10 Minute Rule

The 1863 Emancipation Proclamation signed into law by Abraham Lincoln served as the legal terminus point for the human slave trade. However, slavery is no game that ends when the buzzer screams. The alienation and dehumanization that it caused lasts to this day. I’m going to use an example that might serve to be an exaggeration. At the very least people will call it that, but I don’t think it is. KTLA anchor Sam Rubin recently interviewed Samuel L. Jackson and quite obviously mistook him for Lawrence Fishburne. Fishburne/Jackson went all BMF on him, calling him out for the mistake and making it clear   he wasn’t about to let it slide.

If you watch the video to the end you’ll see the rest of the news crew having a good laugh about the situation–both in a way that chided their coworker but excused his mistake. The laughter is telling of the situation. This is about them seeing Jackson as a thing vs. an individual deserving of respect. Rubin even tried to backtrack later and claim he never confused Jackson. Clearly that is a lie.

When you create a situation that dehumanizes people, it takes an extremely long time to humanize them again and even longer to treat them like they are the same as you.

 

Some Thoughts:

1. I keep thinking my cat is going to stroll in through the doggie door. She isn’t.

I have to confess: I fell in love with a girl long after I married my wife and since that moment she’s been a part of my life that I wont let go–until now at least. She was a stray on the edge of becoming feral, but she was tiny and cute all the same. I met her at a vet where I was taking my dog for a check up. She was with her brother and the vet couldn’t keep them both. He didn’t have to ask me to take her. I knew straight away she’d be coming home with me. She did, and we spent the next 9 years together. She would have been 10 this year.

I don’t know why or how it happened. The warning signs were there. Tonight my wife to my girl to the vet and she came home alone. Razi’s liver failed and we had to put her to rest. I didn’t have the strength to go to the vet myself. My wife went with our youngest. We didn’t know how bad it was or expect that it would end in euthanasia. He didn’t take it well.

Our family has faced a lot of death over the past few years. We lost a father each of the last two years. Losing a cat is much easier in some ways and harder in others. She was with us every day, so the loss is more immediately realized. It is just a pet, but pets are the ones who love us when no one else cares to. Pets are the ones who curl up on our lap and purr. Pets are the ones who remind us that someone can’t live without us.

Once in a while circumstance reminds us that they can’t live forever.

Somewhere on a snowbank in Russia, a handful of snowboarders are kicking back, smoking weed, and talking about jumping out of helicopters to board some pure white. I’m supposed to care about this and them as part of my patriotic responsibility. I’m supposed to clap for Ashley Wagner and cheer on the tandem of Meryl Davis and Charlie White as they blaze across the ice at Sochi. The only problem is I don’t care. I don’t think I was meant to care either.

I was raised in Harlem, NY. I’m fortunate enough to have a mother who thought beyond the ghetto. She made sure I was educated. She introduced me to chess and tennis. She took me to swimming pools. She tossed me on the ice on more than one occasion, just to give me the experience of doing these activities that a lot of inner city kids never connect with. Like I posted earlier, I didn’t play basketball. I had to find football on my own. She did everything she could to give me an experience that was antithetical to what many (often falsely) associate with as the traditional black experience. Even still, we never skied. The thought of such things didn’t even come up in our house. As a grown man I’ve only snowbarded a handful of times and still have never skied. It cost too much money and was too alien to me.

Skiing–winter sports in general–is something that doesn’t exist in the realms of inner city America. There is a reason why you can count the number of black and hispanic Ice Hockey players on one hand. Unlike soccer, basketball, football, and baseball, inner city youth were not traditionally targeted for hockey or figure skating, or many other of the Winter Olympic sports. I’ve always felt this social distance from those sports, as if they belong to an entirely separate audience–like backgammon and shuffleboard.

if not for my new hero, Shiva Keshavan, and the miniscule number of American athletes like Shani Davis, my interest in the Winter Olympics would be limited to talking trash about Ice Skaters who fall down and an extremely curious fascination with curling. I’m watching because my kids find the flips amazing and maybe out of some residual social programming to connect with my patriotic side and cheer on America in this us vs. them extravaganza. So, we do our duty on some nights. We stay up late and go ooh and ahh and my kids, without being told to do so, anxiously wait the scores of the American team. We are far removed from the inner city now, but we are also far removed from the conditions that would allow us to do any of what these athletes do. Unlike the sports we play, the Winter Olympics is an alien life form and we’re peering down the viewport for a glimpse of how the other half lives.

