For Tim

I recently read a short essay by Jeffrey Cramer, curator of collections at The Thoreau Institute at Walden Woods, called The Toad Not Taken. In part, it talks about our willingness, or more often our unwillingness, to help others without first weighing the consequences of what such actions would mean for ourselves. Often when we read something we really like we immediately think of others who would equally appreciate the experience of having read it - and, more importantly, thinking about it. When I read this essay I thought of my buddy Tim who has been away for a while - helping. Tim, this passage reminds me so much of you as a teacher, a parent, and a person. I'm going to share it in hopes that you will enjoy it too.

*****
There were no cries. There was no noise but the occasionally frantic fluttering of wings. Voiceless, so as not to attract predators, it struggled in the net. How long it had been there, I did no know, but by the way its right leg was completely immobilized by the twisting of the net and some of the netting had entrapped part of its left leg, its wing, and tail, it had to have been there a while.

Our neighbors were away for the weekend, and while Julia and I were outside playing with Kazia, we noticed a bird caught in their downed volleyball net. I went over to take a close look. By the time we found it, it would struggle only when it suspected danger. As I approached, it began a frantic attempt to escape, jumping, flapping one wing, with each useless push away from me only succeeding in further tightening the net's grip.

Slowly I wrapped my hand around it. In my hand it stopped struggling. With one finger Kazia stroked its head. It was one of those brief moments, rarely offered, when she might be able to make contact with, no touch, a free and natural creature. It was not domesticated, it was not caged, and it allowed her, by not struggling or showing fear, to touch it. She touched it, unknowing of the gift offered her, and I knew that it would soon be forgotten in the days to come.

We knew we couldn't untangle the net enough to free it. Do we dare cut our neighbors' net? Would the bird live if we did? Its right leg seemed immobile, perhaps broken. If it had to die, wouldn't it be better to leave it there for our neighbors to find, to teach them what carelessly leaving this net on the ground can do? And if we did leave the bird there to die, plainly in view of our dining room window, what kind of lesson were we teaching our children?

I began to tell her that no matter how hard we might try, we would not be able to get the bird out of the net, that sometimes we can't help no matter how much we want to, that things die. We walked away.

I knew I was calculating the cost of a new net against the life of this bird, the destruction of our neighbors' property, however small and replaceable, with the saving of another kind of neighbor, small and irreplaceable. It seemed hypocritical to give money to save a whale, save a rainforest, save the planet, and not be willing to do something in a more tangible way. I knew I was doing something incalculably wrong by walking away.

At home we called a local department store to find out the price of a new volleyball net. They quoted us $15. Would we pay $15 to save the life of one bird? We didn't even know what kind of bird it was.

We got out the guidebook. A juvenile European starling. A descendant of one, actually of two, of one hundred starlings - sixty one year, followed by another forty the year after - introduced in New York City a century ago. Very adaptive, these immigrants made a strong foothold in North America, increasing more than a millionfold. Considered  pests by some, these birds are here to stay.

I know of a woman who has done much for helping bluebirds, but she does this at the expense of other birds. She has no qualms about destroying a starling's nest because they are interlopers, nonnatives who have taken over the habitat of bluebirds and others. When I heard her calmly tell of destroying these nests to protect her chosen species, I was indignant. Who made her the savior of the bluebird, and what savior has the right to bless with one hand and smite with the other? It was easy for me to ask, "Who did she think she was who could say which species could live and which could die?" Now I had to ask, "Who did we think we were?"

It seems a fact, on that we as a species should be ashamed of, that helping is no longer an instinct, that it is something we must think out and plot the costs and the consequences of. We rarely reach out to help without considering the most far-reaching repercussions. We are unwilling to take responsibility for actions that may not, in the final analysis, bring about the beneficial solution we desired. We have become unwilling to be wrong, and so, in many cases, we have simply become unwilling to respond, period - to other creatures, to other people, to ourselves, to our children.

We went back, scissors in hand. We put twenty dollars in an envelope with an apologetic note and slipped it into our neighbors' mailbox. The starling struggled again as we approached but quickly calmed in my hand. I held it as my wife cut and unwrapped pieces of netting until, with a push of its legs, the starling leapt from my hand and flew away. I longed for some Disney-esque ending in which, free at last, the starling would look back, tilting its head in comprehension, before flying away - some anthropomorphic sense of gratitude. Instead, it disappeared quickly, with a no-nonsense, self-preserving efficiency that in itself was a joy to watch.

Hooked on Vegas - NOT

Tricia and I recently spent a long weekend in Las Vegas at a teachers conference. While I can't say either of us have ever had any real desire to visit Vegas it was interesting to see what's there - basically, a lot of flashing lights, ringing bells, cigarette smoke, and shows of every sort. In our hotel alone there was Cirque du Soleil, David Copperfield, The Eagles, and a comedy club. Add to this the dozen or more restaurants in the hotel alongside high-priced boutiques and other specialty stores and you now have a general idea of how busy it is in just one of the more than one hundred hotels and casinos that call Las Vegas home.

