For Whom The Bell Tolls

The sermon by John Donne of so many years ago has been ringing in my head lately. The entire sermon can be found online and is a great read. But the part of that sermon that is most famous I'll copy here and explain:
No man is an island,
Entire of itself.
Each is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manner of thine own
Or of thine friend's were.
Each man's death diminishes me,
For I am involved in mankind.
Therefore, send not to know
For whom the bell tolls,
It tolls for thee.

In politics it is common to preach to the masses that something (taxes, abortion, war) is evil and addressing it will be painless to most. This timeless poem should serve as a reminder that no action can be taken that does not affect me, and each of you.

To demand a sacrifice money from the few is to demand a sacrifice of all. Ours is a great and generous country and were it possible to hand the poorest in the country a few hundred, or even a few thousand, dollars to remove them from their poverty it would have been done already. There is no shortage of charities in our country that are dedicated to helping those who need help. (Here is my favorite. Ask me if you'd like to know why.) So it is disingenuous to pretend that raising taxes on 5% of the population will solve the problem of poverty in our country. It is disingenuous to pretend that such a hike will not afflict the other 95% in loss of industriousness or other means. It is disingenuous to pretend that something can happen to anyone in society and not affect society as a whole.

We desperately need to help our brothers who can't help themselves. We need better education programs. We need better health programs. We need better understanding that equality for all doesn't mean all are equal. It means all have equal worth and need a chance to succeed. What we desperately don't need is a big brother government that believes that wealth redistribution will of itself solve all our great countries problems.

I'll close with a bit of cheesiness and borrow from Mr. Donne.
Each man's tax increase diminishes me,
For I am involved in mankind.
Therefore, send not to know
For whom the tax increases,
It increases for thee.

What Is Your Price?

I don't think any of us thinks we, or our sacred vote, are for sale. Any politician who suggested as much could kiss his career good-bye. And yet, that is precisely what we see happening in this year's presidential election.
One candidate is offering 44% of Americans money for their vote. He wraps it up in the form of tax cuts. But these Americans don't pay income taxes. They do pay payroll taxes, which funds Social Security, and this "tax cut" is to offset the payroll tax. And yes, you are right. If we take money out of government to offset Social Security taxes something is going to have to happen to the Social Security program.
This would all be paid for by raising taxes on only 5% of individuals. Never mind the Robbing Hood syndrome (covered in a previous post). That only addresses individual taxes. It is well known that liberals view capitalism and business as the great enemy. You can count on a few things, based on recent history. 1) Business will have their taxes increased. 2) Environmentalists will be given a free hand at reorganizing economic development. 3) Lawyers will be given a free hand in tort cases against business. 4) Business will find it advantageous to relocate to other countries where tax policy and environmental policy is not so onerous.
So for $500 dollars 44% of Americans can sell their vote to Obama. In return, they get job insecurity and a doubtful future for Social Security. 51% of Americans can sell their vote for a promise (from a politician) not to have their taxes raised.
So back to the title question: what is your vote worth to you?

I learned to fish

My family is split, politically speaking. Some of us are right, and some aren't. I've been giving the differences a lot of thought lately and I believe I understand the fundamental differences between us.
Dad always taught us to treat others with respect, dignity and as we'd want to be treated. He never used words like oppression to explain his thoughts, but over time we understood them. Those manners stuck with us and in large part shaped our political views, and led to our political differences.
Those of us who are right believe in fairness, dignity and respect for everyone; rich and poor, young and old, every color in the rainbow. However, we reject the oppression of a biased social agenda that, to borrow the phrase, "hands out fishes" rather than "teaching to fish." We have all lived, to varying degrees, in poverty during our lifetimes. We are nearly all out of poverty, thanks in part to the social programs that taught us to fish, like student loans.
So when a political party comes along claiming it is fair to take more money from one group to give it to others in a "fish redistribution" program those of us who are right have a problem with that. We understand that the unspoken corollary to this scheme is that as the poor elevate their economic position in society, they will be punished. Their hard work and studying of fishing techniques will inevitably lead them to fish while someone else takes advantage of their hard work.
Having lived in poverty we all know the personal gratification that comes along with succeeding and pulling ourselves out. We wish to extend this same satisfaction to others and sincerely hope everyone can improve their status through hard work, initiative and education. We reject the oppressive schemes that seek to maintain a large portion of America in "its place" by encouraging less ambition and less effort.

