Goodbye, My Friend

I found out today that I lost a friend. I had not known him long, and we exchanged more punches than words in the few short months we lived in the same state after we met. As a second-degree black belt, he was my senior both in rank and age, but he was easy to befriend. He had a quirky sense of humor and an easy-going personality that belied the tragedy in his life. His undeniable charisma caused students young and old to love him as an instructor, and I admired him as a sparring partner and a friend.

The recent recession was more than just the highlight of the evening news to my friend, and he was forced to pick up and move on in search of opportunity. I was comforted by the fact we would be able to keep in touch, but although I quickly befriended him on Facebook, we never really got a chance to talk again.

Death is a fact of life, although for me it seems to also be an unintentional writing muse. We all bury family and friends, but for someone in my line of work, there is also the occasional student or former student who leaves the world much too soon. Between losing students and losing friends, death can become a grim fixation. I guess even before entering the teaching profession, the loss of my paternal grandparents pulled the rug from beneath my happy-go-lucky feet and left me staring into the abyss.

Speaking of grandparents, I have delved back into genealogy recently, which means I have spent a fair amount of time walking back and forth among rows of tombstones, looking for my ancestors’ final resting places, or the resting places of other people’s loved ones, for whom I volunteer to locate such graves and take a picture. My wife finds this pastime utterly morbid, but I do not feel that walking through graveyards is macabre. A cemetery is rich in history, and I find it a joy and a challenge to pull people’s life stories back into relevance when they were one step from eternal obscurity.

It seems there has been an endless stream of moments in my adult life which have forced me to reflect on the brevity of life and the human desire to make a difference. I have walked among rows and rows of headstones, many with writing worn away by wind and rain. The people whose graves those stones mark, their contributions to society, and often their vary identities, are lost forever to history. Those we lay to rest have trusted their fragile identities and contributions to posterity to our memories. I watched my friend make the world a better place, one front kick at a time. While I did not know him long and did not scratch the surface of his identity, I did watch him make a meaningful difference in several people’s lives.

As a former newspaper editor and a current English teacher and writer, I used to be a true believer in the written word. I believed very strongly that there is something magical about well-written prose, and therefore freedom of speech (especially written speech) is a powerful and empowering right. As a college newspaper editor, I believed perhaps too strongly in such magical properties of writing, leaned too heavily on perceived invulnerability to consequence, and relied perhaps too naively on the belief that simply exposing perceived injustice would rectify that injustice, that simply writing the correct words in the correct order would spark the incantation that would cause evil to burst into flame and turn to ash, like a vampire ambushed by the golden rays of dawn. Along with those powers, I may have even thought that recording my memories of someone would contribute in small part to their immortality on this Earth.

I am not sure if I believe writing is as magical as I once did. As I have grown a little older, both my beard and my viewpoints have taken on shades of gray. I find myself asking questions more than giving answers. It seems to me an evil that my friend is dead, but no amount of writing will change this fact. I doubt I have ever written prose that has truly changed a man’s opinion, and I doubt much less my ability even to do my friend’s memory justice. In fact, this is a poor attempt at memorializing a man who seemed larger than life, yet who I all too late realize I did not really know. But as I go through life, I find there are a select few people I have met who have truly inspired me, in whom I have found some facet of their person I wish I could emulate. Mr. Cody Weeks had a charisma and a gift for teaching that truly inspired me, and for that I am grateful. Rest in peace, my friend.

Website: The Demigods are Dead

Edward Moore Kennedy was laid to rest this past weekend. Along with this passing of a historical figure came the usual reflection of a life lived in the limelight. Superlatives sprinkled the plethora of eulogies; euphemisms by the dozens polished over the rougher edges of a life run ragged by the living. I write about this event neither to canonize nor to critique its person of focus, but to delve meaning from the event itself. What does this mean for most of us who were not related to nor represented by Senator Kennedy?

For us the living, those unscathed this time by personal grief, this event is yet another point of reference in the historical backdrop of our lives. The media has been recounting, over and over for the past few days, the profound events marking the milestones in Kennedy's life. Personal for him, historical for us, the death of one brother in war, two by assassination, a series of bad choices which ended a woman's life and his own aspirations, all are events which have ignited countless conversations at dinner tables and in classrooms, events which have helped to define a generation.

