I am reading To Kill A Mockingbird presently because it has received so much press during this, its 50th anniversary. I read it last in high school, like so many others. I liked it then very much. Unlike so many of the novels we endured as students, Lee's lurid descriptions of life in small-town Alabama resonated with me.
Sophomore English was the setting for my TKAMB experience. It struck me how this book came along during a time of great inequality just prior to the spark that lit the powder keg of the equal rights movement. Yet, the clarity of message in this book is unparalleled. It is prescient in that it predicts the future while being steeped in the past.
Lee's characters are not merely archetypes rehashed to move the story along like in so many character driven stories. They are written so personally, with such honesty that it is hard to imagine they aren't based on real people. Pursuing this premise, I did some checking.
Lee grew up in Alabama, under circumstances not unlike Scout, the narrator. She was a scrappy little tomboy who would sooner fight than play dress up. Unlike Scout in the story, Lee's mother was not dead, but suffered from paranoid delusions and was mostly bedridden. She rarely left the house. Lee's father, Like Atticus was a lawyer and State Representative.
The characters are special to us, because they are special to Lee. She takes great pains to show the utter humanity of these people and we the reader ache with them and enthuse with them. We laugh when their simple lives are fresh and carefree, we cry under the weight of their extreme duress. We breathe slowly and deeply while our hearts pump sitting on the balcony of the courthouse, awaiting the verdict in the Tom Robinson trial, feeling the sweat on our brow in that hot, over-filled room bubbling with an air of expectation.
These characters are not light even at their lightest. They struggle daily to be on the side of right, not the side of easy. The do not let stuff go.
Of course, the verdict is no surprise to most people and even the twist ending has been made hackneyed by so many cheap imitations in the intervening year, but maybe a high school freshman or two might stumble across this blog and I don't want them to be able to pass the test without reading the book.
What is a surprise is the endurance of this book and I believe it is because the message is so clear and so undeniably right... nothing good comes from prejudging a man and locking him in a cage of social inequality.
As an adult, I still want to be Atticus. A man so unwavering in his beliefs that he is willing to take all manner of abuse to his person and his character. As an adult, I am still more like Bob Ewell who is too stupid, too beat down and too hate-filled to see the light of day.
Lee told this story through the eyes of a child and that is what makes it so fun to read. The prejudices we all have that are so natural to us are so foreign to her. She shines the light on the madness of it all by simply asking why.
What I want to know is what happens to Scout and Jem and Atticus?
For reasons known only to the intensely private and now elderly Harper Lee, she never wrote another novel. She shied away from the spotlight her whole life, remaining an enigma to the throngs of people who simply wanted more.
I don't know what happened to Miss Jean-Louise Finch and family, but sure would like to. Ms. Lee, it isn't too late. You have all the answers. Again I ask, where have you gone, Harper Lee?
PS. I hate it when people tell me I HAVE to read something. So, I will refrain from doing so. I will however, categorically state that if you haven't read this book at all, you are half a human and reading this book with save your soul. If you read it as an adolescent, read it again. It's different from this side of life. It's better. Trust me.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
On the Road... Again
Isn't it nice to know, that no matter where you are, you are home? I feel that way a lot due to the great deal of traveling I have to do. I don't get to go anywhere exotic... just places that everyone has heard of and in some cases no one wants to go.
But when I have to go somewhere, I always find that the people who are there make or break the trip. When I used to have to go to Cleveland for example, my co-worker was a great host, taking me out to cool places and generally being a good guy to hang out with. In Detroit, I have my two best friends who shack me up and feed me on a regular basis.
After awhile of being in Detroit pretty constantly, I got an apartment, because after all, my friends needed their own space and time. But I soon realized while the apartment offered me solitude, it did not bring me peace.
Being that my job and I don't usually see eye to eye on what's best, being alone in the apartment tended to make me tired and depressed with no outlet of social interaction to pull me out of a funk. Now my travels are less frequent, someone else uses the apartment, I am back to the shacking up with my friends and I couldn't be more pleased.
These revelations seem more elementary than anything else... I mean, who wouldn't want to go where there were people and friends, versus a strange place?
I have learned at a glacially slow pace that faith works the same way. It is always right there to reach out and grab if you only want it. The hand of comfort and the hand of deliverance outstretched within easy reach. It never pulls away out of spite, even after you do. It will not be forsaken, though you may try to forsake it. The patient hand of a patient father who knows you better than you do and loves you anyway awaits.