I put a lot of stock in the idea of universal tides. This is the premise that there are certain things in the universe that are going to happen for whatever reason and you really can’t stop them. The best you can hope for is to be aware of them before they come to pass, so that you are prepared and perhaps insulated. Then again, I’m a bit of a stubborn mule myself. Despite repeated evidence of the futility of the effort, I continue to swim against the tide, or as Wesley Snipes once famously put it, “Ice skate uphill.”

To stay with the Wesley quotes a moment longer, “You either smoke, or you get smoked.” We got smoked today in two age groups. The 6-7 free fall continues with a cavalcade of tears and busted attitudes. 2 straight blow out losses and I’m down to less than five players I can depend on to go out there and give their all if their not up by 3 scores. It was actually worse for the formerly undefeated 8-9 squad who was beaten thoroughly by the best team they’ll see for the rest of their lives: themselves. Errors cost us a game we should  have won by at least two touchdowns. Worse still, it was a loss to a team that I don’t particularly like. Short of the head coach, the coaching staff is mean, demeaning, and should not be around kids at all.

Not even their own.

The sad fact is I saw this loss coming a week in advance and tried everything in my power to change the tide. Nothing worked. Our team was in the best position to win on practically every play and could not perform at all on offense. The drops seemed to ring up in the double digits, and the unforced errors on defense still have a sneer hanging from my lips. Yeah, its kids below the age of 10, but no matter how old you are if you care about something enough to fight that much for it, then it matters.

 

Some Thoughts:

1. Facebook is evil. I mean, what else would you call daily updates of the life you aren’t living and the friends you never get to see?
2. Still pissed off. This may last a while.
3. Shiva Keshavan is my new hero. You shouldn’t–heck, you really cannot–do what he did and still finish the run. #BMF

It occurred to me last night that my basketball game, my fourth of the season, is likely my fourth organized basketball game of all time. I’ve only played two sports at any level of organization–football and baseball. In truth, I’ve coached far more sports than I ever played and what I did play I didn’t play for terribly long. It goes back to a conversation I had with my mid-kid about potential and the expiring-milk-like value therein. We talked about the boy’s raw potential and the fact that he could be extremely good at whatever he wants if he puts in the hours to get good. It made me think about why I didn’t put in the hours. In baseball I put in just enough effort to accomplish my goal–which was taking a roster spot from another kid. In football I put in enough effort to be invited to walk on, and once there invited to stick around, and once injured invited to walk away. It all ties into the relationship between motivation and zone of proximal development (ZPD). See, you got to want something bad enough to fight for it and it has to be close enough in reach that you can do it with assistance.

I remember that sense of knowing every piece of dead weight lifted is working towards the none-too-distant goal of taking someone’s spot on the roster, breaking that next tackle, jumping just a bit higher for the catch, and onward. I also remember how lost and confused I was in that first football practice where everyone else in a 3 mile radius seemed to know exactly what the frack they were doing. I needed help, and our QB picked up on it. He showed me the ropes that first day and then drove me back to the dorm after practice. It was real leadership, but it was also motivation to go back the next day and put in the work to make him successful. I’m starting to feel that sense in basketball, where I recognize where and how I can improve in the sport and I care enough about helping my team that I’ll put in the work.

It can be hard to get to the point where you are wiling to put in the hard work to accomplish your goals. I don’t think Vygotsky felt that it was something people could initially do alone. ZPD tells us that we get the most out of being at a place where we need that help and even that push to get better. In my experience being pushed and even being the pusher, he’s right.