The price of tea in China

Texas tea, that is, black gold. I've been thinking a lot about it lately. For one, my retirement account is doing well because I've shifted a lot of weight over to commodities as the price of oil has skyrocketed. I've also been thinking about it a lot because there is a lot of groaning on behalf of "the common man" by politicians in Washington.

The groaning coming out of Washington has sounded to me like a lot of people want to have their cake and eat it too. In a nod to environmentalists, Bill Clinton closed the ANWR to oil drilling. (Oil was trading in the $20-30 at the time.) ANWR is still closed and no one in Washington wants to talk about opening it to drilling. Instead, the politicians want to complain about Middle Eastern countries limiting their production, oil companies reaping huge profits, and the common man paying more.

Let's take a look at the economics of it all and logic of it all for a moment. First, demand for oil has risen dramatically. I know most people don't take macro economics in college, so as a primer for those people, I'll point out that when demand increases and supply remains constant, prices increase with demand. The world's production capacity is already near capacity, and is also largely regulated by OPEC. Since existing production is at capacity and demand is increasing there are only two alternatives: increase potential production or deal with rising prices.

There is only one way America can influence increasing potential production, and that is to increase drilling in its own oil fields. America's current oil fields where production can increase are in the Gulf of Mexico and ANWR. Our politicians don't want to risk the environment by drilling in these places (I don't want to harm the environment either) so they won't open them up for drilling. Since they aren't willing to take responsibility for increasing potential supply, they should take responsibility for increasing prices.

And this is why I hate politicians in Washington. They will neither take responsibility for increasing supply nor increasing prices. It is all a happy little political game to them to point across the aisle and blame it on the other side. There is no price the common man can pay that is too high for a politician to reap a political reward. The pols will cry and pretend to "feel our pain" but will walk to their back rooms and plot how to gain from our misfortune.

I can't blame to oil companies. They would love to increase the production of gasoline so they could reap even greater profits. However, they can't build new refineries. It seems there are laws against building new refineries and new ones haven't been built in decades. So, once again, supply of gasoline remains constant, or even reduced because of needs to bring refineries offline for maintenance. Does this sound familiar to the oil story? It should.

The reason we are paying more for a gallon of gasoline is political. Our politicians won't allow drilling in America (something that would pay the American government in oil revenue, by the way), won't allow for increased production of gas and offers no alternatives. They raise obstacles at every turn to reducing what we pay for gas, and pretend to "feel our pain." I am not going to tell anyone how to vote this November, but if you are voting, be sure you know what you are voting for. Know what issues are most important to you and be willing to accept responsibility for your vote. Unlike politicians, you can't have your cake and eat it too.

Lost in Translation

When I lived in Brazil I went to buy some eggs one time. I had been in country over a year and had been complemented on my ability to speak the language without an American accent. So I went to the poultry store and asked for a carton of eggs. The clerk had seen me walk in and looked at me as I asked. His response was something like "We have some chicken breast." I looked at him a second, and repeated my request. He looked around, fidgeted and said "We have some chicken breast." This happened a third time, with him backing away from the counter to produce said chicken breast. At this point, the cashier, who had apperently overheard the entire thing despite attending to her duties, informed the young man that I had asked for a carton of eggs and what was so hard to understand about that?
The young man had seen me, a white gingo looking guy, and assumed I would speak the local language poorly. He assumed he wouldn't be able to understand me and had convinced himself of as much before I even opened my mouth. I had done something similar one time. A van passed by playing loud music. My companion asked me what was said and I informed my companion I hadn't understood a single word. I wondered what language the music was in. He told me it was English. I listened again and indeed, it was an Elton John song, in English. I was expecting something else and was unprepared for a language I already spoke fluently.
I think we do that entirely too often. We decide before the event that we won't succeed, and then make it happen. I was reminded of this during the past week. I asked my father in law what he wanted from a fast food chain. He told me he wanted a burger with cheese. I asked if he'd like a combo, and he responded negatively. I asked Grace what she wanted, and expected "chicken" or "hamburger." Instead she answered with a word I'd never heard her utter. I asked her again and she repeated the same answer, playing with her toy like she expected me to understand her. When I asked my father in law what he had heard her say, he replied "combo?" By golly, that is exactly what she was saying. She wanted a combo. It was a really cute event. But serves to illustrate the point of setting expectations.
I hope we can all approach every situation with a positive mentality to understand, and the patience to make it happen.