You can go to the mountains, you can go to the bottom of a bottle, you can turn up the music really loud, you can look for love in false idols and collect all the money and fame you can and still, the hand is there.
I have swam a stormy sea all my adult life by my own choosing and it wasn't until I was exhausted and ready to stop swimming that I realized that was the best thing for me to do. When I wasn't so busy struggling, I saw that hand and took that hand. the water may stay rough, there may be clouds on the horizon, but I no longer wonder how I am going to get through it. There is only comfort.
Just like being on the road again. It was when work was done last night, sitting in the living room with my friends, realizing the stress of the trip and the day had melted and gone. Basking in the comfort and fellowship they were offering. It was free. It was without obligation. I was invited back.
Pretty cool, huh?
But when I have to go somewhere, I always find that the people who are there make or break the trip. When I used to have to go to Cleveland for example, my co-worker was a great host, taking me out to cool places and generally being a good guy to hang out with. In Detroit, I have my two best friends who shack me up and feed me on a regular basis.
After awhile of being in Detroit pretty constantly, I got an apartment, because after all, my friends needed their own space and time. But I soon realized while the apartment offered me solitude, it did not bring me peace.
Being that my job and I don't usually see eye to eye on what's best, being alone in the apartment tended to make me tired and depressed with no outlet of social interaction to pull me out of a funk. Now my travels are less frequent, someone else uses the apartment, I am back to the shacking up with my friends and I couldn't be more pleased.
These revelations seem more elementary than anything else... I mean, who wouldn't want to go where there were people and friends, versus a strange place?
I have learned at a glacially slow pace that faith works the same way. It is always right there to reach out and grab if you only want it. The hand of comfort and the hand of deliverance outstretched within easy reach. It never pulls away out of spite, even after you do. It will not be forsaken, though you may try to forsake it. The patient hand of a patient father who knows you better than you do and loves you anyway awaits.
You can go to the mountains, you can go to the bottom of a bottle, you can turn up the music really loud, you can look for love in false idols and collect all the money and fame you can and still, the hand is there.
I have swam a stormy sea all my adult life by my own choosing and it wasn't until I was exhausted and ready to stop swimming that I realized that was the best thing for me to do. When I wasn't so busy struggling, I saw that hand and took that hand. the water may stay rough, there may be clouds on the horizon, but I no longer wonder how I am going to get through it. There is only comfort.
Just like being on the road again. It was when work was done last night, sitting in the living room with my friends, realizing the stress of the trip and the day had melted and gone. Basking in the comfort and fellowship they were offering. It was free. It was without obligation. I was invited back.
Pretty cool, huh?
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
When Life Gets in the Way
Life. It seems that to many of us, life gets in the way of living. We don't live in pursuit of of the things we love, we live in the pursuit of the things we think we need.
Don't get me wrong, I am not going all Thoreau on you. I need my house and food and the occasional night out. I therefore need my paycheck. Which necessitates a job.
And that's where it all goes wrong.
When in school did any teacher ever tell you, "Study hard Johnny or Suzy, because someday, you will be trapped by the very thing you need the most, which is your job. You will work hard for little return and at the end of the day, you will be so tired and depressed that all the wishes and dreams you have now will melt into an endless stream of reruns and Hagen Daas."
I don't know about you, but my teachers always told me I would be able to parlay my talents into something that was useful for the world and for my psyche.
Are there really only a few of us who get to do what we want to do and it also provides us all we need to live, albeit perhaps simply?
I have 3 cars, a big TV, a gigantic stainless steel barbecue with side burner and rotisserie fit to roast a stuck pig... That's just the stuff I can see from sitting at my dining room table now as I write this missive.
Do I need all of it? Is this success?
In 18 months, Emily's student loan will be paid off, one of the cars paid for and a credit card similarly diminished or dispatched. 18 months and I can start living again. 18 months until... what?
I have allowed life to get in the way of living. I have deferred dreams and put off goals. I have dismissed my deepest inner-most desires as silly fodder fit only for a kid's dreams. I have given short shrift to family, faith and fellowship in the pursuit of happiness only to find that I am on the road heading in the opposite direction. The turnaround is miles up ahead, the detour is hard to navigate and the way not always clear.
Is this why we choose to continue living lives bereft of real fulfillment? Is it because it is easier than the struggle to be happy? Is it better to trade misery for ease... or as Pink Floyd put it "Did you exchange your walk-on part in the war for a lead roll in a cage?"
