Funny how the things we take for granted, or fail to fully appreciate, later become the things that give life shape and texture. I will never forget the first time I saw Phil & The Blanks. It was at a club called the "U Club" in Norman, OK and I think it was the grand opening. It was like stepping into a John Hughes film, before that was an iconic place to be. A good friend had been telling me about this club and the band that would be performing there. It was within walking distance (not that we ever actually walked) of my apartment. Not really sure what the atmosphere would be, I was not sure whether my dance shoes would be needed or more laid back attire, to watch a live band. It turned out to be the latter, but that was an easily forgotten side-note to many incredible nights.
The atmosphere started right at the front door, where I saw my first faux-hawk. This combination of a Mohawk and some sort of curl (which I will resist the temptation to characterize) was pretty impressive to this Oklahoma City kid. My imagination had not yet ventured beyond bland Afro or a clean-shaved head. Keep in mind, this is the 1980's and I am talking about a black guy with Flock of Seagulls-styled hair. Not many people could pull that off. This doorman did it with ease.
Who had the audacity to open a night club on the east side of Norman? Slightly farther away from the OU college campus than seemed practical and, because it was in the opposite direction from the interstate, seemingly in an odd spot for a night club. Not sure what to expect, both my friend and I played it safe with basic Harold's attire.
Harold's was a mens clothier, on campus corner at the University of Oklahoma , the likes of which seems impossible to find in 2013. It was required living (for many OU students and former students) in the 1980's. From my first time inside this store, I thought it would be a part of my life forever. Two words: "Shut" "Up". Who would have thought? A clothier where a person could be measured and tailored to fit, on the corner of a college campus. What's more, they offered bottled Coca-cola to their customers, at no extra charge. Really, they could have offered a 100 level college course in fashion basics. I had finally found a place, where seemingly anything from the fashion pages of GQ could be obtained. I mean, who knew that wool came in light, medium, and winter weights? Not I! Who knew that the plaid patterns actually had names, like tartan, glen, and my personal favorite, black-watch? I was very familiar with the characteristics of cotton; washable and low maintenance. But I was not aware that other fabrics, like rayon and linen, had pros and cons too. Most important, who knew that buying higher quality clothing meant that 25 years later, I would still have some of this clothing around (and as comfortable as ever). Someone should have offered an entry level course in this stuff, Harold's 101. I took it, but my transcript never seemed to show my credits.
Pardon my digression. As I was saying, Harold's attire was a safe bet for most things and this night club was no exception. Denim shirts, dress pants, and Cole Haan shoes seemed to be the order of this and many nights to come. My friend and I were both safely adorned with the correct attire on many such nights, but I took pride in venturing off the map from time to time. Nothing like mixing in some brightly colored plaid pants to bring out those looks that seemed to say, "who is this clown"? (See Andre 3000 on the interior cover of the Speakerboxx album).
Truth be told, I took a peek or two at the front door, trying to see who this guy was with the confidence to wear a faux-hawk. I would later find out that he was a Norman High graduate, who was friends not only with the club owner and band, but with a large number of what became "the regulars". While the doorman was cool, at least in my book, the show-stopper on this night would be the most understated band I had seen to this point in my young life. With a name like Phil & The Blanks, I was fully prepared to be underwhelmed. When they took the stage, dressed like everyone else in the club, I expected a dud. Instead, I was treated to a night of songs from beyond my own expanded repertoire. I would later find that most of these songs were not originals, as I had thought, but were from European bands, some of whom I was not yet familiar. Songs with lyrics that could and did take me to places far beyond the fours walls of the "U Club". As someone who had loved music for as long as I could remember, it was an unbelievable experience to hear mellow songs in succession that lulled the crowd, and me, into a non-drug-induced state of chill-laxed. Okay, maybe we weren't quite chill-laxed in the 80's, but the music was.
Later this same year, I would be treated to the Dallas, TX version of our little club, complete with unisex bathrooms and people who fully appreciated the Robert Smith character before I knew he existed. On this night, however, I would happily settle for the lyrics and riffs of some of my future favorites:
"say goodbye on a night like this
if its the last thing we ever do
you never looked as lost as this
sometimes it doesn't even look like you
It goes dark, it goes darker still
please stay
and I watch you like I'm made of stone
as you walk away"
At a time when hard hitting riffs seemed to be the order of the day, epicurean and esoteric lyrics quickly became my preference. Songs that left me wondering if the meaning I found was the intended meaning of the writer. Apparently, I was not the only one who felt this way, because the original songs from the band seemed to follow this same quirky style and there was no shortage of applause when each song ended. Songs with relaxing rhythms and dramatic lyrics seemed to flow all night from a 4/5 piece band, which included a keyboard on songs that required one.
"bring on the dancing horses
headless and all alone
shiver and say the words
to every lie you've heard
first I'm gonna make it
then I'm gonna break it till it falls apart
hating all the faking
and I'm shaking
while I'm breaking your brittle heart"
Somewhere in my mind, there was a world where it would be possible to live in this space and time forever. Three point two was the number that opened the door to that world, on this night. Once inside, I was forced to confront a reality that still remains true to this day, at least for me. Sometimes a bar stool and a band were as good as life got. A place where the music captured more than riffs and lyrics and atmosphere. A place where common bonds are easily forged through shared amazement with uncommon vocal talent or good lyrics over great music. Most importantly, a place where people, including myself, let their guards down just long enough to find the good in the person on the next bar stool (or sofa, when those seats were available). If only we could somehow capture these moments and sprinkle them into the monotony that would surely return with the coming days lectures, test, and homework. What would it be like to venture onto the other end of the pen that wrote lyrics describing the great escape that we had found, but could only manage to capture for a few fleeting moments on nights like this.
" I was on the outside when you said
you said you needed me
I was looking at myself
I was blind, I could not see
A boy tries hard to be a man
his mother takes him by the hand
If he stops to think, he starts to cry
oh why?"
For this semester, The "U Club" was our escape into music. Our tour guide was Phil & The Blanks, who would remain on the scene well after the "U Club" vanished. Lesson: Some time wasted can turn into time well spent and great memories.
Songs above:
1) The Cure from the album Head on The Door (1985)
2) Echo & The Bunnymen from the album Songs to Learn and Sing (1985)
3) U2 from the album Boy (1980)
Saturday, September 24, 2016
Our Lady Peace: A Canadian Excursion...originally posted 5/21/14.
How cool would it be to get to see one of my new favorite bands in concert in another country? That was the question I kept asking myself when I heard on Canadian radio that Everclear was touring with some band called Our Lady Peace. All I could think of was how impressed the Canadians would be with a great band from Portland, Oregon. Well, that and how lucky I was to have the opportunity to see them live, while working in Ontario, Canada.