After our meetings Tricia and I took to the streets to see what else Vegas held. We found replicas of both the Statue of Liberty and Eiffel Tower, an elaborate fountain show outside the Bellagio, and a Truman Show-like experience inside the Venetian that transported you to the streets of Venice with restaurants, storefronts, canals, and even cloudy skies. Someone quipped "This is even better than Venice, Italy. It's cleaner and more authentic."

On one of the street corners we were subjected to a crazed religious fanatic as we waited for the light to change. "DO YOU GIVE YOUR SOUL TO OUR LORD SAVIOR?" he shouted into our ears. "BE NOT TEMPTED BY THE FALSE RICHES OF THIS LIFE MY CHILDREN. FOR YOUR LORD IN HEAVEN IS ALL THINGS..." At one point he asked the couple next to us if they would denounce their Lord and Savior. Without hesitation the woman nodded her said and said, "Yeah, I would." We all laughed. It wasn't so much that his religion was offensive as was the way in which he circled around everyone shouting into their ears. He reminded me of a woman I once encountered on the New York City subway.

By far, my least favorite part of the walk down the strip was the dozens of men wearing "GIRLS, GIRLS, GIRLS" t-shirts. It was their job to snap the corners of  cards at you as you passed and then attempt to force the cards into your hand. These business cards were advertisements for prostitutes and it did not matter if you were holding your wife's hand and surrounded by two or three other women - they would still try to give you a card.

As if the cards weren't enough there were other modes of advertisement. Some people would walk around with a sign strapped to their back...

Even more bold were the trucks that would drive up and down the strip promising twenty minute delivery. Ugh!

I obviously knew prostitution was legal in LV. However, I guess I didn't realize it was thrust into your face at nearly every turn. My idea of prostitutes had always come from movies. You know...meth addicts, crack heads, etc. These girls DID NOT look like that. It made me wonder if in Las Vegas prostitution has it's own booth at the local high school job and college fairs. Should any of us be surprised? I Googled to see what prostitutes in LV make and my thorough research (the first site I clicked on) found that they get about $500/hr in the earliest parts of the evening but drop their asking prices to $250 - $300 later as there are fewer potential clients. Prostitutes can pull in about $150,000 a year if they are "successful."

Las Vegas is bizarre. Over the past few years it's been trying to do more to appeal to families. While we did see a few there I can't imagine taking our kids any time soon.

Or, more realistically - EVER.

Yosemite - Nine Months Out

I never intended to turn this blog into a place for posting videos yet here I go again. In my defense...I really like these videos AND I'm crazy busy right now writing an assortment of things for school.

So, here's a great little video highlighting how breathtakingly beautiful Yosemite is. The song, Almost There, is one of my newest favorites by a band out of California named Opus Orange.

Enjoy.

Thank You, Phil Snider

This is Missouri Pastor Phil Snider making an argument in front of the Springfield City Council regarding gay rights. Though you might wonder, at first, why I have posted this I beg of you to watch the whole thing. You'll find out!

Campaign Slogans

"We Polked you in '44, We Shall Pierce you in '52"

How's that for a political campaign slogan? That gem is old-school, coming from the Franklin Pierce for President campaign back in 1852. Bad violent puns must have been quite the rage given that Pierce went on to win the election and become the 14th president of the United States.

Jump ahead 160 years and you'll find that bad campaign slogans are still somewhat commonplace. Since Pierce's day we've been subjected to these...

In Your Heart You Know He's Right (Goldwater)
Not Just Peanuts (Carter)
Real Plans for Real People (W.)
Let America Be America Again (Kerry)
How About Ross for Boss? (Perot)
Country First (McCain)
Forward. (Obama)

These slogans are rather meaningless. They say nothing. This time of year there are political signs on nearly every corner. While the presidential race may garner all the attention let us not forget all those folks running for less glamorous offices such as school board, county clerk, and - my favorite - comptroller. The folks running for these offices are not only complete unknowns but the majority of the population probably has little to no idea what a school board member, county clerk, or comptroller does.

Still, these low level politician wanna-bes have to rely on snappy signs to grab our attention. I noticed this one the other day as I was on a walk.

That's right...Carrie Suber O'Neal not only makes the claim "I make a difference," but also offers her belief in "Educating every child academically."

What does that even mean? Isn't this kind of the expectation already?

But this wasn't even the best sign I saw on my walk. No, the best sign belonged to Kamau Marcharia who is running for a post on the Fairfield County Council. What is the slogan he has crafted to win such a pivotal election?

"Without a vision we perish."

I guess I had somehow failed to realize that our entire existence relied upon the race for Fairfield County Council District Four. I guess we can no longer say we weren't warned.