Going back to Thoreau, I will admit, I am not a fan. I don't think we chuck everything into the can to search for life's singular meaning... if you want to do that, there is a monastery or a convent with your name on it. I think the method of totally sequestering oneself from life in order to free yourself puts you in a different prison.
There are only more questions, not any answers to these thoughts... Talk amongst yourselves. As for me, I have a meeting. It will not make me happy. It will not make me feel good about myself or my life. Nobody else in the meeting will be fulfilled in any way, either. But somehow we all agree, we need to have this meeting... Weird.
Don't get me wrong, I am not going all Thoreau on you. I need my house and food and the occasional night out. I therefore need my paycheck. Which necessitates a job.
And that's where it all goes wrong.
When in school did any teacher ever tell you, "Study hard Johnny or Suzy, because someday, you will be trapped by the very thing you need the most, which is your job. You will work hard for little return and at the end of the day, you will be so tired and depressed that all the wishes and dreams you have now will melt into an endless stream of reruns and Hagen Daas."
I don't know about you, but my teachers always told me I would be able to parlay my talents into something that was useful for the world and for my psyche.
Are there really only a few of us who get to do what we want to do and it also provides us all we need to live, albeit perhaps simply?
I have 3 cars, a big TV, a gigantic stainless steel barbecue with side burner and rotisserie fit to roast a stuck pig... That's just the stuff I can see from sitting at my dining room table now as I write this missive.
Do I need all of it? Is this success?
In 18 months, Emily's student loan will be paid off, one of the cars paid for and a credit card similarly diminished or dispatched. 18 months and I can start living again. 18 months until... what?
I have allowed life to get in the way of living. I have deferred dreams and put off goals. I have dismissed my deepest inner-most desires as silly fodder fit only for a kid's dreams. I have given short shrift to family, faith and fellowship in the pursuit of happiness only to find that I am on the road heading in the opposite direction. The turnaround is miles up ahead, the detour is hard to navigate and the way not always clear.
Is this why we choose to continue living lives bereft of real fulfillment? Is it because it is easier than the struggle to be happy? Is it better to trade misery for ease... or as Pink Floyd put it "Did you exchange your walk-on part in the war for a lead roll in a cage?"
Going back to Thoreau, I will admit, I am not a fan. I don't think we chuck everything into the can to search for life's singular meaning... if you want to do that, there is a monastery or a convent with your name on it. I think the method of totally sequestering oneself from life in order to free yourself puts you in a different prison.
There are only more questions, not any answers to these thoughts... Talk amongst yourselves. As for me, I have a meeting. It will not make me happy. It will not make me feel good about myself or my life. Nobody else in the meeting will be fulfilled in any way, either. But somehow we all agree, we need to have this meeting... Weird.
Monday, July 26, 2010
An Embarrassment of Riches
I just returned from a trip to Hurricane (pronounced HURRicun) West Virginia with the church's high school youth group. 17 teens, 4 adults, and me... best described as a big kid with a wife and a mortgage and a fair amount of responsibility. Our trip was for REACH workcamps, a "Jesus centered" organization that goes into rural communities and unleashes teens and adult leaders in groups of 7-15 people to work on the houses of elderly, disabled or otherwise underprivileged people.
This was my third camp and as these things go, may have been a catastrophe. The first time you do something like this, you are on an emotional and spiritual high. The second time, you enjoy it very much knowing what lies ahead and being a little smarter about the flow and organization of the whole thing.
What's left for the third trip?'
Everything, that's what.
The people I meet every year give me hope that the world is not so far gone just yet. These teens are giving up a chunk of summer to sleep on the floor of a school, take communal showers, eat cafeteria food (which need I remind you they do the rest of the year, too), leave behind friends and spend their own money on a trip to work in the hot hot sun of Wet Virginia (misspelling intentional) in the name of a God they cannot see but trust is there.
I wish I was as together at 35 years old as some of these "kids" are. I wish my sense of faith were as well developed and locked in. It took me until not too long ago to realize that not all rewards are tangible, let alone paid in a timely fashion.
What we these teens represent is an embarrassment of riches.
400 students and their willingness to learn and work and sweat and pray and praise and REACH their potential. 400 students with the singular desire spread love among the disenfranchised, to walk in the very footsteps of Christ and make the gospels come to life in 3D technicolor reality.