So when I returned to the office, after my day in the field ended, I immediately began asking around to recruit some of my fellow workers for what I was sure would be a great show. The only thing was whenever I mentioned Everclear, what came back was mostly confused stares. It was only after a brief attempt to describe the band and a mention of their opening act, Our Lady Peace, that I found no shortage of people wanting to attend. Most insisted on correcting me first and saying there was no way that Our Lady Peace would be opening for anyone in Canada. After some discussion on the merits of Everclear, who several of my new acquaintances from Toronto insisted on calling Euclid, we agreed on a plan to purchase tickets for about 10 people. Since the concert was almost 4 weeks away, the band comparison became an almost daily discussion.
From my perspective, there was no comparison between the two bands. I had been introduced to Everclear in 1995, when I heard their song Santa Monica while riding in a friend's car in Norman, OK. At the time, it was hard for me to believe that a 3 piece band could have such a rich sound. That statement seems absurd, once you consider that I was now across the U.S. border to the north and was actually having this discussion with a group of workers from Toronto. Duh! It seems that Canada has never been short on talented musical trios. Both Triumph and Rush hail from Canada and both are 3 piece bands with huge a sound. Both are also bands that I became very familiar with during my high school years in south Oklahoma City. That being said, the comparisons stopped there. Triumph was formed in 1975 and most popular in the 1980's, about the same time as Rush. With songs like Lay It On The Line, Fight The Good Fight, and Magic Power; Triumph established themselves as a very capable band with adoring fans on both sides of America's northern border. Not to be outdone, Rush, at the time of my writing, has been inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame. Rush created music that was almost cosmic in nature and could take the listener up close for a battle over sunlight and supremacy between species of trees in the forest. Bringing their fans along for a lyrical ride in a Red Barchetta with such great detail that one could feel the "screaming engine" and imagine "screaming through the valley" being chased by police cars. This was the Canadian music history I knew, but had briefly forgotten in the heat of my defense of Everclear. Luckily none of my compatriots were old enough to fully appreciate either Triumph or Rush.
Everclear, on the other hand, was built in the 1990's on candy-coated rock music. The lyrics from lead singer and guitarist, Art Alexakis, were designed to make very deep and difficult topics paletable for the general public. With topics ranging from abandonment as a child (Pale Green Stars) to a relative's suicide (Queen of the Air), the artful crafting and layout of the songs often left me dancing moreso than properly disturbed by the images just beyond the melody. For me, that was pure, unabashed genius. Like a friend walking up and saying "the absolute worst thing ever happened to me today" and then somehow explaining it to me so that I felt good about it. Everclear songs often started slow, then built to the brink of chaos, before finding a soft place to land. For my ear, at the time, this was good stuff. I couldn't wait to see the stage show and to see all the Canadian mouth's agape in sheer delight. As an added bonus, I would be getting to see the up and coming Canadian band, Our Lady Peace.
One of the neat things about Canada is that the radio stations are required to play a certain number of Canadian acts hourly, or at least they were in the late 1990's. I was told the law was passed to prevent their brothers down south from usurping their entertainment market completely. At any rate, it was good for me, while driving around the countryside, to get to know some of the Canadian bands. Of those bands, at the time, this Our Lady Peace outfit seemed to be most consistently hitting their stride. With a new album entitled Clumsy, and songs on the radio like the title track and Superman's Dead, it was clear that the band was talented. But translating studio work to the stage can be a bit tricky and I had never heard of Our Lady Peace prior to this trip, so how good could they possibly be?
The answer came after Everclear had left the stage. To my surprise, they had actually been the opening act and not the headliner. But when the stage was finally set for Our Lady Peace and their introduction was complete, I could not hear anything that I,or anyone in my group was saying for the roar. I also noticed, for the first time on this night, that the Corel Center had a 3rd level and I could see smiling faces peering down from it in adoration of the stage performers. I would spend the next couple of hours learning that this band, of whom I had never heard, was something truly special. They performed with a screen behind them that showed short films. The films were like grainy, silent movies and depicted an elderly man wearing pale-face and lipstick, who seemed to be some lost circus performer. He also seemed to be the character upon which many of their songs, at least for their latest album, were based. A sad figure, like those often depicted in silent movies, he was not the center of attention, but an ever-present side show in his own life. The band, however, was the center of attention and played great song after great song. They managed to achieve that studio quality sound that often leaves the audience wondering if it is live (or Memorex, for those of us old enough to get that reference).
Needless to say, more than a decade later, both my sons,who were not even born at the time, recognize Our Lady Peace songs when we stumble across them on the radio. Also, I was forced to admit that the Canadians had actually won our little wager over which part of the concert would be the best. For my concert going friends, who love live music and refuse to accept the fact that time is catching up with us quickly; if you get the chance to see Our Lady Peace, do yourself a favor and don't be late. Better still, don't leave it up to chance, the albums and songs are available for download and I can attest to the fact that some of them will stick with you for a very long time, maybe forever.
So when I returned to the office, after my day in the field ended, I immediately began asking around to recruit some of my fellow workers for what I was sure would be a great show. The only thing was whenever I mentioned Everclear, what came back was mostly confused stares. It was only after a brief attempt to describe the band and a mention of their opening act, Our Lady Peace, that I found no shortage of people wanting to attend. Most insisted on correcting me first and saying there was no way that Our Lady Peace would be opening for anyone in Canada. After some discussion on the merits of Everclear, who several of my new acquaintances from Toronto insisted on calling Euclid, we agreed on a plan to purchase tickets for about 10 people. Since the concert was almost 4 weeks away, the band comparison became an almost daily discussion.
From my perspective, there was no comparison between the two bands. I had been introduced to Everclear in 1995, when I heard their song Santa Monica while riding in a friend's car in Norman, OK. At the time, it was hard for me to believe that a 3 piece band could have such a rich sound. That statement seems absurd, once you consider that I was now across the U.S. border to the north and was actually having this discussion with a group of workers from Toronto. Duh! It seems that Canada has never been short on talented musical trios. Both Triumph and Rush hail from Canada and both are 3 piece bands with huge a sound. Both are also bands that I became very familiar with during my high school years in south Oklahoma City. That being said, the comparisons stopped there. Triumph was formed in 1975 and most popular in the 1980's, about the same time as Rush. With songs like Lay It On The Line, Fight The Good Fight, and Magic Power; Triumph established themselves as a very capable band with adoring fans on both sides of America's northern border. Not to be outdone, Rush, at the time of my writing, has been inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame. Rush created music that was almost cosmic in nature and could take the listener up close for a battle over sunlight and supremacy between species of trees in the forest. Bringing their fans along for a lyrical ride in a Red Barchetta with such great detail that one could feel the "screaming engine" and imagine "screaming through the valley" being chased by police cars. This was the Canadian music history I knew, but had briefly forgotten in the heat of my defense of Everclear. Luckily none of my compatriots were old enough to fully appreciate either Triumph or Rush.
