Finish the Race

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I watched the last few miles of the marathon during the Beijing Olympics, and it both surprised and enlightened me. One woman, as I recollect from the UK, seemed destined and poised to win the gold medal by a long shot. However, a half mile from the finish line, the pollution of China overcame her, combined with other elements I am sure, and she faltered, never even actually finishing the race. Due to this surprise move, other nations medalled, including a surprise woman who came from way behind to win the silver medal. Predictions are guesses. The race does not necessarily go to those destined or expected to win, to those who are swift and strong, but it goes to those who finish the race. Stunned as I was by this turn of events, I watched at least two dozen women finish the women's marathon. I paid attention to their faces. I paid attention to their progress. Within that last mile, many people suddenly fell out of step, and others took their place, and I realized that it's not over until it's over. There is risk in celebrating before the end, and there is risk if you let other people deter you from enduring to that end. Most of those women must have known it was unlikely to win a medal, but they ran anyway. Others must have run for reasons besides those enshrined in the record books for all to see. They came to run the race.

People want to win. They will disparage you in politics to get their candidate to win. All over the media right now, the talking heads clamor that it's already over, it's already decided, although Trump lacks sufficient delegates to actually triumph at this point. As much as I feel Kasich is a foil, it's entirely possible that he'll come from behind and win. It's not over until it's over, but they want you to think it's over so that you won't get out and vote. I've long been annoyed by Iowa and New Hampshire determining the race, and even though Nevada moved up its primaries to matter more, why do some small states get to decide for everyone else, and why does some small minded businessman with a fat portfolio get to tell you that he's inevitable? Didn't we hear that from Romney, who ultimately lost? They do not know what will happen. They do not get to decide for you for what or whom you will vote unless you let them. None of these men actually finished the race yet. None of these men have enough votes. Although Trump claims "One man, one vote", despite having 37% of the votes, he holds more than 50% of the delegates. That's not fair, equitable, or equal, and it's not reflective of democracy as he claims or consistent with his bumper sticker lies. What about the 60% of people who didn't vote for him? They deserve to see the candidates finish the race.

During the race, it is impossible to accurately tell who will end up where in the race results because we do not know enough about the runners. In all aspects of living, they will try to get you to measure yourself by outcomes rather than efforts. In the middle of your life, they will compare you to others. You will sit in groups surrounded by people who earn more, live in better or bigger homes, drive fancier cars, have more or better behaved children, earned their degree at a younger age, possess loftier titles, have more attractive spouses, etc. They will not consider where you came from, the obstacles you face, or the circumstances in which you work. They will not consider that much of what you see is a play, the parliament jester's foist on a somnambulent public. You will not see the marital strife in that perfect family, the health problems caused by a dangerous albeit well-compensated job, the debt in which your neighbors may drown, or the morality exchanged in order to advance in the court of popular opinion. First of all, these people may be running a different race than you are, and so the "end" is different than the one for which you strive. Secondly, these people aren't at the end of their race. Like that British woman in Beijing, they may appear to be in the lead, but they may gasp out just shy of the finish and never actually finish the race.

Everyone runs this race for a different reason. Perhaps most importantly, they will attempt to disparage you in your faith to get you to quit believing and join them in debauchery. They will mistakenly conclude that because you are not blessed or exalted or married or rich or a leader of your congregation, that because you don't have everything that God must not love you. They will conclude during times of trouble as they did to Job that God must be angry with you, if He exists at all, and that you've done something wrong. The do not understand. They do not believe that you have to finish the race, because in too many cases they know they would not be able to in your place. One of the leaders of my congregation told me a month or so ago that if he'd been forced to walk my path he would not be active or faithful anymore; I don't say this to diminish him; I say this to point out that everyone has a breaking point, but we do not have to let our friends determine that for us. I was taught that we ought endure to the end. It does not mean the end of this trial, this week, this marriage, this job, or anything like that. It means to the end- to endure until the point, the purpose, and the goal is achieved. If your goal is to validate yourself, to pursue the lusts of the flesh, and to "live it up", well, quitting God will get you there. My goal, my race, my purpose, is to please Him so that He will bless me with what He can when the time is right. I cannot get there following your morality. I must finish my race and endure to my end.