I can't help but gush about "my kids", who teach me every day more than I will ever be able to reciprocate. In attempting to answer their questions about the topics that press them, I find my own answers.
My faith was entirely redefined this week, by a 17 year-old young man whose father is a pastor. I don't even remember what he said, but it opened my mind to an entirely different plane of clarity on what leading a Christ-filled life should be. How do you thank a guy for that?
I am no Jesus freak. I am just as likely to blaspheme as I am to engage in prayer. I have a mouth that would make a sailor blush with shame. I do not raise my hands and sing praise music. I do not bow my head in church when everyone else does. I certainly don't speak in tongues, handle snakes, flagellate myself, chant, or even regularly read the Bible. I steadfastly refuse to take a Bible study class, go to Sunday school or even attend church as often as I could or should.
I am normal. I am unworthy. I have always acted accordingly. I know my station in the eyes of God.
And then I get cards and letters saying I strengthened someone's faith. I gave them hope. I saw them through a tough time and didn't know it and I am the coolest adult they know because I don't pretend to know it all and I don't pretend I ever was or ever shall be perfect.
And the faith wells within me. I have been give a gift I never thought I could achieve and that is one of a faith that is exemplar to others. Before I know it, here I am as a sheep who has not only found his shepherd, but has also helped guide other sheep back to safety.
And I love these kids. I have watched them grow. They have annoyed me mercilessly and given me joy beyond measure. they have shared their humor, their sadness and their troubles. They have listened to all of mine. There is no judging, just compassion and understanding.
And I think, after this week, the world isn't so doomed after all.
Now if we could just get the adults to step aside and sit down... I think the next generation is ready to take over.
This was my third camp and as these things go, may have been a catastrophe. The first time you do something like this, you are on an emotional and spiritual high. The second time, you enjoy it very much knowing what lies ahead and being a little smarter about the flow and organization of the whole thing.
What's left for the third trip?'
Everything, that's what.
The people I meet every year give me hope that the world is not so far gone just yet. These teens are giving up a chunk of summer to sleep on the floor of a school, take communal showers, eat cafeteria food (which need I remind you they do the rest of the year, too), leave behind friends and spend their own money on a trip to work in the hot hot sun of Wet Virginia (misspelling intentional) in the name of a God they cannot see but trust is there.
I wish I was as together at 35 years old as some of these "kids" are. I wish my sense of faith were as well developed and locked in. It took me until not too long ago to realize that not all rewards are tangible, let alone paid in a timely fashion.
What we these teens represent is an embarrassment of riches.
400 students and their willingness to learn and work and sweat and pray and praise and REACH their potential. 400 students with the singular desire spread love among the disenfranchised, to walk in the very footsteps of Christ and make the gospels come to life in 3D technicolor reality.
I can't help but gush about "my kids", who teach me every day more than I will ever be able to reciprocate. In attempting to answer their questions about the topics that press them, I find my own answers.
My faith was entirely redefined this week, by a 17 year-old young man whose father is a pastor. I don't even remember what he said, but it opened my mind to an entirely different plane of clarity on what leading a Christ-filled life should be. How do you thank a guy for that?
I am no Jesus freak. I am just as likely to blaspheme as I am to engage in prayer. I have a mouth that would make a sailor blush with shame. I do not raise my hands and sing praise music. I do not bow my head in church when everyone else does. I certainly don't speak in tongues, handle snakes, flagellate myself, chant, or even regularly read the Bible. I steadfastly refuse to take a Bible study class, go to Sunday school or even attend church as often as I could or should.
I am normal. I am unworthy. I have always acted accordingly. I know my station in the eyes of God.
And then I get cards and letters saying I strengthened someone's faith. I gave them hope. I saw them through a tough time and didn't know it and I am the coolest adult they know because I don't pretend to know it all and I don't pretend I ever was or ever shall be perfect.
And the faith wells within me. I have been give a gift I never thought I could achieve and that is one of a faith that is exemplar to others. Before I know it, here I am as a sheep who has not only found his shepherd, but has also helped guide other sheep back to safety.
And I love these kids. I have watched them grow. They have annoyed me mercilessly and given me joy beyond measure. they have shared their humor, their sadness and their troubles. They have listened to all of mine. There is no judging, just compassion and understanding.
And I think, after this week, the world isn't so doomed after all.
Now if we could just get the adults to step aside and sit down... I think the next generation is ready to take over.
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