Everclear, on the other hand, was built in the 1990's on candy-coated rock music. The lyrics from lead singer and guitarist, Art Alexakis, were designed to make very deep and difficult topics paletable for the general public. With topics ranging from abandonment as a child (Pale Green Stars) to a relative's suicide (Queen of the Air), the artful crafting and layout of the songs often left me dancing moreso than properly disturbed by the images just beyond the melody. For me, that was pure, unabashed genius. Like a friend walking up and saying "the absolute worst thing ever happened to me today" and then somehow explaining it to me so that I felt good about it. Everclear songs often started slow, then built to the brink of chaos, before finding a soft place to land. For my ear, at the time, this was good stuff. I couldn't wait to see the stage show and to see all the Canadian mouth's agape in sheer delight. As an added bonus, I would be getting to see the up and coming Canadian band, Our Lady Peace.
One of the neat things about Canada is that the radio stations are required to play a certain number of Canadian acts hourly, or at least they were in the late 1990's. I was told the law was passed to prevent their brothers down south from usurping their entertainment market completely. At any rate, it was good for me, while driving around the countryside, to get to know some of the Canadian bands. Of those bands, at the time, this Our Lady Peace outfit seemed to be most consistently hitting their stride. With a new album entitled Clumsy, and songs on the radio like the title track and Superman's Dead, it was clear that the band was talented. But translating studio work to the stage can be a bit tricky and I had never heard of Our Lady Peace prior to this trip, so how good could they possibly be?
The answer came after Everclear had left the stage. To my surprise, they had actually been the opening act and not the headliner. But when the stage was finally set for Our Lady Peace and their introduction was complete, I could not hear anything that I,or anyone in my group was saying for the roar. I also noticed, for the first time on this night, that the Corel Center had a 3rd level and I could see smiling faces peering down from it in adoration of the stage performers. I would spend the next couple of hours learning that this band, of whom I had never heard, was something truly special. They performed with a screen behind them that showed short films. The films were like grainy, silent movies and depicted an elderly man wearing pale-face and lipstick, who seemed to be some lost circus performer. He also seemed to be the character upon which many of their songs, at least for their latest album, were based. A sad figure, like those often depicted in silent movies, he was not the center of attention, but an ever-present side show in his own life. The band, however, was the center of attention and played great song after great song. They managed to achieve that studio quality sound that often leaves the audience wondering if it is live (or Memorex, for those of us old enough to get that reference).
Needless to say, more than a decade later, both my sons,who were not even born at the time, recognize Our Lady Peace songs when we stumble across them on the radio. Also, I was forced to admit that the Canadians had actually won our little wager over which part of the concert would be the best. For my concert going friends, who love live music and refuse to accept the fact that time is catching up with us quickly; if you get the chance to see Our Lady Peace, do yourself a favor and don't be late. Better still, don't leave it up to chance, the albums and songs are available for download and I can attest to the fact that some of them will stick with you for a very long time, maybe forever.
Apples, Oranges, and Bananas: Taking Sides on Race and Losing OurFreedoms...originally posted 8/25/14.
I am not always at my best. That fact is what makes me human. However, that does not mean that I should not strive to be at my best. Often times, at the worst possible moments, when life has called me to step up and be a leader, I have chosen instead to follow the group. Other times, when trust, faith, and positive thoughts were required, all I could muster was incredulity.
One day, while walking down the hall of my high school, I saw a crowd gathered around two girls fighting. One of the girls happened to be brown (according to Crayola, see also African American or whatever the latest incorrect reference is) and the other white. Without thinking, I stepped in to break up the fight. Some of the people watching were not impressed that I had broken it up. Some even suggested that I had been more harsh on the brown girl than the white girl and some discussion ensued along those lines. I couldn't help thinking how lost some kids were to think along racial lines when people are hurting each other. Besides, I felt pretty safe breaking up a fight between two girls, who were younger and presumably weaker than me.
Fast forward 30 years...I am driving home, with my wife and two boys, from a weekend visiting relatives in Texas. We had stopped at a gas station to get gas. When I got out of the car to pump the gas, I heard a loud voice yelling something. I looked over to find a well built, young man, who must have been in his early twenties, yelling at what looked like a high school kid. Upon further inspection, I noticed that the mother and younger sister of the teenager were standing helplessly nearby. As the yelling voice became louder and louder, I looked down the rows of people pumping gas to see why no one was stepping in to diffuse the situation. As the older of these two young men, became more agitated and angry, he began yelling at the mother also. Meanwhile, the sister had begun crying. It was all I could do to stop myself from rushing into a fight, that I felt sure would not end well for me. Then, like in slow motion, it happened. The twenty-something, who had been yelling, hit the kid on the side of his face and head. The kid, clearly in shock, stood there red faced and now crying, as the older guy began moving around as if a fight had commenced. Then, I saw a single man, walking toward the doors of the convenience store. When he got close, he exchanged words with the older, more aggressive young man, and soon he found himself punched also. A small, skirmish ensued and I found myself running full speed toward the fight. As I approached, I began yelling "break it up, break it up". Although, by this time, I was really angry myself and my adrenaline was definitely flowing. Two things crossed my mind: 1) I am the only person of color (other than my wife and kids) anywhere around and 2) if the police show up, they will probably assume that I am somehow at fault here. Luckily, for me, by the time I got to the fight, they were falling and I braced their fall and then helped hold the aggressor down until he was calm. At this point, he got up, and with a little coaxing, walked away. I went back to my now filled car, got inside, started it up, and drove away. I was thankful that the police had not arrived and I had not had to explain myself. I was also curious as to whether the convenience store workers had called the police to report their now broken storefront glass.
For the next 30 or 40 miles, I heard from my wife, who had yelled my name as I was running toward the fight, that my decision there had probably not been one of my best. She laid out for me, in some detail, all of the potential pitfalls of my actions, including the fact that I might have been injured or worse, since I had no idea who any of these people were. In that instant, without really thinking it through, I said the following:
"When I saw that mother and sister standing there helplessly, I thought of you and the boys. Maybe you were in a convenience store one day and one of the boys stepped on some one's shoe or said something about them shoplifting (as kids will do) and this was you standing out there, with me no where around. Maybe, some stranger stepped in to help, because he felt some sense of obligation, and was overtaken by the younger, stronger, angrier man. I will never drive away from that. Yes, that means someday you may see me hurt or worse. But you will not see me standing by and watching when I am needed, even by strangers."
Great speech, right?
Yet, I have asked myself 50 times, what would I have done if I saw three strong men jumping an off duty cop, who was tasked with making them leave the bar? That specific situation occurred recently in Oklahoma City. What would I have done if the guy looked a little more menacing, maybe a tattoo sleeve or some sign that he was in a gang? Would I have offered help? What would I have done if there were 5 policeman subduing a large man on the pavement as he insisted that he could not breathe?
