Month: February 2023

I posted a blog yesterday about an ill fated camping trip and the humor that I used to describe my terror inside a tent on a particularly stormy night. Once I thought about that experience from the perspective of time I began to reconsider yet another blog that I had composed at that time as well. It too was meant to be humorous, but now I wonder if there was anything to laugh about with the topic. 

I wrote about an event that occurred before the storm, when all seemed bright and beautiful about the camping trip. It happened one night when we were settling down for a comfortable sleep. Out of nowhere came a group of young people on motorcycles with their engines roaring, making no attempt to enter the quiet of the after hours silence with as little noise as possible.

They were chatting loudly and constantly as they set up their tents with loud bangs and clinks. One would have thought that it was the middle of the day instead of a time nearing midnight when most of the folks were slumbering. I peeked from inside my own abode to see who was making such a commotion and saw that it was two young men and a woman who seemed to be clueless that they were waking up people all around. I don’t think that they could have possibly sounded louder if they had tried. 

Once their tents were finally hoisted and they had climbed inside the raucous exchange of comments continued with one among them laughing like a crazed hyena at every word that was shouted from one tent to the other. The chorus went on and on and on for hours but I dared not make a fuss in the dark. I had no idea who these people were nor what their state of minds they may have been. Besides now and again their crude language, racist remarks and jokes warned me to keep a wide berth from them. I just quietly hoped that they would decamp and be gone in the morrow as I lay awake until they finally ended their little fascist convention in the wee hours of the morning. 

When I awoke they were still sleeping which was fine with me because I had no desire to interact with them. I noticed that they had erected a strange looking flag that caught my attention so much that I went online to see what it possibly represented. I was stunned to learn that it was a modern rendition of the old Nazi flag. It certainly explained the crude comments that its owners had made the night before as they regaled the entire campground. 

A nice minority family that we had previously met was furtively packing their car and quite obviously hoping to leave as quickly as possible. I was surprised because they had indicated that they were planning to stay much longer. I nodded in their directions as they hurried to get away and noticed that they seemed somehow worried. I suspected that they did not want to spend another sleepless nigh like I had done. It did not occur to me until later that they may not have wanted to have to greet the people who had made such crude remarks about people like them. Perhaps the new Nazi flag frightened them as well. Whatever was the case they seemed to be in a panicked hurry. 

I wrote about that incident much as I had written about surviving a big storm inside my tent. I used humor to describe my uncouth and ignorant neighbors. At the time I simply thought of their behavior as an unfortunate anomaly and little more. They were more funny to me than scary. 

Time has changed my view of that brief encounter. I have witnessed the rise of neo-Nazis and fascist ideologies in our American society as well as other parts of the world. I have become more and more disturbed by their brazen fascism and the public’s willingness to accept them as harmless fools much as I did on that camping trip. I cannot help but wonder if the nice family that rushed from the campground felt threatened by the obnoxious campers who arrived in the night. I have been asking myself if the looks that I saw in their eyes resulted from other interactions with such people in the past. Did they feel that they were somehow in danger or did they simply want to shelter their children from the hideous remarks that the self proclaimed neo-Nazis had made during the night. Either way, thinking of that moment and putting it into context with both the past and the present gives me the chills. 

I have been deciding of late that these kind of people are no joke. While their numbers are still rather small, I am reminded that so were the original followers of Adolf Hitler. Inattention and silence set the stage for the horrors that happened in Germany during that dreadful era. Can we be certain that such things will not arise again when we witness a growing boldness in attacking minorities based on race, nationality, sexual preference, religious beliefs and the like? How can we not be complicit with their rants when we look the other way and just laugh as I did? Assuming that such people are harmless and silly is not the right response. History has proven that we must take their proclamations seriously and make certain that they are unable to follow through with their threats. 