I am not of that generation. What I feel at these events of growing frequency, is the severing of links to a past I never knew. Black hearses and antique caissons carrying the players of our historical drama, as "I remember when" fades from all too many voices lost forever. History becomes two-dimensional right before our oft-distracted eyes.

What events will mark my time here? The historical and the personal do not intertwine for me; I am an observer only. I have seen space shuttles explode and towers fall and world leaders meet their natural death. I was around before there was Internet. I've lived under six presidents, two popes, and one King of Pop. I loved baseball before the players' strike — before steroids.

I take comfort in seeing Rep. Patrick Kennedy misquote a Robert Frost poem in the eulogy he prepared, reciting from "Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening," while claiming the quote was from "The Road Less Traveled." A grieving son is entitled to make mistakes, as are we all. But there is something profound about scions of history stepping off of their pedestals and acting human unexpectedly. The demigods are dead; I've watched the marble figures of tomorrow shed yesterday's flesh and have their last parade. President Nixon, Princess Di, Mother Teresa, President Reagan, Pope John Paul II, President Ford, James Brown, Michael Jackson, Ted Kennedy, and others, all have made their final curtain call as I looked on from afar.

Watching these celebrity services is watching our lives previewed on a grander scale. We will all have our turn to grieve in the pulpit, and we'll all have our turn to lie in the box. Most of us will mourn without an honor guard, without a midnight vigil, without streets lined with people, without pilgrims to the grave. We will hurt no less, have lost no less, love no less. We watch, over and over again, as the story unfolds. We are observers of life. I don't want the milestones of my life to be a parade of flag-draped caskets down Main Street, nor the honey-tongued eulogies of tabloid celebrities. I don't want my cherished memories to be of historical events watched on the television screen. When someone asks me, years from now, where I was when notable events yet to come unfolded in their due course, I hope I can tell them I was somewhere else, doing something worthwhile, leaving the observing to someone else.

Humor/Character Analysis: If I Were A Drinking Man

I wonder if all aspiring writers create characters based on how they feel from time to time. I've often fantasized about being a drunk. I'm not referring to a closet drunk or a partying drunk or a recovering alcoholic. I'm talking about a can't-walk-straight, tripping-over-trash-bags, whiskey-bottle-in-a-paper-bag, crying-in-the-corner drunk. It isn't that I want to drink — I rarely do. It is one of those rare moments when the way I feel crystallizes into a storybook character that I could draw or describe. While you'll never find me drunk, there are occasions when someone could ask me how I feel, and I could point to the unshaven, foul smelling hobo lying in the gutter and say, "that is how I feel."

Maybe the attraction is that drunks don't have to explain themselves. You can sort of tell by looking that they didn't just win the lottery. You don't ask them how the family is doing, because you are afraid to hear the answer. You can tell from a distance that something is terribly wrong. The look is as effective as wearing a signboard that says, "My life is a mess." I don't need the long-term complications of being a drunk. I don't need the addiction or the social status or the health problems. Maybe there is a certain aesthetic to being a drunk: some people write poetry to express themselves, some people paint, and some people wet their pants and stumble down the alley looking for sympathy and pocket change.

I believe Hollywood has made such a cliché about escaping your troubles with the bottle, that a drunk has become the perfect metaphor for feeling desperate and hitting rock bottom. The stereotypical hobo stumbling down the streets of the big city with a brown paper bag is a modern rendering of the biblical Job, a man who has lost everything: family, friends, employment, possessions, and even a reason to live. A drunk is the closest real thing to a zombie — the living dead. Of course, I haven't yet hit rock bottom, although there have been times I've felt close. Most of the time, our darkest hours could always get worse, but this doesn't make them any less dark.

Maybe instead of wanting to be a drunk, I am comforted by the fact that no matter how bad a day I have from time to time, there is somebody somewhere smelling like Jack Daniels and urine and having a much worse day than I am. Truth be told, I don't really like to drink. I don't have a religious or moral problem with drinking in moderation. But as far as acquired tastes go, I don't even drink coffee — never liked the stuff. I will choke down a beer for the sake of fellowship and conversation. When I do occasionally drink, I like sweet cheap wine and mixers. I'll drink Smirnoff Ice and Mike's Hard Lemonade, strawberry daiquiris and margaritas. My uncle said I'll rot my teeth before I ever rot my liver. I've actually tried putting sugar in red wine like Fozzie Bear in the Muppet Movie — it doesn't work. I guess I'll stick to writing poetry.