I am writing this story now for one reason and one reason only. Every day on Facebook and Twitter, I see new people posting stories of either police shooting people of color or young men of color killing other people. Often, those posting are people I like, know personally, and respect. These are generally speaking, intelligent people, so caught up in the moment that they have begun comparing apples, oranges, and bananas. The question posed most often in the subject of the post: "where is the outrage"? I encourage people on both sides of this debate, especially people of good conscience (some might use the word Christians), to think twice about what you post. Stop and think, "outrage" is not needed for crimes that are solved. When people are arrested, their cases adjudicated, and their innocence or guilt decided. Why would we be outraged at a justice system that has done what it was designed to do?
"Outrage" should rightfully be reserved for the lives: young, old, white, black, or any other color; which are taken AND the world moves on, as though nothing happened".
People of good conscience have plenty in this world to be outraged about, like the countless crimes that are never solved. Outrage should be reserved for crimes that are allowed to continue for years because no one cared enough to connect the dots. Outrage should be saved for the growing numbers of cowards who kill innocent people, and then themselves, in the name of some distorted ideology. What we do not need to be outraged about is criminals who are caught and punished. The reason we are not outraged about that is because "apples" are not "oranges", and if you think they are, you are "bananas".
In our world today, we could use fewer bananas: who still insist on diverting resources from the very real "war on terrorism" to our very fake "war on drugs", which targets specific communities and groups of people for heavy punishment, while ignoring statistics which show just how widespread drug use/abuse has become. Bananas: who complain about high taxes, but are perfectly content spending four or five times more to incarcerate a person than to educate that same person. Bananas: who think that laws like "stop and frisk" are great laws, mainly because they cannot fathom anyone in their family or friend circle actually being stopped and frisked. For once, I think we should all just pass on the fruit salad and get back to healthier things.
One day, while walking down the hall of my high school, I saw a crowd gathered around two girls fighting. One of the girls happened to be brown (according to Crayola, see also African American or whatever the latest incorrect reference is) and the other white. Without thinking, I stepped in to break up the fight. Some of the people watching were not impressed that I had broken it up. Some even suggested that I had been more harsh on the brown girl than the white girl and some discussion ensued along those lines. I couldn't help thinking how lost some kids were to think along racial lines when people are hurting each other. Besides, I felt pretty safe breaking up a fight between two girls, who were younger and presumably weaker than me.
Fast forward 30 years...I am driving home, with my wife and two boys, from a weekend visiting relatives in Texas. We had stopped at a gas station to get gas. When I got out of the car to pump the gas, I heard a loud voice yelling something. I looked over to find a well built, young man, who must have been in his early twenties, yelling at what looked like a high school kid. Upon further inspection, I noticed that the mother and younger sister of the teenager were standing helplessly nearby. As the yelling voice became louder and louder, I looked down the rows of people pumping gas to see why no one was stepping in to diffuse the situation. As the older of these two young men, became more agitated and angry, he began yelling at the mother also. Meanwhile, the sister had begun crying. It was all I could do to stop myself from rushing into a fight, that I felt sure would not end well for me. Then, like in slow motion, it happened. The twenty-something, who had been yelling, hit the kid on the side of his face and head. The kid, clearly in shock, stood there red faced and now crying, as the older guy began moving around as if a fight had commenced. Then, I saw a single man, walking toward the doors of the convenience store. When he got close, he exchanged words with the older, more aggressive young man, and soon he found himself punched also. A small, skirmish ensued and I found myself running full speed toward the fight. As I approached, I began yelling "break it up, break it up". Although, by this time, I was really angry myself and my adrenaline was definitely flowing. Two things crossed my mind: 1) I am the only person of color (other than my wife and kids) anywhere around and 2) if the police show up, they will probably assume that I am somehow at fault here. Luckily, for me, by the time I got to the fight, they were falling and I braced their fall and then helped hold the aggressor down until he was calm. At this point, he got up, and with a little coaxing, walked away. I went back to my now filled car, got inside, started it up, and drove away. I was thankful that the police had not arrived and I had not had to explain myself. I was also curious as to whether the convenience store workers had called the police to report their now broken storefront glass.
For the next 30 or 40 miles, I heard from my wife, who had yelled my name as I was running toward the fight, that my decision there had probably not been one of my best. She laid out for me, in some detail, all of the potential pitfalls of my actions, including the fact that I might have been injured or worse, since I had no idea who any of these people were. In that instant, without really thinking it through, I said the following:
"When I saw that mother and sister standing there helplessly, I thought of you and the boys. Maybe you were in a convenience store one day and one of the boys stepped on some one's shoe or said something about them shoplifting (as kids will do) and this was you standing out there, with me no where around. Maybe, some stranger stepped in to help, because he felt some sense of obligation, and was overtaken by the younger, stronger, angrier man. I will never drive away from that. Yes, that means someday you may see me hurt or worse. But you will not see me standing by and watching when I am needed, even by strangers."
Great speech, right?
Yet, I have asked myself 50 times, what would I have done if I saw three strong men jumping an off duty cop, who was tasked with making them leave the bar? That specific situation occurred recently in Oklahoma City. What would I have done if the guy looked a little more menacing, maybe a tattoo sleeve or some sign that he was in a gang? Would I have offered help? What would I have done if there were 5 policeman subduing a large man on the pavement as he insisted that he could not breathe?
I am writing this story now for one reason and one reason only. Every day on Facebook and Twitter, I see new people posting stories of either police shooting people of color or young men of color killing other people. Often, those posting are people I like, know personally, and respect. These are generally speaking, intelligent people, so caught up in the moment that they have begun comparing apples, oranges, and bananas. The question posed most often in the subject of the post: "where is the outrage"? I encourage people on both sides of this debate, especially people of good conscience (some might use the word Christians), to think twice about what you post. Stop and think, "outrage" is not needed for crimes that are solved. When people are arrested, their cases adjudicated, and their innocence or guilt decided. Why would we be outraged at a justice system that has done what it was designed to do?
"Outrage" should rightfully be reserved for the lives: young, old, white, black, or any other color; which are taken AND the world moves on, as though nothing happened".
People of good conscience have plenty in this world to be outraged about, like the countless crimes that are never solved. Outrage should be reserved for crimes that are allowed to continue for years because no one cared enough to connect the dots. Outrage should be saved for the growing numbers of cowards who kill innocent people, and then themselves, in the name of some distorted ideology. What we do not need to be outraged about is criminals who are caught and punished. The reason we are not outraged about that is because "apples" are not "oranges", and if you think they are, you are "bananas".