They say most people don't know how close they were to success when they quit. You cannot win the race if you do not finish. You cannot finish if you let other people tell you what can be done or who will win. You cannot win the race if you're running for reasons that other people run. You cannot tell who will win until it's over. It's not over until the fat lady sings, and I am not hearing any fat women sing, in politics, in economics, in religion, or in any other facet of my life or yours. You came into this life to run a race. That race is unique in detail as you are in your capability to run it. Your ability to run the race, to finish the race, really depends on what you define as the end of the race and how committed you are to that end. People make time for the things that really truly matter to them, and so they tend to end up where they truly desired to be. It's not over until it's over, but if you quit before you finish, you won't win, you can't win, and you will not see the end for which you started running in the first place. When I first started running, I admit it was to improve my looks, but I run now knowing that fitness and health matter more. Two of my students have this week mentioned as asides in lab that they married their first husband because he was hot and that now they're looking for something else. Even if I do not get all the ends I seek, I still intend to run this race the best I can and to finish it. Even if I have nothing else to show, I can show that I endured, not just well for a time, but until the end, my end, His end- and I enter His rest.

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I dusted off the guitar this weekend, broke out my webcam, which I haven't used for years, and mashed this together briefly. You know who you are...

Bombed By Birds

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This time of year on campus, the huge palo verde tree near the south entrance to the science building blooms heavily with yellow flowers. I like to walk over before lunch and stand beneath the tree while the flowers shower around me like gold, listen to the bustling bees at work in blooms above me, and wonder at the beauty before the summer blast moves in and dampens the mood. Otherwise, I generally avoid this part of campus, mostly because I don't need to be there, which led me to forget one important change with the seasons. There is a bird that nests in this tree with its young, and when he feels threatened by people, he bombs them as part of his campaign to protect his family.

My bird brained friend is doing what he ought to do. I've seen the large birds, the stray cats that live near campus, and the damaged eggs on sidewalks all around, and so I know he has every reason to be protective. I wish some human fathers would take a page from his book and look out for their offspring with even a tiny fraction of the fervor this bird shows. He knows where to go, how to hit the target, when to hide, and to always be on alert. He doesn't discriminate; adults and children alike risk his bombardment if they come too near by his definition to the nest. Despite the buzz of bees masking the sounds of his nest, he doesn't rely on them to mask the sound or look out for him. He is out there doing it himself, taking responsibility, and so I don't fault him one bit for the momentary surprise or inconvenience.

Most of his attacks orient themselves around the head of the intruder. In addition to myself, I watched him dive bomb students, concessionaires, and other visitors. Usually, he brushes the top of your head with his feet before flying off out of reach once more. When he, to my great surprise, flew down yesterday and perched on my shoulder, I was shocked. In fact, I spun around quickly thinking someone had snuck up on me and grabbed me by the shoulder. For a brief moment, I felt like a Disney Prince, since I managed to get a bird to perch on my shoulder, but I think I got different treatment because he knows me. After he flew away, he made another pass, I told him that I remembered him, and then I never saw him again.

Like I tell my students, the purpose of life is to perpetuate life. Each cell goes through the cell cycle in order to undergo mitosis and create a duplicate copy of itself. When sufficient numbers of cells achieve this, most Eukaryotes then procreate and have offspring. Despite what people tell you and despite what Planned Parenthood exists to do, the purpose of life is to procreate. I'm going home tonight to work in my garden, to nurture the plants, to check on the fruits, to add a few more, to repair the shade net, and to water the dogs. The only kind of husbandry in which I'm engaged is animal husbandry, but my garden is my family. I protect it, I nurture it, and I help it bring forth new life. I do what I can to look out for it. I put a hedge around it, a tarp over it, water beneath it, soil around it, and seeds in it so that when I die, I can say I did what I could to bring more life. Men are that they might have life and have it more abundantly. Maybe I'm a bird brain too, but I'm doing what I believe I ought to do.