We’ve been far too permissive when it comes to calling out those who would call for racial purity or who would deny the rights of those who are different from themselves. It is a slippery slope that becomes more and more dangerous the longer we allow such poison to seep into our politics and beliefs. When I remember the fear on the faces of the family who left the campground so quickly I see clearly that neo-Nazis are no laughing matter. We must be aware of what they hope to accomplish and put barriers to that in their way. They are not just ignorant and annoying. They are a threat to our democracy. 

My blogging really took off several years ago when I posted a comical piece about a camping trip gone bad. I literally dashed off my impressions from inside a tent that was collapsing under a heavy rainstorm while lightning flashed every few minutes. I ultimately abandoned my leaky lodging for the safety of my car which I moved into the parking lot of the campground bathroom in case a tornado alert forced me to seek shelter in a more sturdy place. To say that I endured a night from hell would be an understatement, especially when I saw the destruction that had taken place once the storm was gone and daylight came again. 

My immediate reaction was to abandon all hope of staying when I saw the damage done to trees and much more substantial trailers than my tiny tent. Even though we had already paid for several more nights of living in nature, We decided that the wisest thing we might do is to pack up and leave. I became even more certain that we had made the right decision when we informed that workers in the campground office that that we were cutting our visit short after the frightening night we had spent during the storm. 

To my dismay they nodded with concern and mentioned that during the height of nature’s fury they had worried about us sheltering in a tent. They noted that most of the other tenters had left as had many of the folks in sturdier trailers. They mentioned that several of the cabins were empty and they had thought of directing us to the safety of one of those structures, but they just never got around to making the offer as they patrolled the area. 

Of course I was stunned that they had thought so little of our safety that they had become occupied with other tasks. Then again I realized that we only had ourselves to blame for being so brash as to believe that we would be okay in the middle of flood and tornado warnings. If we had kept our heads we most surely would have hopped into our car and headed for the nearest hotel instead of composing a riotously hilarious blog about our situation in an effort to calm our fears. It’s funny how we humans often put on a face of bravado when faced with situations that frighten us. 

I thought about this memory today because a dangerous winter storm came our way recently. Most folks simply continued with their normal routines, but somehow the forecasts sounded oddly ominous and reminiscent of that ill fated camping trip of long ago. I had a series of four teaching sessions scheduled for that day, but rather than driving to the homes of my students and enduring uncertain weather I decided to err in favor of caution this time around. I still have my Zoom account from the days of Covid and I requested that my students tune in to my lessons remotely. 

As the hours ticked by and very little had happened in the way of vicious weather I began to feel that perhaps I had overreacted to the warnings about possible flash flooding, hail, strong winds and tornadoes. I thought of how that disastrous camping trip had changed my perspective about weather, had made me more prone to fright than I normally would have been. Then my musing was interrupted by a blast on my cell phone warning of tornadoes in my area, urging me to take cover. 

I immediately ended the lesson, apologizing for being so be abrupt, but I was teaching in an upstairs room and I knew that I needed to get downstairs and maybe even enter an interior closet for safety. I felt a bit silly when the danger passed but I reminded myself of the promise that I had made to myself that I would never again knowingly be audacious enough to face the wrath of Mother Nature with abandon. I had seen what she could do during Hurricane Harvey and had become a believer that there are times when we cannot conquer storms with sheer will.

I would later learn that the tornado that briefly set down near me would weave its way for fifty miles damaging apartments, homes, schools, businesses, cars and lives. The trail of destruction was frightening and perhaps only made better by the fact that it did not include tremendous loss of lives. Objects can be replaced or repaired but lives are so much more fragile. We would all do well to heed the warnings of forecasts that tell us to take care. 

I still shudder when I think of that night in the tent that was so frightening that I felt compelled to escape to the greater safety of my car. I hid my terror in a humorous twist of words but somehow the idea of camping in a tent was never the same after that. One more foray during a frigidly cold March week convinced me that I no longer wished to shiver in pain just to prove my metal. We gave away our tent to younger folk and opted for a trailer instead. We also became obsessed with carefully monitoring the weather as though our lives depend on our caution. 