In our world today, we could use fewer bananas: who still insist on diverting resources from the very real "war on terrorism" to our very fake "war on drugs", which targets specific communities and groups of people for heavy punishment, while ignoring statistics which show just how widespread drug use/abuse has become. Bananas: who complain about high taxes, but are perfectly content spending four or five times more to incarcerate a person than to educate that same person. Bananas: who think that laws like "stop and frisk" are great laws, mainly because they cannot fathom anyone in their family or friend circle actually being stopped and frisked. For once, I think we should all just pass on the fruit salad and get back to healthier things.
Roger Goodell and The Leadership Opportunity Missed...originally posted9/11/14.
The new NFL policy regarding domestic violence represents a muddled and confused message. Suddenly, we are looking to the National Football League to be the "standard bearers" and the "last beacon of hope" for a culture adept at both avoiding and scapegoating most issues. Rather than the priest, doctors, lawyers, judges, congressmen and women, fireman, policeman, teachers, CEO's, and insurance salespeople one might expect to lead the charge on an issue as important as domestic violence, the NFL has thrust itself into the breach. Yes, we have turned to the young men of the National Football League and asked of them, not what the law requires, but an even higher standard. From this day forward, when drafted into the NFL, a player will be subject to more strict rules than any other profession in our society. Let me see....yep, that sounds right. The ability to risk your body on the football field surely provides a foundation and training to become the most ethical and moral of all U.S. citizens.
I, personally, have no problem with tougher laws designed to protect women (or really anyone) from the growing violence in our society. If we, as a society, decide to make our laws more strict, I am all for it. But, if we start looking to create tougher rules for specific groups of people, I hate to be the one to break the news, but we (as a country) have a terrible track record in this area. What's more, with Wikipedia and the internet readily accessible from every Ipad and smart phone, it is not difficult to find the evidence of just how bad we (the United States) have been in this area. Please fire up the closest browser and search "domestic violence". After a few minutes of reading, the conclusions there are crystal clear: 1) women in our society are far too often the targets of violence at the hands of their partners, 2) this is not a recent trend, and 3) it is not isolated, by any means, to the National Football League. Domestic violence seems to be the by-product of a culture, hell bent on using violence to solve every problem.
While it can be debated whether there is a connection between the violence in football and a higher propensity toward violence in general, ONE (Roger Goodell) might need to examine the existing levels of violence in society, as a whole, prior to making that leap. Then, if ONE were so inclined, ONE might look into other sports (hockey, boxing, auto racing, baseball, etc.) to determine if ONE's hypothesis was rooted in reality, bigotry, or hypocrisy. While an exclusive club, and some would argue that is what the NFL has become, can certainly make rules to determine who can and who cannot belong. It would seem arbitrary, at best, to expel a member of the club for actions taken before a newly pondered, but clearly decisive ruling regarding domestic violence existed. There are a whole series of laws regarding "double jeopardy" written to prevent second and third bites at the same apple. Lest we conveniently forget, those laws protect us all, and often from our more influential neighbors.
No, I am not oblivious to the fact that we, as a society, sometimes have a mob mentality (some might even say "lynch mob"). However, we often find ourselves hiding behind some sense that we didn't realize the disparities in treatment between the differing groups which often result (see also: disparities in sentencing for drug offenses). However, since we now have the benefit of literally billions of pieces of information constantly at our fingertips, it is only through sheer laziness that we are able to blindly follow the mob. That means that neither Roger Goodell, nor any "would-be-leader" of an organization can simply flip a coin and decide that some minority group (yes, that is a double-entendre' for the fact that the NFL is a very small group and also heavily weighted in the brown pigmentation) should have a different set of rules from the rest of society. Said another way, it is always a good idea to pursue "justice" in the face of a mob. The larger and more vocal the group, the more important it becomes not to waiver on principle in the decision making process. As the NFL will surely learn, AGAIN, the problem with vigilante justice is that it eventually gets around to us all and we are never as passive when it is our turn in the hot seat. The one strike rule is only easily acceptable when you are not the person whose career is at risk.
Yes, I know that it is difficult to wait for our slow justice system to work through all the idiosyncrasies in these situations. I am certain that none of us (non-NFL members), would ever want it to be considered that we were law abiding citizens right up to the point that we went "ultra-stupid". No, we would never want the court to adjudicate our fate, taking into account the totality of our actions, our history, or any demonstrable "goodness" we might ever have possessed. After all, we are a nation of laws and we do better when we resist any temptation to suspend those laws because it seems more expedient in a given situation. That type of rationality and consideration of fairness is surely reserved for those of us who are fortunate enough to kill others (accidentally) at the dirt track. How ironic, the public sentiment seems to have been that missing two races was far too harsh a punishment for Tony Stewart, rather than the other way around.
All across the sports world today, no one is asking about "fairness" and no one is asking about "justice". Why? Because domestic violence is ugly stuff! Whether seen through a video, a photograph, or through the eyes of the countless children who grow up as witnesses to it. Domestic violence is so bad that it cannot be defended, regardless of the circumstances. Whether a single occurrence or a weekly routine, after a night out drinking with the boys, domestic violence is unacceptable. Meanwhile, all across this country the calls will continue to pour in, by the hundreds, to police departments from small town to big city. Week after week, month after month, and year after year; policeman return to the same homes, to see the same people, until someone is either dead or missing. AND....for anyone who cares, it happens in cities and towns without NFL franchises too.
"True Leaders" often find great opportunities to teach in the face of great upheaval. Those leaders use the high levels of emotion and tension to impart lessons that are remembered long after the leaders themselves are forgotten. Yes, it is much easier to discard the individual nuisance and get back to more important things, like building new stadiums with mammoth-sized, flat screens and over-priced, personal-pan pizzas. However, when a Google search for "domestic violence" in 2020 reveals the same results that it did in 2014, or worse results, what that will point out is not the stupidity of Ray Rice's decision in that elevator. Any 5 year old could see his actions were dumb! No, what the lack of any noticeable change, over that period will make crystal clear for us all is that billionaires and millionaires make dollars, but often have no idea how to make sense. That task, my friends, falls to us. We can decide to politicize this issue and make it all about the NFL players of our world, giving them especially harsh treatment because it makes us feel better or we can choose instead to muster all the resources focused on this issue and use them for the good of a country, in which domestic violence has been allowed to thrive. In the same way that Tony Stewart will find ways to make something positive out of his mess, given that chance. Good people, who do dumb things, often work very hard to redeem themselves and in the process, they often benefit us all.
I, as a man of forty-seven, have never hit a woman and I cannot imagine a scenario where I would. Yet, my teenage sons, who have never witnessed domestic violence at home, sat through a painful (for them) discussion of the domestic violence issue at our dinner table this week. Why? Because NFL players account for a very small fraction of the domestic violence cases in our country. It is our culture that produced those players, not the other way around. Lest we lose sight of the real problem here, our children are marinating in the very same culture that gives us domestic violence every 9 seconds. Let that soak in: EVERY NINE SECONDS. It does not begin, nor end, with the less than 2500 men playing football in the NFL. Yes, those men are easy targets and we can pick them off one by one, but we are a nation of 300 million people.