What, not how

As I made a late night trip to the store tonight, I listened to a show on CNBC. Mike Rowe, of Dirty Jobs fame, was a guest talking about what I surmised to be a book of his. The host read what sounded like titles to chapters, all of which sounded like platitudes. Some were quite funny, but one struck a chord and I thought I'd share it with all.
The title was "Think about what you are doing, not how." He recounted being a music student and flubbing a piece in a concert and hearing his teacher tell him to concentrate on what he was doing, not how. It struck me that is the secret to my methods for public speaking, although I'd never put it into words as eloquent as those. And though it is a simple thought, it is one that most do not seem able to grasp.
Most people seem to approach public speaking worried about how they are going to appear to others. So gripped are they by the fear they will be perceived foolish that they lose the ability to be natural, and thus cause their very fears to come true. Once naturalness is lost the person is forced to fit themselves into an imagined persona and they become the laughing stock they were so trying to avoid. Don't believe me? Try this experiment. Find a voice recorder and record yourself saying something. Then listen back. I'll bet you try to sound like a radio personality. You drop your vocal tone a couple octaves and put on your suave voice. And when you listen to it, you will recognize how ridiculous you sounded trying to sound cool and normal.
This brings to mind the old adage, pride goeth before the fall. It also brings to mind something I was told when I was learning a foreign language. I was told I was bound to make 10,000 mistakes before I could be considered fluent, so I might as well get started and get them out of the way as soon as possible. How does this tie in? Simple, when I ignored the spectre of making a mistake in front of someone else and concentrated on what I was doing I was free to learn. Then, I was free to speak.
Public speaking doesn't necessarily mean making a speech. It can be any activity that requires one to interact verbally with others. It can be telling a joke to friends, or calling out a play in the huddle. So remember to concentrate on what you are doing, there will be time after you are done to guage how you did. This is the best way to break free of the bonds that bind your tongue.

The Greatest Show Ever

When I was a kid I remember watching the Harlem Globetrotters on ABC's Wide World of Sports. I thought they were the greatest basketball team to ever step foot on the hallowed hardwoods. Why, I wondered, didn't this team turn pro? Surely they would win every single NBA championship! Just look how they handily defeat the Washington Generals!
Many years have passed since ABC uttered that memorable phrase, "the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat." I have learned much about life, and sports, in that time. Sports continue to be a metaphor for life. Some sports are real, unaltered by greed and commercialism. Some "sports" aren't at all, WWE comes to mind. From this we can learn that there is real and imaginary in nearly everything we encounter.
We took the kids to see the Globetrotters this weekend. It was great entertainment. The Washington Generals continue to be the worst team in professional sports. (They are even worse than the Miami Heat!) Water is still thrown on the audience and there are laughs aplenty. There isn't any good basketball, but lots of outstanding dunks. As long as your expectations are set, there is a good time to be had.

Life as Shirley Temple

There has, it seems, always been a societal fascination with curly, blond hair. I think it must have started with little Shirley Temple. That little girl captured everyone's attention during the Great Depression for being cute and adorable. I think that fascination carries over to this day.
I can think of no other reason for the attention Grace gets out in public. In South Texas I could have explained it in a cultural way. The culture there is predominantly hispanic and blond hair is an oddity. Consequently it draws much attention and in order to ward off the "evil eye" people who have admired something about someone else (hair) will touch it to keep the owner from getting "evil eye." Ok, I understand the sociological phenomena there.
I'd like to understand the phenomena here. Where we take Grace out in public we invariably gets comments from complete strangers about her hair. I really can't find an explanation in the local culture to explain this. What drives people to stop us in the mall, at the store, on the sidewalk and comment on how pretty her hair is? It can only be a nostalgia for the "good old days" of the Great Depression. Those movies of that adorable girl that made everyone forget about the quotidian worries. Those same feelings must be invoked when someone sees Grace's hair. As her parents, we know full well that, while our little angel, she has her less than angelic moments.
I wouldn't trade her for anything, and I want her to experience as much as possible. But I'd like for her to grow up and not dislike something about herself, like her hair.