I suppose that bowing to the threats from nature is perhaps a sign of growing older and less adventurous. If that is the case then so be it. I’ve been lucky during the times when I tempted fate in the past. Now I’m done with gambling with my life. I revel in being a cautious fuddy-duddy. Maybe I’ve finally grown up or maybe I just don’t enjoy tempting fate when storms seem to be growing ever more frequent and destructive. I want to keep writing from the comfort of a stronger structure than one made from a few poles and a bit of cloth. I’ve got so much more the say.

When my father died, my mother brothers and I received survivors benefits based on whatever he had put into the fund while he was alive and working. Given that he was only thirty three when he died I suspect that it was never very much, but it definitely kept us afloat until each of us turned eighteen years old. We never qualified for what was commonly called welfare or food stamps but I feel certain that some people might have been a bit disturbed that we got that even that small extra boost from Social Security given the hullabaloos that arise surrounding that program over and over again. Now there seem to be renewed threats to cut government costs by either eliminating or restricting the Social Security program in various ways.

When I was earning my master’s degree I took a course in compensation. It was an eye opening experience particularly with regard to Social Security. The professor informed us that the program had long ago stopped working the way it had been initially designed to operate. He pointed out that when Social Security was born in the days of President Franklin Roosevelt actuaries had determined that the average age of death in the United States was somewhere in the mid to late sixties. Thus the age at which people were expected to actually collect their benefits was designed in the belief that most people who might have qualified would already be dead. In other words there was never any intent to pay out to everyone who had invested their money in the program. 

I don’t know how true my professor’s statements had been but I found it both enlightening and shocking to think that much of the reason that the Social Security program always seems to be in trouble is because Congress has not regularly increased the age at which benefits might begin. Only reluctantly have they slowly moved the age for full benefits to sixty seven years and now there are loud whispers that maybe seventy might be a better age for full benefits. 

Perhaps this is indeed true, but our national dilemma regarding Social Security is based on how long people are now living because of improved medical care in our country. Because people are generally healthier these days does not mean that they are capable of working at more and more advanced ages. So many jobs would be exceedingly difficult for senior citizens to perform. There is a big difference between sitting at a desk performing tasks all day and engaging in manual labor or even performing duties like those that nurses and teachers must do. Jobs that require incredible energy and physical involvement become more and more difficult after a certain age with few exceptions.

We all know individuals who seem to defy time with their energy and ability to work well into their eighties. My grandfather was still working at NASA when he was eighty eight. It was only when someone discovered him climbing ladders and realizing how old he was that he was politely asked to leave. Few others would have been able to work as long as he did. He lived to the ripe old age of one hundred eight and was still installing panelling and doing major repairs in his home. Few among us remain so able to maintain our youthful abilities to work long hours. 

So the elephant in the room remains how to keep Social Security programs going for the benefit of the elderly, the widows, the children of deceased parents and the disabled. It’s a daunting task, but suddenly deciding to toss it out is not the answer. Perhaps we need higher contributions from every worker, especially the wealthiest among us. We can also consider creating bonuses for those who are able and choose to work to older ages. We might also think about studying all of the exceptions inherent in the tangled rules for the purpose of streamlining them. 

We seem to be at a juncture in which we want to have our cake and eat it too. We have become a society that prizes wealth and conspicuous consumption all too much. Perhaps it is time that each of us dial back our spending and our unwillingness to pay more now for good benefits later. 

I just today completed a lesson in gross versus net income with one of my students (Yes. I am still working on a very limited basis.) I spoke of various deductions as well as the cost of saving versus borrowing to fund today’s desires. My student was shocked to learn about financial realities and she even commented that she would be able to save a great deal because she is not particularly interested in unnecessary clothing or expensive foods. She mentioned that she enjoys life as her family lives it now with vacations to see relatives, cars that are slightly used, and visits to discount and thrift stores that provide many of their needs. At a young age she is excited about living a simple life. Maybe therein lies the secret to having a safety net for everyone. 