Fortune Favors the Fortunate

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We like to tell ourselves that fortune rewards effort, because we like to think that our efforts make a difference. Politicians delude us that hard work is rewarded as part of the American dream, but we all know that political organizations are awash with government employees who get paid to show up regardless of the amount or quality of work they achieve. As we get older, we see that people are rewarded not for what they know but who they know, that people still make special deals for their friends or for leverage. In reality, the world at large rewards luck over effort, opportunity over skill, preference over performance..

Many people are rewarded by virtue of being born into the right families. Most people are born seemingly randomly into families, which puts them in different starting positions for life. Some people end up in the "right" families which afford them opportunities denied to the rest of us, even if they don't make good use of it. Select few are born rich or pretty. Others have connections and inherit the family business without having to slog through the muck. Others are put together with the "right" mates because families can look out better for their children. It makes me feel bad for the people in the apartment complexes across from Wal-mart, because those people live lives of quiet desperation and have to ask me to buy them cereal to feed their starving children. At one time, I marveled at certain musicians or actors or politicians for "breaking into" the industry. Eventually I discovered that Colbie Callait's father is a publicist for a record company, that Emilio Estevez's father was a famous and respected actor, and that politicians either come from old money or climbed the ranks with someone else. All too often, it's not even who you know but those to whom you are related. After all, Max Detweiler wanted Captain George von Trapp to marry the Baroness Schrader to "keep all that lovely money in the family". Look at the Bush dynasty, and you can see each of the grandchildren eager to step into politics, and look at the Clinton dynasty for exactly the same thing. It's not just Europe where dynastic inheritance determines destiny; that trend has crossed the pond and permeated American society as well.

Many people are rewarded for the fortunate inheritance of good genes. Although we know talented people famous for their abilities, far too many famous people are famous for how they look or how they make others look rather than what they do. I mean how have the Kardashians made the world a better place? Too many women are famous because they are attractive. Too many men are famous because they are attractive. Even Doc Brown uttered the realization that Ronald Reagan, the actor, made a good president because he looks good on television. It's about how you appear. "It's not aptitude, it's how you're viewed" they tell us in "Wicked". Life is still about the pretty people, the popular people, just like high school. Frequently I look at people I know who eat whatever they like, exercise barely at all, and either look fantastic, run long distances, or both. My hiking buddy told me that I'd probably have to get below 5% total body fat in order to even stand a chance at washboard abs, but that's not healthy. Meanwhile, women drool over guys who look good, not because they can hike 23 miles from end to end of Zion National Park in 12 hours like I can but who look good because they won the genetic lottery. That's not the genetic inheritance I won, and it's not the genetics that ought be rewarded, but all too often it is. Now that human survival isn't a matter of protecting and providing for your family, it became a matter of cash and charisma. My skills and talents impress women in their 50s who have finally figured it out, but the young women my age drool over the guy who just bought a used Saturn Skye convertible or Zac Efron for his abs or who takes them to $200/plate dinners or who will jump into bed with them. Only one woman seemed interested in me for who I was, and fortune apparently had other plans for us.