 

 

I’ve had a lot of questions over the past few months about what separates the top writers from the next schlub on the street with an epic writing voice. Stephen King explained this in his memoir, On Writing, and I’ll paraphrase him here: You cannot be a great writer if you aren’t writing constantly. I find that this is much like you cannot be a great athlete if you don’t practice.

Allen Iverson famously detonated his career with this telling rant about practice. He didn’t get that keeping yourself in that routine of doing something makes you absolutely golden when the moment strikes. For writers inspiration comes when it wants to, but inspiration, like chance, favors the prepared mind. Great writers practice all the time. They don’t get trapped by the lulls in writing. They write every day–even if what they produce is garbage. Being able to work through the bad days might be the most important part of the craft.

A longstanding trope, or constantly reoccurring theme, in fantasy and science fiction is the theory of a manasphere. This is a place of magic where practitioners can draw power to cast their spells. Although it is magic, there is a cost-benefit logic in place. What you draw from the manasphere either comes from somewhere, damages you in someway, or both. My current novel project tackles this idea head on in a world living with magic and trying to rationalize the role that religion plays therein. Without using the scientific terms in-text, I’m pushing the theory that quantum entanglement exists on a grand scale, and that each of us have within ourselves a ‘God region’ that if triggered, houses the idea of a higher power and serves as a conduit between us and the people who can access those conduits in order to pull energy from what many writers refer to as the manasphere.

When someone says, ‘I’m praying for you’ what does it mean? I’ve always taken that to mean that they are attempting to channel energy from themselves to you. The effects of this  supposedly increase as the number of people praying for you increase. Why? One way to rationalize this is the idea that people do have a part of their brains that allow them to rationalize faith and to gather will to steel themselves and or aid others. As we are all linked  (entanglement), perhaps on some fundamental level these areas of the brain constitute a shared sphere of belief that one can access if they have sufficient training and belief themselves.

Its a working theory.

Some Thoughts:

1. If the last post didn’t tip my hand enough, I don’t like Fox News. I think the idea of news network that slants the story and even facts to reflect what its administration believes its audience wants to hear about a particular story is dangerous. We start entering into a realm where the ‘truth’ is relative to our fixed political position. I stopped watching CNN almost entirely, because the slant was to a ratings position–they tell the story they think most viewers want to watch. It is the dictionary definition of sensationalism. I’ll leave MSNBC out of it, because the channel is unwatchable regardless of your political affiliation. At least Fox is compelling. They aren’t NY1 or PBS, but they get you riled up and interested in a story–that ends up being an exaggeration and at times a straight up lie.

One of those nights where a myriad of thoughts are running through my head. I figure I might as well get right to it.

1. The magic of Fox News has managed to pin the entirety of the Bush-era NSA spying situation on Obama. For some reason the station would like us to believe that these policies are rooted in an incumbent president’s socialist need to control the world and not the result of a nation reeling from a major terrorist attack nearly 13 yrs ago. Check the timeline link above. I’m pretty sure Obama wasn’t in office when this stuff began.
2. Say what you will about the president’s continuations of the policy, but Snowden is no hero. Since when did exposing national secrets and putting the nation’s security apparatus at risk worthy of a Peace Prize?
3. Budweiser’s Best Buds commercial remains a shining light in an otherwise disappointing Super Bowl commercial fest. Sure, there may have been a commercial or two that hit hard on the social unity of the nation (coke did it), pissing off Fox News in the process, but I’ve long held that the role (and thus audience) of these commercials is comical. How many people are even sober watching the show from home?
4. Vampire Academy? Really? Its like Ender’s Game with teeth.
5. I love my classes more this semester than in a long time. Usually there is a class or two that carries me happily through the semester. This semester every class is a hit. Part of it is me–I’m trying new things and I’m excited about learning from the students as much as I am about teaching them. This may be the key to staying excited about the work.