Dear Roger, there was an opportunity here to do something of substance, I am sure of it! Please look around at the countless examples of young men, who have made big mistakes early in their careers and gone on to become good (some would even say great) people: Ray Lewis, Chris Carter, Michael Irving, Randy Moss, and the list could be as long as this page. I wonder how many of them would have survived under your regime? Dear Congress, do not look at this low point for the NFL as your opportunity to deflect blame. Your organization, is one of a very few, with a record that can make the NFL players look like choir boys. Yours is also an organization much more responsible for the tone and texture of our culture than the NFL.
I, personally, have no problem with tougher laws designed to protect women (or really anyone) from the growing violence in our society. If we, as a society, decide to make our laws more strict, I am all for it. But, if we start looking to create tougher rules for specific groups of people, I hate to be the one to break the news, but we (as a country) have a terrible track record in this area. What's more, with Wikipedia and the internet readily accessible from every Ipad and smart phone, it is not difficult to find the evidence of just how bad we (the United States) have been in this area. Please fire up the closest browser and search "domestic violence". After a few minutes of reading, the conclusions there are crystal clear: 1) women in our society are far too often the targets of violence at the hands of their partners, 2) this is not a recent trend, and 3) it is not isolated, by any means, to the National Football League. Domestic violence seems to be the by-product of a culture, hell bent on using violence to solve every problem.
While it can be debated whether there is a connection between the violence in football and a higher propensity toward violence in general, ONE (Roger Goodell) might need to examine the existing levels of violence in society, as a whole, prior to making that leap. Then, if ONE were so inclined, ONE might look into other sports (hockey, boxing, auto racing, baseball, etc.) to determine if ONE's hypothesis was rooted in reality, bigotry, or hypocrisy. While an exclusive club, and some would argue that is what the NFL has become, can certainly make rules to determine who can and who cannot belong. It would seem arbitrary, at best, to expel a member of the club for actions taken before a newly pondered, but clearly decisive ruling regarding domestic violence existed. There are a whole series of laws regarding "double jeopardy" written to prevent second and third bites at the same apple. Lest we conveniently forget, those laws protect us all, and often from our more influential neighbors.
No, I am not oblivious to the fact that we, as a society, sometimes have a mob mentality (some might even say "lynch mob"). However, we often find ourselves hiding behind some sense that we didn't realize the disparities in treatment between the differing groups which often result (see also: disparities in sentencing for drug offenses). However, since we now have the benefit of literally billions of pieces of information constantly at our fingertips, it is only through sheer laziness that we are able to blindly follow the mob. That means that neither Roger Goodell, nor any "would-be-leader" of an organization can simply flip a coin and decide that some minority group (yes, that is a double-entendre' for the fact that the NFL is a very small group and also heavily weighted in the brown pigmentation) should have a different set of rules from the rest of society. Said another way, it is always a good idea to pursue "justice" in the face of a mob. The larger and more vocal the group, the more important it becomes not to waiver on principle in the decision making process. As the NFL will surely learn, AGAIN, the problem with vigilante justice is that it eventually gets around to us all and we are never as passive when it is our turn in the hot seat. The one strike rule is only easily acceptable when you are not the person whose career is at risk.
Yes, I know that it is difficult to wait for our slow justice system to work through all the idiosyncrasies in these situations. I am certain that none of us (non-NFL members), would ever want it to be considered that we were law abiding citizens right up to the point that we went "ultra-stupid". No, we would never want the court to adjudicate our fate, taking into account the totality of our actions, our history, or any demonstrable "goodness" we might ever have possessed. After all, we are a nation of laws and we do better when we resist any temptation to suspend those laws because it seems more expedient in a given situation. That type of rationality and consideration of fairness is surely reserved for those of us who are fortunate enough to kill others (accidentally) at the dirt track. How ironic, the public sentiment seems to have been that missing two races was far too harsh a punishment for Tony Stewart, rather than the other way around.
All across the sports world today, no one is asking about "fairness" and no one is asking about "justice". Why? Because domestic violence is ugly stuff! Whether seen through a video, a photograph, or through the eyes of the countless children who grow up as witnesses to it. Domestic violence is so bad that it cannot be defended, regardless of the circumstances. Whether a single occurrence or a weekly routine, after a night out drinking with the boys, domestic violence is unacceptable. Meanwhile, all across this country the calls will continue to pour in, by the hundreds, to police departments from small town to big city. Week after week, month after month, and year after year; policeman return to the same homes, to see the same people, until someone is either dead or missing. AND....for anyone who cares, it happens in cities and towns without NFL franchises too.
"True Leaders" often find great opportunities to teach in the face of great upheaval. Those leaders use the high levels of emotion and tension to impart lessons that are remembered long after the leaders themselves are forgotten. Yes, it is much easier to discard the individual nuisance and get back to more important things, like building new stadiums with mammoth-sized, flat screens and over-priced, personal-pan pizzas. However, when a Google search for "domestic violence" in 2020 reveals the same results that it did in 2014, or worse results, what that will point out is not the stupidity of Ray Rice's decision in that elevator. Any 5 year old could see his actions were dumb! No, what the lack of any noticeable change, over that period will make crystal clear for us all is that billionaires and millionaires make dollars, but often have no idea how to make sense. That task, my friends, falls to us. We can decide to politicize this issue and make it all about the NFL players of our world, giving them especially harsh treatment because it makes us feel better or we can choose instead to muster all the resources focused on this issue and use them for the good of a country, in which domestic violence has been allowed to thrive. In the same way that Tony Stewart will find ways to make something positive out of his mess, given that chance. Good people, who do dumb things, often work very hard to redeem themselves and in the process, they often benefit us all.
I, as a man of forty-seven, have never hit a woman and I cannot imagine a scenario where I would. Yet, my teenage sons, who have never witnessed domestic violence at home, sat through a painful (for them) discussion of the domestic violence issue at our dinner table this week. Why? Because NFL players account for a very small fraction of the domestic violence cases in our country. It is our culture that produced those players, not the other way around. Lest we lose sight of the real problem here, our children are marinating in the very same culture that gives us domestic violence every 9 seconds. Let that soak in: EVERY NINE SECONDS. It does not begin, nor end, with the less than 2500 men playing football in the NFL. Yes, those men are easy targets and we can pick them off one by one, but we are a nation of 300 million people.
Dear Roger, there was an opportunity here to do something of substance, I am sure of it! Please look around at the countless examples of young men, who have made big mistakes early in their careers and gone on to become good (some would even say great) people: Ray Lewis, Chris Carter, Michael Irving, Randy Moss, and the list could be as long as this page. I wonder how many of them would have survived under your regime? Dear Congress, do not look at this low point for the NFL as your opportunity to deflect blame. Your organization, is one of a very few, with a record that can make the NFL players look like choir boys. Yours is also an organization much more responsible for the tone and texture of our culture than the NFL.