The rest of people are rewarded for being in the right place at the right time. Sometimes, it's completely dumb luck, like the person in front of you who wins a prize for being the 1,000,000th customer. Sometimes it's because they say the right thing to the right person, because they act before you do, because they are willing to do things or say things you aren't comfortable doing. Risk often meets reward, but if not for bad luck I probably wouldn't have any luck at all. Back during the first Obama term, I gambled on WaMu when their stock tanked and bought 500 shares, knowing that if they recovered like "all the other banks had", I would make out like a bandit. Instead, Joe Biden created a run on the bank, and my 500 shares are now worth $0.71 which means I lost. The outgoing Health and Safety officer on campus told me that she met her husband entirely by luck. He was a mechanical engineering major, and she was a biochemistry major, but they met in psychology, did a project together, and the rest is history. Even Michael Buble sings "I guess it's part timing and the other part luck". Usually I meet people I find interesting after the chance has passed, because they already married someone else or because they already got knocked up by another guy, or because, as is often the case, I'm the "wrong religion" or "too old" as if I can do anything about my genetics, my age, my height, or whatever. I missed a deadline for a job at the national tree nursery that I would have probably loved, and my ex wife took me back to court six years ago, forcing me to withdraw an offer on the house I would have preferred. So someone else ended up there, and I tell myself that if it was important it would have worked out differently. God has a plan for me too.

I know this sounds cynical, and I know it's overly assumptive, but I can only speak to the experiences I know. I've done the best I can with what I have, and I have very little to show for it. When I mentioned it in Sunday School a few weeks ago, one of the young ladies pointed out that I "have a testimony", and one of the congregational leaders told me that because I'm still here that shows a lot. I suppose I am fortunate that that's true, because most men in my position actually abandon faith and God and turn to liquor or women or other forms of debauchery when they don't get what they think they deserve. Well, I know there is a God. I know it, and I know that God knows that I know it, and so I can't deny it. Sometimes I pray for blessings that look like blessings because I'm tired of blessings disguised as trials, but I really do have everything I control under control. In that way, I am fortunate, and so I hope that good fortune will follow the ways in which I am blessed where I am not lucky.

Inheritances

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People leave interesting things behind for the people who follow them. Most people look forward to the receipt of valuables as a means to enrich themselves. When all of my grandparents died last year, my parents had the chance to take things, and I obtained a few of my own. However, to me at least, other things are better than things. When I came home the first few months afterwards, my house smelled like my grandparents house because of things I now own that were once theirs. It made my house feel like a home for the first time in years.

When my paternal grandparents sold their house to move into a condo, I remember standing in the garage as they parted out belongings. We still joke in our family about the cooler my grandfather talked up for its accompanying family memories and resilience against the ravages of time when the bottom of the cooler dropped to hte floor. My paternal grandmother parted some of his belongings to me directly the day he died to keep them from being sold for money and because they were things of meaning to me. Although my father was surprised since he was the only military son of a WWII Veteran, he knows where to look for the things she gave me. I had memories of certain items that meant something to me, and I'm not sure I will ever use the wash cloth and towel she made me, because they are irreplaceable.

When my friend was killed in 2013, I inherited a strange array of items from her. Most noteworthy among the brickabrac, she left me almost all of her photo albums and all of the things associated with her late father and his Korean war service. I figure she left those things to me in order to protect them. Her ex-husband wouldn't value them; this way, if her son and daughter are interested when they come of age, they can contact me to learn about their mother and grandfather. Some of her journals I burned after I read them to protect her memory. Many of her belongings went to goodwill. The rest are in boxes on shelves in my garage until her children are adults and can decide what to do with it for themselves.

When my parents moved out of their house in February of this year, they took advantage of the opportunity to pare down belongings. One thing my dad gave me was his racquetball keeper which keeps the balls bouncy because I'm the only child who plays that sport. In tradition of his father, there are two balls inside, and I'll find out just how long they can last in this circumstance.

When I die, most of my scrimshaw faces an uncertain fate. The bookshelf in the living room is festooned with what appear to be random items- pins, coins, rocks, bones, etc., all of which have symbolic meaning to me. Assuming I ever have my own kids, some of those items may pass to them and retain their meaning. Most of it will probably end up at goodwill or in the landfill. Nobody will want to keep the lone shoe, but the Jefferson Dollar coin will still be worth $1, so someone will probably want it to spend.