Website: A Moment of Self-Reflection: To Whom Much is Given...

At the age of 30:

Alexander the Great had already been ruler of Macedonia for ten years; Elizabeth I had been queen for five years, Elizabeth II for four; Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart has passed his peak of success and was five years from death; John Keats had already been dead four years, his epitaph: "Here lies one whose name was writ in water." Audie Murphy had won the Congressional Medal of Honor nine years before, at the age of 21. And I am spending my third year teaching literature to a captive audience that is not just indifferent to the subject matter, but loathes and fears it.

It has been well-noted, even by those whose indelible mark has been left on this human race, that we may be denied the opportunity to accomplish that great and noble task, instead left to accomplish small tasks as if they were great and noble (Helen Keller), that we can do no great things, only little things with great love (Mother Teresa). And truly it seems that any profound discoveries on my part were simply the scripted acts of my own personal coming of age story, a story unknown to me at the time of performance, yet performed by all on the invisible stage solely for the amusement of those who've come before, those who tend their own bitter disappointment by watching the same disillusionment consume the lives of others.

There are millions of us, born into this world at different times, with only a few asked to give back at a level where their contribution cannot help but bring notice. To whom much is given, much is expected, and relative to millions of starving, unfortunate souls I have been given much indeed. Yet to an undeniably large number, I am but a delusion away from mundane, and therefore should happily carry on with my small tasks without a second thought. Frank Capra's It's a Wonderful Life attempts to convince those of like mind how no man is a failure who has friends. How many of us can claim to have as many friends George Bailey, real friends who would throw their money on the table in a crisis?

And so here I sit. Framed certificates on the wall remind me of accomplishments someone once thought worth acknowledging with a bit of time and parchment, framed photographs capture groups accomplishing something briefly before the members went their separate ways. Barring unforeseen unfortunate circumstances, modern medicine will give me another 30 years to accomplish what I could not to this point, even if that ends up being simply to come up with a few more real friends. And if I should be so lucky to stumble upon my contribution to posterity in the meantime, then I should rest in satisfaction that maybe someday, 36 years after I have passed on, a special group of people throughout the world will raise their glasses in simple affection and appreciation every year on my birthday and make a toast, as is done to this day for Professor J.R.R. Tolkien, creator of The Lord of the Rings.

Website: A Moment of Self-Reflection: Making the Internet a Better Place?

Having just recently celebrated my 30th birthday, I feel like I have spent my life to this point trying in vain to mine accomplishments of significance from a vein of long-perceived potential. You ever feel like you deserve a pat on the back, but receive that proverbial kick in the family jewels instead? Sure my birthday was accompanied by the usual condescension, the plethora of cliché comments which still amount to, "don't worry, you're still young and too naïve to know any better." Not even an advanced degree has helped land me ahead of the learning curve in the eyes of others. I think gaining respect for any wisdom obtained during my eventful life will be a fruitless venture even if I live to be 100, provided there is someone around who is 101.

You might be asking yourself at this point if this is just a random rant of self-pity, or if I may surprise you by hiding in between the lines something you may actually care about, if you give me that much credit. As I finished up making my website Section 508 compliant, someone was nice enough as usual to rain on my parade with some questions that really got me thinking. How many visitors to my site are going to find it necessary or even helpful that my site is WCAG Priority 1 compliant? How many visitors, she asks, come to my site period, and what do I get out of it? Is it worth putting hours and hours of my time into maintaining a website that few will visit? Who needs my approval in the form of a website award? How come the International Internet Awards Community, as we call ourselves, consists of little more than a dozen familiar faces? Do we carry on this charade merely to stroke our own egos and gain the seemly much-needed approval of others through our awards programs?

Perhaps we as a community need to look hard at our purpose statements and really put some more thought into this aspect up front. Most of us in some way claim to be doing this to "make the Internet a better place." However, many of the awards I have applied for have not done a thing for my site, much less the Internet, whether I have won or lost. If an Award Program doesn't give feedback, then it doesn't need to exist, because hopefully no one in this community thinks that simply giving or withholding their approval of a website is making the Internet a better place. I for one am going to try to include even more helpful feedback in my future evaluations.

In addition to feedback, we need to really get beyond just giving awards to each other. I don't think there is a problem with giving each other awards, but if we are the International Internet Awards Community, then we need to find out where the rest of the world is hiding. Perhaps we need a third party nomination system to draw people with quality websites who don't come to us. I think there is so much talent in this community; we could really make the Internet a better place if we could find a way to unobtrusively share our design and content skills with the Internet community at large.

