substantive exploration of marketing strategy he grabbed my arm and queried, “Have you ever had a personal relationship within someone who inspired you?”

I stalled him for a minute as my brain sweated searching for an accurate honest meaningful response. The synapses in overdrive surfaced an almost thirty-year-old recollection reaching my vocal chords humbly whispering “my coach.” I then explained to Dave how I used to get fitted for special shoes by a foot doctor who told my parents that my feet were crooked and so flat . The Doctor said unequivically I should forget about playing sports. The doctor even went so far as recommending that I take up a musical instrument or get a hobby like stamp collecting. My ten-year-old spirit was broken. Everyone in a neighborhood filled with boys and girls my own age thrived on the freedom of playing every sport and game that could fill a child’s imagination. I would join in where I could but I found myself often sitting in front of the TV watching Roger Maris and Mickey Mantle battle for the home run crown in the major leagues and daydream seeing myself on a ball field.

Did you ever have one of thos fat-filled days? One of those fate-filled days came my way when a group of the boys in the neighborhood asked if I wanted to come with them to the little league baseball tryouts. No one except for my parents and I knew of what the doctor had told me about sports. Not wanting to divulge this heartbreaking secret I decided to join them at the tryouts. This was an era when only the best players were selected for this league and I knew I had no chance in hell of making a team. I had not even practiced throwing or batting since I had received the doctor's diagnosis and recommendation. Filled with anxiety about embarrassing myself I rode my bike two miles to the tryouts. What was I to do? How could I even get out on the field with the other boys?

At that time the players trying out for pitcher would pitch to the players trying out at bat. With the luck of the Polish I drew Paul P. the best pitcher in the town with the fastest fastball this side of Whitey Ford. Much to my surprise and the delight of my companions I made contact with every strike he threw over the plate! But when it came to running the bases I was always next to last or last. Then came the moment defined as the thrill of victory or the agony of rejection. All the players trying out to make a team sat in the outfield as the coaches compared notes. Finally after forever sitting the league's director came out to read the list of names of all the boys who were selected by a team. They called the names of every boy in my neighborhood; Billy, Bruce, Dennis, Will and Richy. But my name was not called. My companions tried to console me but I grabbed my bike and darted home alone humiliated. “Why had I done this? Why was I so stupid to even try?”

Later that same evening as I sat crying alone in my room my mother called me to come downstairs. There was a phone call for me. The man introduced himself as “Coach B.” He said he saw me at tryouts today and wondered why I hadn’t signed up to play in the town recreation league. I had never heard of such a thing. He explained that this league was basically for boys who couldn’t commit to the rigors of little league play.Boys who had to go on family vacations or had summer school or other commitments and who might miss a game or two could not play little league baseball would play in this recreation league. I knew there must be a catch. He also explained it was for boys who wanted to play baseball but who tried out for little league and didn’t make a team or who chose not to play little league. “A league for losers” I thought! He continued that his son played in the recreation league because they had other family commitments but his son was quite good. “Typical father” I smirked under my breath. He then explained how he liked my batting and fielding skills and wanted me to play on his team if I was interested. Did I want to play with a bunch of rejects? Did I want to play with a bunch of losers or kids who couldn’t commit to a season of baseball? “Yes, of course. I would love to play” I responded without hesitation. We had practice tomorrow. I was elated! I was on a team!!!

Adrenaline pumping a mile a minute, the smell of wooden bats and leather baseballs, glove filled with a fresh coat of linseed oil I rocketed my bike about a mile or so to the practice field the next day. Upon my arrival I saw this short older man with crutches standing near the players bench and he slowly struggled as he waddled his way over to me standing alone by my bike. He introduced himself “Hi, lefty, I’m Coach B.” “Great! My God, my coach is a cripple,” I thought. He then clarified that he was really the assistant coach. Why’d he call me “lefty?” He later introduced me as “lefty” to the head coach and the other players on the team. Later I discovered I was the only left handed thrower and batter on the team. I was also the youngest and it would soon become obvious to all…the slowest. Though I didn’t play much that season I proudly wore my team shirt bearing the name of our sponsor “Tom’s Market” everyday.

While the head coach worked with the starters mostly, Coach B. would work with the subs and younger players. He had a calm demeanor and was extremely kind and very very patient with each one of us. He could see in my eyes that I wanted so much to be with the starters. He seemed to take me under his wing and he had his son, Robbie, who was a starter, pitch to me in batting practice for at least an hour after the rest of the team had departed. He taught me how and where to stand in the batter's box, how to watch the pitcher, how to see the ball and how to make contact. Over and over again each day he would stand outside the batters cage. ”Good swing. Now let’s try that again.” I had forgotten all about my feet, my running and my being rejected by the other league.