When is enough enough?

Most parents have already discovered that their kids have a way of helping them discover depths of patience and sacrifice they didn't realize they had. Heaven knows my parents discovered patience and sacrifice at the hands of myself, and siblings. I, as single me, always thought I'd impose my iron will on my kids and shape them as a sword smith shapes his pieces. Now it is I who is feels in the fire and getting pummeled.
Tonight is an example. I got it in my mind that I would make each of my kids a birthday cake for their birthday. I might use a molded pan, but I would do the decorating. My mom did that for us and I always thought it a nice touch. I got a great start with Grace's first birthday cake. I did a molded Winnie the Pooh. For her second birthday she got a molded Lightning McQueen. Today is Noah's birthday and I was going to use the Lightning cake pan to do his cake. Then we made a 3 hour round trip for a soccer game. Couple the trip with dinner and a game and most of the day was spent. This is reason enough to skip the nobility and succumb to a store bought cake, right?
Well, let's project a few years into the future. Noah is 4-5 and looking at his birthday pictures and notes his 1st cake is store bought, unlike his sisters. He looks at me and inquires, with big, round saucer-like eyes, why it is that he isn't special like his sister. I, being me, will have forgotten we made a day trip to Raleigh and won't have a good excuse. (By the way, that isn't really a good excuse to a 4-5 year old.) Let's face it, there won't be words in human tongue to reassure that little boy.
Back to the present. It is midnight. There lies asleep a boy who would rather eat paper than cake. But I can't look into his eyes in the future and try to explain away his feelings of inferiority that his sister got Daddy's special cakes while he got the supermarket special. The cake tonight might now look like a msterpiece in the morning, but it will be a Daddy special.

Nature vs. nurture

I have been meaning to blog about this for a while, but every time I start I lose the thought track. I really enjoy sports. I don't know when it started. Maybe it started on an October day in 1970 simply as a matter of being born male. Maybe there are other reasons. (Yes, I dare to resurrect nature vs. nurture. Feel free to weigh in.) When we lived in San Diego I recall attending two sporting events. One was a football game. I think it was BYU vs. SDSU. The other was a Padres baseball game. While I don't recall who won either game I do recall having a great time. And maybe that is why I love sports, because sports equate with fun in my mind to way back.
I think I have managed to pass that along to my daughter. My in-laws have season tickets to the local ACC basketball team and have invited us on several occasions. The first time we took Grace (and she was old enough to experience it) she was a little scared and intimidated at first. But as the game developed she soaked in the atmosphere and a metamorphosis began. She went from scared and can't let go of dad to dancing on dad's lap during songs. Now, she is a fiend! She can't wait to see the next game. She wakes up most mornings and wants to see the deacon. She constantly sings the fight song or asks for it to be played on a computer. And at the game she is UNPLUGGED! She runs up and down the aisle when she can. She dances like a dervish to whatever music is playing. She can't recite most of the alphabet in order, but if you ask her what WF is, or if she sees it on a shirt, she will answer, "WF - Wake Forest Deacons!"
She might grow out of it one day. I hope not. I have too much fun with her at the games. I can act like she does (and to be honest I want to act like she does) and everyone thinks I'm doing it because of her. Maybe one day I'll be in the stands cheering her on (or being threatened to be ejected by an overly sensitive soccer ref) and I'll look back on these games and say she was nurtured into it. Maybe she got it from her old man. Either way, we are having a great time dancing and screaming at the games and I'm riding that wave like a champion surfer!
March is almost here...SURF'S UP!!!