When Our Culture Betrays Us (My Take on The Adrian Peterson Saga) ...originally posted 10/6/14.
For the first 20 years of my life, I was very accustomed to seeing some sort of grease can around most of the kitchens I entered. Those cans are where the flavoring I loved, as a child, originated. While Crisco was a great start for deep frying almost anything, all the best cooks kept the meat-flavored, leftover grease for later use. There was pork, beef, and chicken flavored grease available to spice up any recipe. Often, when I tasted cabbage, or greens, or some other incredibly flavorful dish, the flavoring was from pork or beef cooked weeks prior. Then, without warning, word came from on high : FRIED FOODS ARE UNHEALTHY. It seemed that suddenly we had all discovered that Crisco was not the godsend we had once thought it to be. In fact, it may have been building up inside our bodies and causing problems ranging from heart disease to high blood pressure to diabetes. Slowly, over the coming years, the grease cans would become less and less prevalent. "Soul Food", as it had come to be called, would become something to be had on rare occasions, rather than in the daily doses of my childhood. Crisco was replaced by vegetable oils, of varying types, and the healthiness of food became more of a concern than flavor. Before long, even the healthiness of cooking with butter was being questioned. What would be next, some crazy suggestion that second-hand cigarette smoke might be deadly or that too much exposure to the sun could cause cancer? Funny how times change.
In many of the same homes where I saw those grease cans, including my own, there was another practice that has just recently become a major concern: "corporal punishment". Over the last few weeks, I have heard countless discussions of Adrian Peterson, his method of disciplining his young children, and where that method fits along the spectrum from spanking to child abuse. Let me clearly state here, my commentary is not as much about Adrian Peterson himself, as the millions of Adrian Peterson's out there, who are not part of the National Football League (NFL). Despite the national outcry, in complete opposition to "corporal punishment", in some circles, it is a way of life. In fact, I did a little research on attitudes regarding "corporal punishment" and confirmed my own suspicions. There are some vast differences of opinion on "corporal punishment" within our country and social scientist have taken the time to study those differences. A few of the differences are: 1) Religious people support "corporal punishment" more than non-religious people. 2) Southerners support it more than Northerners. 3) Blacks (which is a time-honored name for people who are often brown and yellow) support it more than whites. For those of you with math minds, if you have already made note of the fact that a person who is religious, southern, and black has the highest propensity to support "corporal punishment"...BINGO!
Just like "Soul Food", the tradition of whipping (or whooping, as I often heard it called as a kid) has had tremendous staying power. Strangely, when I looked to my dictionary to find the derivation of the word "whooping", it did not provide the clarification for which I had hoped. "Whoop" can refer to shouting or calling vigorously. Whereas, "whipping" refers to the unmistakably cruel punishment that has survived from biblical times until today. As a child, I am certain that I experienced some "whippings" (of course, not by an actual whip) that caused me to do a little "whooping". While it is very easy to look at a single person, Adrian Peterson in this case, and assume that he is simply ignorant and irrational when it comes to discipline. The real explanation for his actions might lie somewhere in his history, which I might add, is probably not too far from my own. For many, like myself, we are only one generation removed from a thought process that reasoned physically punishing young children (out of love), might save them from being physically punished later by people much less concerned with their well-being. Irrational thoughts? Maybe. But those fears are fed daily in newcast across our country, which too often depict young men of color as the subjects of violence. Sometimes traditions, born out of desperation and fear, are stubbornly persistent.
The only thing I can say with certainty is that as a child, the word "whooping" was solidly worked into my vocabulary, and my life experience. I never questioned it's derivation, as a word, nor the logic of it's practice. It wouldn't have mattered if I did. I, like most of my relatives, found my way to various trees and picked many "switches" (though some would argue not nearly enough). I know, first hand, what it means to sit in a room, with my siblings, comparing the marks left behind by "switches". I know those "switches" often broke our skin. I have to admit that knowing my own history, I was a little surprised to see that in recent studies, "blacks" (read also as brown, if you are partial to the common sense applied by Crayola) show the highest approval of "corporal punishment", higher than any other ethnic group. That is the very definition of tradition: repeating the practices of our parents and/or grandparents, without questioning the logic or efficacy. Does anyone still eat fried chicken or even fry their Thanksgiving turkey? On a related note, does anyone call things "black", when they are clearly brown (or do we only do that with people). Tradition?
In the interest of full disclosure, I did attend the same university as Adrian Peterson. That being said, I have followed his career and take a little pride in having seen him do well in the National Football League. However, there is a much more important issue here that draws my attention and begs for my comment. For some in this discussion (like me), the stakes are far too high. Any day, I can turn on my television to see the story of a "young, brown man" who was beaten or killed. The level of violence that we, as a society condone, is incredibly high. Yet, somewhere there is a magical line between the innocent four year old child (that many would vocally defend) and the 14 - 20 year old young men, who no one defends, accept the very parent that we dare lecture about "proper whooping techniques".
As for me, I am on record as choosing Adrian Peterson (and his chosen method of discipline). I am also on the record as thanking my parents, grandparents, aunts, and uncles for my upbringing. They did the best they could with what they had. Remember, we did not always have cell phones and video games to take away from our 1st graders. No, my parent's and grandparent's ideas about discipline were not perfect, but it was not for lack of love, and I would not trade it. It was not uncontrolled rage, demonstrated by a clinched fist or wanton violence. There was a family structure, complete with authority figures, rules, and punishments. Although there were times when things probably went further than any of my relatives intended, I cannot imagine a scenario where OUR society could have offered sound moral advice.
I hope that I have learned different ways by which to impart life lessons to my two sons. However, I will wait to see the finished product, before I render a final verdict. For the record, I make no bones about the fact that I will choose, even the most incompetent parent (and maybe that includes Adrian Peterson), attempting to discipline their own child, over multiple policeman with nightsticks, tasers, and guns, a decade later. My hypocrisy and sanctimonious ire cannot be raised over broken skin (even on a four year old), when broken bones and lives lost have become inconvenient background noise.
In many of the same homes where I saw those grease cans, including my own, there was another practice that has just recently become a major concern: "corporal punishment". Over the last few weeks, I have heard countless discussions of Adrian Peterson, his method of disciplining his young children, and where that method fits along the spectrum from spanking to child abuse. Let me clearly state here, my commentary is not as much about Adrian Peterson himself, as the millions of Adrian Peterson's out there, who are not part of the National Football League (NFL). Despite the national outcry, in complete opposition to "corporal punishment", in some circles, it is a way of life. In fact, I did a little research on attitudes regarding "corporal punishment" and confirmed my own suspicions. There are some vast differences of opinion on "corporal punishment" within our country and social scientist have taken the time to study those differences. A few of the differences are: 1) Religious people support "corporal punishment" more than non-religious people. 2) Southerners support it more than Northerners. 3) Blacks (which is a time-honored name for people who are often brown and yellow) support it more than whites. For those of you with math minds, if you have already made note of the fact that a person who is religious, southern, and black has the highest propensity to support "corporal punishment"...BINGO!