When the season ended coach called me a said that the next year he would have a team of his own as head coach and that he wanted me to play on it. I said “sure” but I felt that my batting had improved so much that I would try out again for little league. When the next spring started to show its colors and kids ran to the parks to warm up for the next season I thought twice about little league. My friends thought I was nuts as my batting skills had improved almost 1,000 percent but I decided to play with Coach B.

That next year Coach continued to work with me on batting and though not a full time starter he decided to work with my fielding . No one had ever paid this much attention to me before. He would stand with his crutches holding himself up in the outfield as I shagged grounders and fly balls. Gently he would say, “Get the glove in front of the ball. Bend over. Think where you will make the play if the ball is hit to you.” It was that summer that I realized that his wife would drive he and Robbie to practices and games. Someone finally told me that Coach had polio but I don’t know,even to this day, if that was the truth or not. I was so absorbed in the experience of practice and playing I had forgotten that he had a disability. I had not thought of his struggles, his pain or his life. But then Coach never complained and in some respects I had forgotten that he had physical limitations.

That summer was a Zen experience as I was consumed with everything baseball and the days flew by faster than a Texas windstorm. I couldn’t wait for the next season. It would be my last year playing in the league, as I would be twelve years old the maximum age allowed by this league.

Well by the next season I had dropped about 15 pounds of my roly poly fat and shot up about five or six inches. Most importantly the team finally had full uniforms with major league team names. We were just like the Little League and our team was called "The Senators." I had the coolest looking navy blue hat with a big bright “S” in the middle. I wore that hat everywhere I would go. Father Nelligan would make me take it off whenever I walked into church. I didn’t mind.I would have worn it as I served as an altar boy at mass!

This was the year that I finally became a full time starter. I played either first base or left field and always batted third or fourth in the lineup. I had finally made it! At our first game we played a team that was coached by the head coach of my very first team and this coach asked Coach B. “who was the tall kid in left field? He’s pretty good” he said. Coach B. explained it was “lefty” from three years ago.

I knew I was doing much better that last season. I did get on base more often and had a few home runs to my credit but I was clueless about my statistics. I was just feeling really good about myself. Just as everything was falling into place there was that one game when a sure pop fly was hit right to me. There was a kid on third and I thought that I needed to grab the ball and make a clean throw to keep him from tagging up. Before I knew it the ball had hit my glove and quickly popped out before I could squeeze the glove shut. I picked up the ball and noticed the boy who was on third was scoring home. I was mortified. I did not have an error this year! I had let my team down. I had let me down. I had let coach down. At the end of the inning a slowly walked over to the bench and sat by myself not saying a word to anyone. Coach came over placed his crutches on the bench and without looking at me, his eyes fixed on the field said ,"Did you see that Maris (Roger Maris my left hand batting hero) had struck out three times last night? It happens to the best of us. But remember even if you want to be a Maris first you have to be yourself. Be true to who you are and who you want to be. That’s what matters. ” He grabbed his crutches and walked away.Somehow,someway he had the right words to say.

Later after that same game of the "big error" coach announced the three players from our team who would represent The Senators on the American League all star team in the rcreation league "all-Star" game. He mentioned his son Robbie, who was clearly the best pitcher in the league and Espo who was clearly the best and fastest short stop in the league. Then he said “lefty.” I don’t know why but I was shocked, delighted, surprised, and overwhelmed as my teammates congratulated me. They were not surprised. They told me I had the best batting average in the league. I was so wrapped up in playing the game it was the first time I had known about my stats.