If we learn how to do with less, if we are willing to contribute more and if we can push ourselves to work a bit longer then perhaps we can save Social Security for another generation We may also want to welcome the immigrants who are doing so much of the heavy duty manual work in our country today. We will need them in the future just as our country once needed workers from China and Italy and all parts of the world just like my grandparents from Slovakia. If we join in saving Social Security for all instead of for only certain groups we may find an equitable way to insure that people will be okay after a lifetime of working. With a bit of sacrifice children of deceased earners and the disabled will not go hungry. I can’t think of any cause that is more laudable, but then, like my student, I have come to realize how little I actually need. I understand the importance of keeping our safety net intact.

I have not seen him since we moved from our former home. That was eighteen years ago. Nonetheless I still think about him and wonder how he is doing even though I suspect that he is no longer alive. It would be miracle if he were. He was a homeless man who spent his days near the entrance to our neighborhood. He sat on the median constantly flipping the pages of a tattered magazine, seemingly unaware of what was going on around him. Yet he managed to somehow survive year after year. 

I never knew his name, but some people took to calling him Flip, a name with a double meaning depending on whether one was being kind or making fun of him. His skin had come to resemble leather from sitting in the sun all day long, even on the coldest days of winter. Most of us in the neighborhood stopped to give him money now and again. The manager of the gas station near his post mentioned that he often came inside to purchase food and drink with his donations. He also said that the man slept in back of the store near a dumpster. He stored blankets and changes of clothing back there. In the winter he always seemed to have a new jacket to wear. 

I thought it was kind of the manager to be so matter of fact about having a vagrant live on the premises of his business. I suppose he understood that most of us worried about Flip and felt a tiny bit better in knowing that he had a place to sleep at night. We guessed that he also used the restroom inside the store although that was never actually addressed. Nobody ever mentioned wanting to run him away from the front of our neighborhood. Instead we all seemed to have adopted him in some ways even though I never heard of any attempts to find him a permanent home or a better place to sleep. Perhaps we all understood that his state of mind was such that he would never agree to leave his post for a better situation. 

I always wondered what Flip’s real name was. I wanted to know if he had a family somewhere that was looking for him. I was concerned about what might have placed him in such a terrible dilemma. Because he did not talk or indicate that he realized what was happening I don’t suppose anyone ever asked him many questions. He simply survived from day to day. 

I recently heard a segment on NPR that featured stories of homeless folk. Many of them are addicted to drugs or alcohol. Most of them suffer from mental illnesses. They also suffer from countless health issues. Rarely do they receive the medical care that they need. In some places like Austin, Texas, groups of doctors have decided to regularly visit homeless encampments to provide checkups for the populations. They develop teams that provide medical, dental and psychological assistance. Each team travels regularly to certain areas and the results have been extraordinary.   

One of the men that they interviewed was a veteran who suffers from PTSD. At one time he had a good job and appeared to be adjusting well to civilian life until things began to unravel. First he lost his job and then he began drinking to ease his depression. Before long he was a full blown alcoholic who even experimented with drugs. He walked around in a perennial haze, losing everything including his home, his car and his family. Life on the streets became his reality until the team of doctors encountered him and began to treat all of his problems. 

Now this man attests to the success of the medical outreach. After a year he is clean, sober and healthy right down to his teeth. The medical team helped him to find a job and a home as well. They continue to visit him once a month to insure that he continues to progress. With all of the support systems he feels happy and normal once again and looks forward to a bright future. 

It’s unfortunate that programs such as the one in Austin are not copied all over the country. The nameless people that we see under bridges, on street corners, and living in tents are not just nuisances and yet we mostly look away when we see them. Sometimes we even view them with disgust as though we would feel better if they did not exist. At the very least we should do our best to at least try to help them to reclaim their lives. 

I do wish I knew what happened to Flip. I know that all of us should have done more for him, but fears and a lack of knowledge about what might work prevented us from helping him to become well. I’d like to say we did our best, but maybe we should have advocated for programs that do more than just give handouts. I hope that all of the Flips in our nation one day get the services that they need. The Bible admonishes us to minister to them. I wonder what we are waiting for and why we have not made this a priority.

