Posts under ‘honor’

I took my 8 y/o daughter recently to visit the grave of my grandmother and grandfather. They’re buried in a little cemetery in Batavia, IL called Resurrection. My daughter said it was too bad that we didn’t bring flowers and I agreed. I’m not much of a cemetery visitor myself, but there is something about flowers.

We agreed to bring flowers next time.

My wife spoke to me this evening about my blog. She finally read one of my posts. As fate would have it, the title that lured her in was “My Rape Story“. I asked her what she thought of it and she proceeded to tell me how pissed off she was that I had not shared this with her first. I was devastated. I had shared it with her, but never in my life had I revisited all the details – until this post. I thought to myself that I have just opened up the single most painful experience of my life and all she can think about is ‘first dibbs’!

There are a million reasons to be awake in the middle of the night in New York City. Something magical happens there after dark. The city changes. It looks different. It sounds different. It has different people.

When it’s 3am in New York, you can suddenly find yourself in a quiet place with your body tired and your mind awake. That place may be your car, your room or where you work. It could be a food counter or on a sidewalk seeking shelter from a downpour. Or, you could simply be lying in your bed waiting for sleep to come. In those places, there is a feeling unlike any other city in the world. In the dark quiet, you suddenly feel like the city and you are aware of each other and you catch your breath together for a moment of that deep silence.

This is about my friends, how amazing they are to me.  

My new friend:

I recently posted about a community whose rights are routinely ignored, stripped and abused.  I took a risk in writing it because I know very little about the community.  I spoke about what I do know; about my belief that the law works for everyone or it works for no one.  I have no friends, no family, no coworkers in this group of people.  Yet, as a human being, a father and a citizen I have reached a point where I can no longer sit by while others are bullied simply because they are different and fewer in numbers.  So, I spoke out from my heart that how we the large groups treat the smaller, how the strong treat the weak yields a foul harvest for all of us. 

Image courtesy of cesr.org

This post begins a series to recognize people that speak about the world in terms of what they observe and what they can prove.  Their voices stand out in the crowd.  In their words, they speak not of fantasy, delusion and rationalization.  Instead, they utilize the gifts of human cognition, awareness to observe what is here in the world around us.  They are not dogmatic, but analytic and take in the world ‘warts & all’ for what it is and what it is not.  They do not separate humankind from nature in any form of grandeur.  In short, they look at things the way they really are and not what we would have them be.

Every morning on my walk to the bus, I pass the windows of a shop called Bazar.  They sell imports, womens’ clothing, shoes, etc.  I often look at the dresses on display with an eye for something my wife would like me to surprise her with.  They often have some posters for bands or performances that I assume the owner fancies. 

However, in addition to their normal offerings for eye-candy, they offered something to reflect Barack Obama’s election.  Entitled "a historic night"; it was several large swaths of white paper hanging in the windows.  The hangings, read from left to right were one-line capsules of events, ideas, statements and thoughts from the beginning of the campaign up to election night. 

Yesterday, I wrote about my grandfathers and their contribution during WW2. As I finished it, I realized that it was incomplete – only half of the story. It is all too common that I think of only the soldiers from WW2 first and the families that stayed behind second. Sadly, the legacy of the children and wives of the soldiers consists of far greater numbers than all of the troops that left to fight. The people who stayed behind. They were mothers, fathers, younger brothers and sisters, children and wives.

My two grandmothers stayed behind with their children. The war was not kind or easy for them. For some, their sacrifices continue to this day.