Our team went on to win the division championship and would play the Pirates in the league championship game. Unfortunately I came down with some serious virus just a few days before the championship game and was still not feeling well the day of the game. I had to plead my parents to allow me to play. I explained it was my last game. It was the championship. It was everything I had worked for. It was for coach. At the 11th hour my parents agreed and they drove me to the field and we arrived just as the game was starting. Coach didn’t have me in the lineup and would put me in as a pinch hitter. Then I noticed who was pitching for the Pirates, it was Paul P, the best pitcher from Little League! He had dropped out of little league and decided to play in the recreation league. Our pitcher, Robbie coach’s son, was the best in our league. It became a pitcher’s duel. I finally got the call in the second inning to be a pinch runner of all things! I was a step faster than the boy who had walked and got on base. The next batter went down in three pitches. He next time I got up was in the fourth inning and Coach gave me the “take” sign and I was walked in just five pitches. We were soon out of the inning after our next three batters grounded and struck out. It came down the bottom of the sixth, the finally inning in youth baseball and it was 0-0 and it seemed as though Paul P. was just warming up. I finally got up to bat again and fouled two screamers down the right field baseline. The next four pitches were all high and outside and I was on base. I was angry that I didn’t get a chance to get a hit. Espo was up next and the first pitch was a wild pitch and I made it standing up to second base. Coach gave the sign to Espo and me to “hit and run.” Was a he nut? It’s me,lefty the second slowest kid on the team! " But I got set and gathered up every bit of positive psyche and energy a twelve year old can muster. Espo then cracked one up the right center gap and I took off. I saw Coach at third base waving me home. The only sound was my heart beating fast and furious and the piston driven puffing breaths as I rounded third to home. There was Robbie who was on deck holding up his arms. He didn’t want me to slide so I motored over home right into his arms. There was an error in the outfield and I made it home without a play at the plate and it hit me…”We were the champs!”

I saw my parents cheering on the bench but I turned and continued my run back up the third base line and jumped crying into coach’s arms. We had done it. He had done it.

There was more to the story I told Dave D. about Coach and that year but Dave interrupted me again. “Do you keep in touch with him?” Another darting shot. I felt horrible when I answered that I had lost touch with him. Soon after my meeting and rekindled memories with Dave feeling guilty I tracked down coach and called him on the phone. The first person to answer was his daughter who now was taking care of him. She remembered me right away. She told me how she was so jealous of me and the boys on our team. “You guys always got his attention and love.” I told her how sorry I was but I went on to explain how important Coach had been for all the boys and especially for me. He was a man with a disease and disability but he didn’t let that have an effect on his love and his desire to help us (me.) “He taught me to be myself, to be proud of myself and that I have more ability in me that I give myself credit. I am given talents for a reason and I need to use all of my ability if I am really to be genuine.” She understood. Her dad wasn’t home but she would give him the message that I called. It was a day later when Coach called. When I picked up the phone he said”Hello, Lefty!” We talked for hours and exchanged addresses. We corresponded and over the years and I included pictures of my girls who were both athletes in my Christmas cards to him. When I was the head of a consulting firm I kept the baseball glove I used when I played for coach on my desk. It was a reminder for me of the Coach and for me to be myself and to use all of my talents and gifts no matter what I do.

I received a returned Christmas card “address unknown - No forward possible” this past December. It was my annual Christmas card to Coach. I am afraid he is passed now but he is not passed from my heart and my memory.

Time has continued to be mark itself close to the final innings of my own game of life. After my bypass surgery last August somedays I feel I have made it in to extra innings! Not too long ago,though,I had managed a special program that educates disabled young adults in computer technology. I gained a greater appreciation of those with disabilities. I had a wonderful diverse group of dedicated students of all ages and disabilities in our program. We were providing these individuals with a "second chance" and the opportunity for hope,dignity and to thrive as themselves.This experience helped me develop a greater appreciation of what Coach must have been going through when he worked with the team years ago; his pain and his physical limitations. I don’t even know if he had a job or what he did to earn a living. I just know that he loved his family and the team. His spirit was never disabled. I pray that I was able to pass on the spirit of hope Coach B instilled in me to my disabled students . I am also hopeful that I have the strength and wisdom to continue to do so to those I encounter in each inning of my life.

I thank Coach for his love and the "second chance." I thank God for bringing coach into my life .

Today if you come in to my office you will still find my glove that my dad gave me that I used when I played for the Coach.It is a little less flexible now and a little cracked and worn.(Much like me I guess.) It's age doesn't diminish,though, what Coach taught me - to play and live with enthusiasm, dignity and integrity, and to always be my authentic self.

amdg

- Copyright 2008

Of Coincidences and Celebrations

When one really thinks about it ,there are no coincidences .We have circumstances and interactions where we can chose to be present to who and what is before and in us or we can just move on without a clue about the great blessing that surrounds us.

It is hard to be present and have wonder-filling expectations on cold wind blowing wintery nights.Everything seems to be barren, dead or in the process of dying. Sometimes it is different. Twenty one years ago on December 22 the new official sun of winter was making her final farewell and bow to the day as my then three year old,Lindsay, and I waited in anticipation for her mother to arrive home from work.Lindsay's excitement grew exponentially with each passing breath that she took.I need to accept some responsibility for her rise in adrenalin.You see it was Lindsay's third birthday and I had made a point to attempt to establish a tradiion where our immediate familiy would always and unequivicoally celebrate a anniversary or birthday on the specific month and day of tha birth or anniversary.Lindsay ,at three years old, had learned this new tradition all too well. Starting this "tradition" would be something that I would eventually regret years later. That's another long story. However, we know that things don't always happen the way we expect or plan them to be.