A recent NPR report by Tom Goldman spoke to the sometimes devastating injuries that can come from a kid playing youth sports. This article/newscast is one of many that speaks to the negative impact of youth sports on the body. Goldman writes that specializing in youth sports at an early age leads to back problems that can sideline the kids for months or even permanently. Goldman isn’t the first to show us the research-based statistics of how physical activity can hurt kids. This article on Brain Trauma is one in a forest of scholarly reports on the ills of tackle football. The articles seeks to raise awareness and, in some instances, warn parents off of sports like football and hockey. I get it. We want to keep our kids safe, but I also feel like we cannot keep them safe no matter what we try to do. There is always going to be some activity, or food, or weather condition, or airborne pathogen, or close contact situation, etc that poses a dramatic risk to us. This utter lack of safety is a fact of life, and the moment we cave to the fear is the moment we stop living to the fullest.

My neighborhood makes an old-school New Yorker like me laugh out loud. My small town Iowan wife is obsessed with locking the doors and windows at night in order to ensure that burglars won’t waltz into our house undetected. I support this mild level of paranoia, but from time to time I have to rib her by reminding her that we live in a neighborhood where everyone in a 3 mile radius has glass doors on the back of their houses and glass windows  without bars on the first floor. These same people tend to have 50-90 inch flat screen TVs only inches away from those glass doors and windows. If a burglar wanted to take advantage of a situation they’d have their pick of homes across the state of Arizona. Of course, some of those home owners might have guns, but so will a good crook, so we’re suddenly in a deadly shootout in the middle of suburban USA. Its a ridiculous speculatory leap, but no more ridiculous than the idea that we are absolutely made safe by turning a lock one direction or the other on a flimsy port of entry. In all aspects of life we are pushed towards action (or inaction) by fear. Because we are afraid, we seek to find a situation where we can create the illusion of safety.

At some point each of us have to accept that life is a one-way train ticket with risks of departure at every stop along the way. That shouldn’t stop us from taking the ride and enjoying all that life has to offer. There are warnings in the air about everything we do, but the warnings should be telling us how to be aware and to manage the risk as opposed to telling us to stop living all together. The cessation of life will come soon enough, but if you haven’t lived before it happened then losing life won’t even matter.

 

Some Thoughts:

1. This past weekend I watched a few of my players beat themselves up and insult themselves. I’m still struggling to come to grips with this behavior. I feel like they are working so hard to please not only themselves but someone else. These are players who don’t necessarily have the physical skills to excel at the game of flag football the way my team plays it. These are exactly the kids I write about when I write about finding a way to get everyone involved and put them in a position to succeed. At first I thought maybe I was a part of the reason why they beat themselves up. Next I looked to my players who, like most kids, are harsh when a teammate isn’t living up to the high expectations they set for themselves. Finally, I looked at a combination of factors–including the parents. I still think it is my job to put them in a position to succeed, but if they don’t succeed I realize now that it is up to myself, the team, and the parents to make them feel like making the effort towards success is enough for us. After all, it is enough for me as their coach.
2. WTF, Broncos? I mean, seriously?

In these rare moments I find myself smiling about the crazy uncertainties of life. A few days ago I said in no uncertain terms that the Broncos were going to take the Superbowl. File that under things I thought I knew but actually had no idea. 43-8 is a shockingly different outcome from what I expected. Sadly (and strangely) there was a moment early on when they flashed on the Offensive Coordinator and he had this look on his face–the same look I had the other day in the game I was coaching and lost handily. Clearly we aren’t talking about the same stakes or the same level but we are talking about the same sense. In that instant that coach recognized that his players wouldn’t be able to do a single thing he wanted to do on offense, because the guys on the other side had that something special working for them and his guys absolutely did not. This feeling is akin to despair and is very tough to shake. In truth it can be a contagion as you saw it transfer through the entire offensive coaching staff and emboldened the defensive play calling. To paraphrase Coach Dennis Allen, They are who we thought they were.

Now comes the next steps. In a video game you hardly get the chance to celebrate before you are resigning restricted free agents and making flight plans for the annual rookie combine. Real life is starting to look like a video game thanks to the tons of media coverage that every aspect of the off season gets. Now is the hour of our discontent, if you are a Broncos family member. In this time of defeat and dejection, you now have to figure out how to hold on to the talent that got you this far. With Decker already announcing plans for free agency, holding on to the core people might be hard to do.