Since Thanksgiving I’ve been mostly behaving exactly like I did before the pandemic arrived in my city three years ago. I have not worn a mask in many months now unless I have a medical appointment. I go about my daily routines mostly not thinking about the long stretch of caution and isolation that many of us endured over a very long period of time. I mostly lost contact with humans outside of my family during that time so I was amazed at how I seemed to get back into the swing of things quite easily. 

I’ve enjoyed seeing my students in person again. I find that they their learning accelerates when I am with them instead of just being a face on a screen. The holidays were wonderful with most of my old traditions once more in place. I felt a great deal of relief at finally enjoying those personal contacts that had been missing for so long, and yet now and again I’ll be somewhere and without warning I feel as though I am little more than a fly on the wall. I watch the people around me and if feels uncomfortably strange to be with them again. it is as though we are all forcing ourselves to simply move beyond the traumas and the losses of the past three years as if they never happened. Everything seems the same and yet is also feels terribly different. 

I sometimes wonder if others have the same experience of suddenly sensing that we are not yet as healed as we think we are. Is it just me attempting to reintegrate into the bigger world outside of the confines of my home, or is it possible that we are pretending that everything is fine when it actually is not? There has been so much loss for which we have not properly grieved because it was so overwhelming that it felt better to just keep moving forward without acknowledging the hurt that we were feeling. 

Our collective journey divided us based on our different reactions to the virus. I expected to see a global union of human compassion on display and instead we engaged in an angry argument that has resulted in violence and wars in some cases. It has been disturbing to see how quickly we devolved into a kind of worldwide civil war over our differing points of view. My Pollyanna outlook on life has been shaken and while I have mostly moved past the disappointments that surprised me during the height of Covid, I still sense that residual effects continue. The virus did great harm to good people but it also unveiled the reality that we don’t necessarily work together when times get tough. That has been difficult for me to accept. 

I suppose that we will slowly build back trust and goodwill in our society, but not without effort from all of us. I don’t think that we can just go back to where we once were without effort and a willingness to honestly talk about what happened and why we were so divided. Our true healing will only begin when we are willing to ask ourselves why a national emergency became so political and why we used the pandemic to launch a culture war.   

I always harken back to a metaphorical moment in my life. At the time I had a huge backyard filled with many trees whose branches touched the above ground utility lines that carried electricity to the homes in my neighborhood. While I was at work one day a crew from the power company removed many of the branches and left them in random piles in my yard. After many weeks and entreaties on my part that they come to clean up the mess that they had made I realized that I was going to have to do the hard labor of sawing the huge limbs into smaller segments and binding them for the trash. It was an overwhelming task that I kept avoiding even though I knew it had to be done. 

Then came September 1, 2001, and the attack on the twin towers of the World Trade Center in New York City. I remember coming home from work that day feeling numb, but also filled with anxious energy. I could not sit in my house. I had to have something constructive to do, so I began to work on the downed limbs in my yard. After a time I had managed to create my first bundle and I took it to the curb, nodding at my neighbors who were in their front yards. None of us said a word because there were no words for that day. Only those brief movements of our heads conveyed our feelings in that moment. 

I returned to my backyard to work on the next pile. Shortly thereafter the man next door came with his tree saw and some twine and began working next to me, again without saying anything. As time went by another and then another neighbor came and before long the onerous task was done even as none of us had spoken a word. It was as though we somehow knew what each person was thinking and utterances were unnecessary. We had all felt the need to do something in that terrible time, something constructive that would unify us in the fear and grief and anger that we were feeling. We came together as neighbors just as we would seem to do as a nation, but soon enough everything had changed even when we tried to pretend that it had not.

We have ignored the many wounds to our nation for too long. The unity of Sept. 11, 2001 has become a war of words, a choosing of sides, an unwillingness to work calmly and quietly together. Perhaps it’s time for all of us to face the task at hand and join in the effort to work together again to end our war of words.