Lindsay was dressed up and ready to celebrate as we waited at the picture window to see Ginny's car rumble around the bend to the house. The quiet anticipation was broken with a piercing unexpected ring of the phone that I reluctantly but anxiously decided to answer. Ginny was pregnant and I was concerned about her condition driving more than twenty miles to and from work each day. "Did something happen?', I pondered. What is it in us that breaks a moment of potential joy with "worry?" I had received surpising sad and bad news calls in the past and bad news calls would return again time to time over my life. Ginny's OB/GYN was on the line and he had the results of the amniocentisus.....My heart ,my breathing stopped... the fetus was healthy and since we wanted to know, he told me we were to have another girl! Without a moment to think or to thank him Ginny's car pulled in to the drive way and before I could ask the doctor anything more he said farewell and that he would see Ginny the next week. Linds looked at me with worried eyes.Picking her up I gave her one of those familiar fatherly hugs and a kiss of consolation as Ginny opened the door. She was startled that Linds and I were pouncing on her like two WalMart greeters. A worried look overcame her face and I explained about the coincidence of the phone call we just received seconds ago from her doctor. We laughed.We cried. What a great "birthday" gift! Silently I thanked God for all the undeserved blessings.Then,just as suddenly, as I finished my quick prayer the door bell rang. It was as if we were all in some Halmark Hall of Fame movie moment as a group of adult Christmas carolers capped the moment warming our hearts as they cheerfully sang at our front door step.Hmmm, another coincidence?

Ginny said last night "somedays didn't seem like they would ever end but somehow the years have gone by so quickly."

It is twenty one years since that birthday celebration and we are about to celebrate our second daughter's, Leigh's , twenty first birthday on Mother's Day.It is also the same day as my mother's wedding anniversary and one day before my mother-in-law's birthday (My dad and mother-in-law are both gone now but we never forget to celebrate with and for them.)Lindsay is now a successful Human Resource professional in a major pharmaceutical firm and living in Princeton and true to tradition we will all be gathering together in Philadelphia where Leigh goes to school and lives now .Some traditions are good for the family,good for the heart, and good for the soul.

A friend and colleague recently became a first time parent and I am delighting in his newly discovered joy. His heart warming stories about his new baby and his wife have also opened the flood gates of millions of memories of my own parenting and spousal experiences. I mentioned to this friend that another old friend and counselor of mine,Kirk, once said "the greatest love a father can give his children is to love their mother." Why was I then surprised that I coincidently found a Mother's Day greeting card with that same sentiment on it just the other day? As I give my friend advice I find that I am often speaking to my self "savor each moment","it's your family that's important","be grateful all ways."

In another exchange I told this new friend of how I made "birthday" tapes for each daughter when they were born.These are are a collection songs recorded by various artists about daughters, babies,love and life. Later that same day after I shared this story with my friend I frantically searched the house and finally found Leigh's tape ,cried as I got lost in the clouds as I listened to Tom Rush's version of a Joni Mitchell song,The Circle Game."
....For my girls, all the mothers, fathers and children... for the birthdays, anniversaries, Mother's Days ,fond memories and celebrations (and for all the coincidences )....be blessed all ways!

(Let's be grateful for for the songs and the second chances !)

The Circle Game

Yesterday a child came out to wonder
Caught a dragonfly inside a jar
Fearful when the sky was full of thunder
And tearful at the falling of a star
Then the child moved ten times round the seasons
Skated over ten clear frozen streams
Words like, when you're older, must appease her
And promises of someday make her dreams
And the seasons they go round and round
And the painted ponies go up and dawn
Were captive on the carousel of time
We cant return we can only look behind
From where we came
And go round and round and round
In the circle game.

Sixteen springs and sixteen summers gone now
Cartwheels turn to car wheels thru the town
And they tell her,
Take your time, it wont be long now
Till you drag your feet to slow the circles down
And the seasons they go round and round
And the painted ponies go up and dawn
We're captive on the carousel of time
We cant return we can only look behind
From where we came
And go round and round and round
In the circle game

So the years spin by and now the girl is twenty(one)
Though her dreams have lost some grandeur
Coming true
There'll be new dreams, maybe better dreams and plenty
Before the last revolving year is through.
And the seasons they go round and round
And the painted ponies go up and down
Were captive on the carousel of time
We cant return, we can only look behind
From where we came
And go round and round and round
In the circle game
- J.Mitchell



amdg

PS Check out "Playing for Change" on the left margin and below and pass it on!