Website: Let it not be said from this point forth…

The deluge of applications we have received due to our Award Sites! rating has put me a bit behind in terms of our award program, but this is a good problem to have, so I just ask our applicants to be a little extra patient with us as we work out the kinks. Friends and family have noted multiple times that my October article has been posted long after the autumn days of October have passed us by. Since my November article did not materialize due to my unexpected lack of free time the past month or so, I imagine I will have to make up for it with an extra-long article containing my November/December sentiments.

My first commentary for this period would have to be on the United States Presidential election which took place on November 4, 2008. I voted for John McCain because I agree with his social policies more than those of Barrack Obama, and I feel like we do have a cultural battle going on in the United States which can shape the kind of world our children grow up in. Having a child of my own, this is no longer an abstract concept to me, but a reality I must factor in to my decision-making.

This being said, I decided before the outcome of the election that I was less concerned about this outcome than I have been the previous two elections. Unlike Al Gore or John Kerry, I feel Barrack Obama is an honest, decent person who is concerned with more than just “a life-long dream to be President.” While there are unfortunate consequences of the election of Barrack Obama (I am undoubtedly going to be disappointed with any Supreme Court nominations), I feel that the historical significance of this election truly marks the turning of a page in our history. I feel that for the most part my generation is above the race factor. I see Barack Obama as a man, not a black man. But now I truly feel we as a nation are moving past the racial strife which has clouded our politics for so long. Let it not be said from this point forth that America is too racist to elect a black man President. With the percentage of white people who voted for Mr. Obama, there is no longer a question that America has moved forward on the issue of race.

Also, I find myself more liberal economically than my social politics would suggest. I believe everyone should work, earn their keep and contribute to society. But in a society where it’s not what you know but who you know, I do not feel that we as a society are fair to the working-poor. CEOs should not be making the money they are making while entry-level workers cannot feed their families. While there should be incentive to get an education and move up the corporate ladder, there is not a just wage system. I cannot quit a job where I am unjustly compensated and work elsewhere, because the entire system is corrupt. Republicans complain about the redistribution of income, but the only reason income needs to be redistributed is that it isn’t distributed fairly in the first place, and in our capitalist free-market society, redistribution of income after the fact through taxation is the only way government can attempt to right this wrong, which is what government is supposed to do. If we as a society were the morally impeccable Christians we claim to be, we wouldn’t need government to interfere, but we are not.

Website: October Brings New Accolades to Randal's Sanctuary

October has brought new accolades to Randal's Sanctuary. Our award program, Writing Matters Web Excellence Awards, is now once again rated 3.0 by Award Sites! I also published an article on Award Sites!, "A Common Purpose." The award program also obtained a level three rating from Alice Pandora's Award Ratings, shortly before she closed her program due to personal illness. We now have a rating of 2+ with UWSAG. I will now focus on serving my applicants by critiquing their sites and helping them to improve their writing. Applications have definitely picked up after receiving the ratings noted above, so my appreciation goes out to the evaluators.

I remember in college my friends used to laugh at me when I would inform them of things which I found unjust, or perhaps just grossly inefficient or irritating. One of those things which I have noticed lately is the practice of the local McDonald's charging for condiments. McDonald's is the only fast-food restaurant I have encountered which will not give you sauce for your fries without charging for it! There are no exceptions, and the staff acts like you are asking them for a twenty-dollar bill. They will call their manager who will be quite hateful with you. I should have known better, because the little red sign on the drive-thru speaker clearly states that, "in order to keep our prices low..." or similar phrase that all stores use right before they are getting ready to rip you off. It wouldn't bother me if they would just come out and tell the truth. "In order to make our profits higher..."

My creative writing class I spoke about last month was canceled this semester due to lack of interest. I am hoping to teach the same class during the spring term. On a positive note, I have finally received my permanent teaching certification, having passed both Praxis tests and finished all education requirements. The first quarter of school is winding up for us on the 17th, I am excited about the change in curriculum a new quarter brings. I am also looking forward to adding a curriculum section to this site where you can borrow my thematic units for 9-12 grade English.

For this site, I find the American Civil War has touched my academic life in several ways, so I eventually will be adding a page about the war in relation to my education and my reflection on its continued fascination to so many. I will continue improving this site as time permits.