Centuries from now, most people won't remember who you are, what you did, or how much stuff you accumulated. It's just stuff. What you really leave behind is your family. As previously written, I feel blessed to come from a good family. While we have some problems and some bad apples, I am glad to be part of a good family, good stock, a good gene pool, good faith, and good traditions. I guess that's one main reason I would like a family, to pass on what I learned, what I have, and what I am like they did for me. Nobody will probably want my sporting goods or camping gear, but someone may want the books or tools or photographs. Maybe not. That's why I write this. You should either do something worth writing or write something worth reading. So, sometimes, I let things go for weeks until I really have something to say, something i haven't said already, something worthy of being read. That way, when you come, my time makes your time more valuable. I like being able to remember the good people in my life. I keep these things because I want to remember a life that was worth remembering to me.

Get Out the Liberal Vote

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For the past two weeks, every day I see young people on campus canvasing and registering people to vote. After as many years as I have spent in academia, I am not a proponent of young people voting. Young people are emotional, irrational, and quick to react without thinking about consequences and without verifying what they are told. I have been worried for a while that this was a biased sampling process. I've proselyted, and I talked to people I thought might be mean, might not be interested, and might be bad choices, but these people profile, I think.

They aren't interested in educating voters, only in getting them to vote. Although most young people assume at age 18 that they know everything, we all know that's not true. Most of the students know very little of anything consequential, and so these are frequently the most harmful voters. I prefer that people not vote rather than cast a random or uneducated one. Furthermore, I think I was stereotyped by these activists. For many days, I walked past these people, and I wondered if they were profiling me. Nobody asked me if I was registered to vote until today. I guess it's because I don't look like the demographic they expect to vote for and advocate big government. Perhaps it's because of my age, but sometimes I walked by after they talked to someone else or when they were not talking at all, and they let me pass with narry a word. Until today, when a nice young black man came up to me while I was getting out of my car, did anyone seem interested. Only he seemed like he was serious about doing a good job. The rest looked like they wanted the excuse to talk to young, cute girls, and some of them probably got numbers too. Incredible.

They want signatures, not action. Americans are willing to do anything as long as it doesn't cost them anything. A signature is easy. Doing work is hard. After I told the young man that I was registered and that I appreciated him asking, he mentioned two ballot initiatives. While I stood there and read the provisions in the proposed action, he seemed surprised. I consider myself educated, but I'm not really sure about the legalese they use, because it's not as simple as the paragraph byline makes it sound, and I doubt very much it's as innocuous as they want you to think. There seem to always be unintended consequences. After reading the forms, there was no follow up. The petitions empower politicians, not the people, and once you sign away a yard of your power, they take a mile and "act on your behalf".

They do this because they are paid. It is said that you truly only know the measure of a man when you consider how he treats those who can do nothing for him. Fact of the matter is that most people do things because it gives them an advantage. We talk in evolutionary biology of altruistic action, but altruism is generally also oriented towards self-interest. I doubt very much that anyone does anything without any ulterior motives. The nice young fellow confessed that he earns $13/hour. That's pretty nice considering you don't need an education and that you don't have to actually care. As long as you meet your quota of signatures, you get paid. He isn't out there because he believes in the legislation or voting or the republic. He's out there because he believes in cashy money. He's out there because he believes he's worth more than the minimum wage paid to the employees at Wendy's across the street. What message does it send when they will pay people with no skills more than people who actually contribute? I guess this is what superpac money and campaign funds buy- young people who will sell something that sounds good for a mess of pottage.