Just like "Soul Food", the tradition of whipping (or whooping, as I often heard it called as a kid) has had tremendous staying power. Strangely, when I looked to my dictionary to find the derivation of the word "whooping", it did not provide the clarification for which I had hoped. "Whoop" can refer to shouting or calling vigorously. Whereas, "whipping" refers to the unmistakably cruel punishment that has survived from biblical times until today. As a child, I am certain that I experienced some "whippings" (of course, not by an actual whip) that caused me to do a little "whooping". While it is very easy to look at a single person, Adrian Peterson in this case, and assume that he is simply ignorant and irrational when it comes to discipline. The real explanation for his actions might lie somewhere in his history, which I might add, is probably not too far from my own. For many, like myself, we are only one generation removed from a thought process that reasoned physically punishing young children (out of love), might save them from being physically punished later by people much less concerned with their well-being. Irrational thoughts? Maybe. But those fears are fed daily in newcast across our country, which too often depict young men of color as the subjects of violence. Sometimes traditions, born out of desperation and fear, are stubbornly persistent.
Rare is the time that we (humans) pause to look critically at ourselves, our history, and the legacy we have created. Whether we, as Americans, want to admit it or not, the lingering history of over-zealous punishment, even abuse, is one that has been passed down. Words like whipping and whooping refer to a specific type of punishment, a type that we now formally call "corporal". Since we are so quick to associate the south and slavery with "whipping", we add a dimension that makes the subject very difficult to honestly discuss. Our "whipping" tradition however, runs a little deeper. If one were to Google "flagellation", Wikipedia would explain in infinite detail how both our prisons and our military have used this form of punishment for centuries. While it is not as common in western civilization today, we are not as far removed as we might like to imagine. Literal "whipping" is still seen in some former British colonies and the far east to this day. I was particularly amazed by the names in Wikipedia: belting, birching, spanking, caning, and switching. I think the unpdated versions might include: house-shoeing, extension cording and hot-wheel tracking to name a few modern adaptations.
While it might seem that I am making light of the pain I am certain Adrian Peterson's four year old suffered, I am not. On the other hand, I cannot help but laugh at the thought of my parent's, grandparent's, aunts, and uncles as "child abusers". If my grandparents were here today, after I gave them the biggest hug I could muster, through tear-filled kisses, I would tell them how much I have missed them. Then, I would talk at length about how much the world has changed in the twenty something years they have been gone. Then, I would get right to work on this child abuse thing. I would let them know, in no uncertain terms, that regardless of their intentions, sending us out to pick "switches" from trees and then using those "switches" on us was child abuse. Furthermore, teaching our parents to do the same, and encouraging them to use varying methods for better results was organized crime and they were the leaders of that crime ring. After a good scolding, I would let them know again that I love them and miss them, then I would turn them over to the proper authorities. Although, I am not certain who those authorities might be. From my reading, parents across the country have a great deal of latitude in disciplining their own children, unless (of course) they happen to be in the NFL.
While it might seem that I am making light of the pain I am certain Adrian Peterson's four year old suffered, I am not. On the other hand, I cannot help but laugh at the thought of my parent's, grandparent's, aunts, and uncles as "child abusers". If my grandparents were here today, after I gave them the biggest hug I could muster, through tear-filled kisses, I would tell them how much I have missed them. Then, I would talk at length about how much the world has changed in the twenty something years they have been gone. Then, I would get right to work on this child abuse thing. I would let them know, in no uncertain terms, that regardless of their intentions, sending us out to pick "switches" from trees and then using those "switches" on us was child abuse. Furthermore, teaching our parents to do the same, and encouraging them to use varying methods for better results was organized crime and they were the leaders of that crime ring. After a good scolding, I would let them know again that I love them and miss them, then I would turn them over to the proper authorities. Although, I am not certain who those authorities might be. From my reading, parents across the country have a great deal of latitude in disciplining their own children, unless (of course) they happen to be in the NFL.
The only thing I can say with certainty is that as a child, the word "whooping" was solidly worked into my vocabulary, and my life experience. I never questioned it's derivation, as a word, nor the logic of it's practice. It wouldn't have mattered if I did. I, like most of my relatives, found my way to various trees and picked many "switches" (though some would argue not nearly enough). I know, first hand, what it means to sit in a room, with my siblings, comparing the marks left behind by "switches". I know those "switches" often broke our skin. I have to admit that knowing my own history, I was a little surprised to see that in recent studies, "blacks" (read also as brown, if you are partial to the common sense applied by Crayola) show the highest approval of "corporal punishment", higher than any other ethnic group. That is the very definition of tradition: repeating the practices of our parents and/or grandparents, without questioning the logic or efficacy. Does anyone still eat fried chicken or even fry their Thanksgiving turkey? On a related note, does anyone call things "black", when they are clearly brown (or do we only do that with people). Tradition?
In the interest of full disclosure, I did attend the same university as Adrian Peterson. That being said, I have followed his career and take a little pride in having seen him do well in the National Football League. However, there is a much more important issue here that draws my attention and begs for my comment. For some in this discussion (like me), the stakes are far too high. Any day, I can turn on my television to see the story of a "young, brown man" who was beaten or killed. The level of violence that we, as a society condone, is incredibly high. Yet, somewhere there is a magical line between the innocent four year old child (that many would vocally defend) and the 14 - 20 year old young men, who no one defends, accept the very parent that we dare lecture about "proper whooping techniques".
As for me, I am on record as choosing Adrian Peterson (and his chosen method of discipline). I am also on the record as thanking my parents, grandparents, aunts, and uncles for my upbringing. They did the best they could with what they had. Remember, we did not always have cell phones and video games to take away from our 1st graders. No, my parent's and grandparent's ideas about discipline were not perfect, but it was not for lack of love, and I would not trade it. It was not uncontrolled rage, demonstrated by a clinched fist or wanton violence. There was a family structure, complete with authority figures, rules, and punishments. Although there were times when things probably went further than any of my relatives intended, I cannot imagine a scenario where OUR society could have offered sound moral advice.
I hope that I have learned different ways by which to impart life lessons to my two sons. However, I will wait to see the finished product, before I render a final verdict. For the record, I make no bones about the fact that I will choose, even the most incompetent parent (and maybe that includes Adrian Peterson), attempting to discipline their own child, over multiple policeman with nightsticks, tasers, and guns, a decade later. My hypocrisy and sanctimonious ire cannot be raised over broken skin (even on a four year old), when broken bones and lives lost have become inconvenient background noise.
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