Hall of Fame

There was a time when I believed in the myth that those who were famous people all somehow came from or lived in the "land of celebrity." This land these stars came from was a blessed place. Really famous individuals were given special graces and gifts in the areas of the arts, sciences, industry, religion and service and they came from a "significant" place. Unfortunately that world or location was never where I was. I might visit that place or read about it but I was not to be part of that place. I just assumed then that for some unknown mystical reason I wasn't to be part of the experience or even geography of those who would be famous. I also believed that I was not gifted to achieve or do anything significant.

Success, peace, satisfaction, self-actualization always happened to someone else from some other place. Nothing good came directly or exactly from where I was living with my family or my circle of friends. We lived in "average land." This myth continued to grow as it seemed I was surrounded by all average people with nothing special about us.

Compounding this issue is that I was born and raised in New Jersey. This fact alone fed this belief about self worth and the hopelessness of achieving success. I was oft reminded by others that I grew up in the land of refineries, toxic waste and hypodermic needled beaches. A good friend who had moved to the east coast of the US used to introduce himself as living in New York City even though he lived and worked in New Jersey. He would remind me privately that "nothing good comes from New Jersey." He was embarrassed about living in a place that he believed had had a negative reputation around the country and the world.

Last evening Lindsay, my oldest daughter, and I were guests of my friend Dan at a special celebration. The musings about personal achievement and success were suddenly course corrected and a mild case of momentary enlightenment ensued. We attended the Induction Ceremony of the New Jersey Hall of Fame Class of 2009 at the New Jersey Performing Arts Center. You see out of hundreds of nominees from New Jersey a few were chosen to be honored for their contributions in the following categories: Historical (contributions transcend one particular category; Enterprise ; Arts and Entertainment ; Sports; and , General ( encompassing military,writers,scholars,civil servants, politicians etc not covered in other categories.)This particular inductee group included: Paul Robeson, Walt Whitman, Guglielmo Marconi, Carl Sagan, Jon Bon Jovi, Jerry Lewis, Althea Gibson, Shaquillle O'Neal, Phil Rizzuto, F.Sott Fitzgerald, William Carlos Williams, Bud Abbot and Lou Costello and former US Senator Bill Bradley. One can read all about the Hall of Fame and the inductees by clicking on http://njhalloffame.com/#. I guess I was wrong about famous and some significant celebrities coming from a place other than my own neighborhood. Many of these inductees are some of my own personal heroes!

The climax of the evening was when General David Petraeus introduced and welcomed the individual receiving the "Unsung Hero Award", twenty five year old US Army 1st Lt. Brian Brennan. While in Afghanistan, Brian was wounded and suffered an acute brain injury, collapsed lung, ruptured spleen, multiple fractures and lost both of his legs. Brian walked out onto the stage and up to the podium without assistance. Regardless of one's position on the current war the complete audience stood up giving him a rousing welcome (and message of gratitude for his heroism and sacrifice.)There wasn't a dry eye in the house when he said that he was accepting this award "for all the hard-working Americans who do not receive any honors."

It was clear in hearing Lt. Brennan's story and witnessing him on stage that maybe there are some who are more deserving of recognition and gratitude than others. Yet, even with this emotional moment I couldn't help but to think about what the wives, children and descendants were saying about their hall of fame family members who were being honored. Regardless of the nature of the reason for the recognition; scientific achievement or contribution to the arts or to society in general, each family member who spoke about their honored family member identified specific qualities that seemed to be common to each of the honorees. These common qualities were: love, dignity, integrity and service.

Phrases being used to described the honorees were : "Great spouse", "loving father”, “good helpful friend and neighbor", and "committed to doing the right thing for people and society." It is quite simple and evident that real achievement is about the love,the dignity,the integrity and service.

It wouldn't be inaccurate to surmise that everyone who left the event last evening was feeling proud about being part of the "Garden State" - New Jersey . I felt humbled witnessing such a unique celebration of love and gratitude. It wasn't difficult to become reflective hoping that when I am gone that my daughters will know that I tried...to be a good husband, father and friend. I am grateful as my "Hall of Fame" is - being blessed with the gift of my life and family .The only similarity with last night's celebration and any possible remembrance in my honor....I wouldn't mind having Southside Johnny and Jon Bon Govi singing "We're Having a Party" at the end.


"We sanctify all we are grateful for"
-- Anthony DeMello SJ





amdg