Liberals seem willing to stop at nothing to buy votes, but the problem is that they often buy people with their own money. Patrick Henry somewhat presciently preached that often our calamity is heightened by reflection that we furnish the means by which we suffer. Young people are notoriously fickle and unqualified. Yet, they are the ones with tons of free time and undirected passion and energy. Ergo, giving them power to vote and trusting them to use it wisely is a political pandora's box. Young people are liberal, and liberals know that, and so they abuse that in order to empower themselves. Liberal politicians are ancient fossils with tons of money. They pay a paltry sum to get people to sign away their power. They don't like all people. They like people they think can be manipulated, can be bought, and can be hoodwinked. So, they come to colleges too. Apparently, I am easy to discern as none of the above.

Unexpected Praise

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When I walked into class tonight, I saw someone I didn't expect. This man is a well respected, well read, well educated, and well known leader in his field who recently joined the faculty where I teach. He told me that his department chair, for whom I am moonlighting in this particular class, suggested that he come and observe my class. He told me that the chair said he could learn from me about how to interact with students. I am as aware of my strengths as I am of my weaknesses. Still, this declaration took me back. I know that I could do better, that others do better, and that in many ways this man is probably smarter, wiser, and better educated than I. However, even my bosses think I have something of value to convey to him. I can think of three key ways why my lecture style and format differ from my contemporaries.

Although slower in its execution and unpredictable in its direction, I try whenever possible to use the Socratic method. Most professors lecture rather than teach. They parade a litany of facts, figures, terms, tactics, measurements, and mathematics on the board in a red white red hit parade of information that usually overwhelms students. Where possible, I ask questions and let them give me the answers. As participants in the learning process, they gain confidence from the fact that they often give correct thoughts and that I am able to incorporate their contributions to arrive thereat when they are not quite on the money. I want them to be engaged, to get involved, to lead, to ask, and ultimately to learn. We have two ears and one mouth for a reason, but professors are poor listeners and longwinded and verbose when it comes to communication. They were born to lead. They were born for glory, and they need to know that they already know things of use, value, and importance.

I strive to get to know my students and remember things about them that may help me include them in discussions and activities in the classroom. Frequently, students ask me questions I am currently unprepared or unable to answer, and so I strive to return to those topics later to show that I care about the things that pique their interest. They pay a great deal to get an education, and it might as well answer some of their direct personal questions. In order to look out for them, be sensitive to what I share with them, and to make things meaningful to them, I ask questions about them. I learn their names. I use what I get to show them that I'm listening to them, and to prove to them that I can make chemistry (or biology when necessity dictates I teach it) apply to them personally. It is said that people don't care what you know until they know that you care, and when I can call on them personally or relate to them individually, they know I care more than the rest of the college kitten caboodle.

Although all professors view students as children who require assistance, I differ from my colleagues because I regard them as peers and potential future superiors. Most professors seem to look down on students as an impediment to their day, as cattle beneath their feet, and as incompetent boobs. Consequently they spend lecture trying to prove that they know more than the students. Even if that proves true, who cares? We come to school to learn, and so we expect the teacher to be competent, confident, cogent, and coherent. What good does it do to be snooty or to hold students back so that you can shine? That smacks of pride. I tell mine that if they do not rise above what we built and prove they are better, smarter, or more able to adapt to change then our culture, society, and nation will flounder until they rise up. More will be expected of them than previous generations because they have things available to them of which their ancestors could only dream. If one of them one day became my boss, that wouldn't bother me too much. I hope and expect great things.

I am not exactly sure why the department chair thought I could be a useful example to this colleague who I regard as far above my equivalency class in academia. Yet, as gracious as he is intelligent, when he left my classroom he thanked me for my example and told me that he learned many things about how to interact with our students from his experience with me. I don't know if he learned "what not to do" or meant it sincerely as he said it, but it was an interesting event and completely unexpected. I am not part of the Good Old Boy Network (GOBNet), and I am not one of the best educated, highest paid, or well renowned. Very few people know firsthand how well I do my job- My students, myself, and God. It's not a bad public. I am honored to be a teacher and to be recognized in this fashion for my contributions. Education: we're not in it for the income, but we're in it for the outcome.