The Front Lines

Well, I'm full into volunteer mode. I probably do not spend the time I should, or even the time I have verbally committed to, but I now make phone calls and canvass every week. I even got my first war wound (a bee sting... clearly sent by a McCain supporter).

The view from the front lines of a political campaign is difficult to interpret.

On one hand, I see a unique enthusiasm and the mechanisms of the political process churning from inside -- with people working together for a common purpose. On the other hand, dealing with a populace that pays attention on the shallowest of levels is an exercise in herding cats and hair-pulling.

Last week I experienced a very successful phone bank session that led to a few very enlightening conversations and (maybe) one voter convinced to leave the fence for the Obama yard. One can never be sure, of course, but this is a unique process and I have been thrust into some fascinating discussions.

On the other hand, I was also told by another person not to call back because "no son of a bitch who won't salute the flag or our troops should ever be president." After almost two years of campaigning, vetting like no human not running for president could ever experience, and constant scrutiny, some people just can't separate the fear from the truth.

As interesting as the experience has been, this whole political process has also been maddening. My fury over the indiscretions of the past 8 years is well known. My frustration is explaining to people who pay casual attention exactly why this is so important to me.

My sense of urgency has been patronized at times and I have had to bite my tongue more often than I'd like. Nothing bothers me more than the belittling of concerns based on fundamental matters.

But, the end result is what matters. Even though many people vote as they do for the wrong reasons ("he sounds Muslim" or "I just always vote [fill in party]"), the vote is what matters. Our job, on the front line, is to attempt to educate a sometimes-resistant and easily-distracted population that really doesn't have the time to scrutinize beyond sound-bytes or misleading commercials.

Like I said, it's a beautiful process, very rewarding, absolutely maddening... and very confusing. If that makes sense.

This campaign means everything to me because of fundamental beliefs I have about how our country should conduct itself. I fear that my view is simply not an accurate reflection of exactly who we are. What if we are torturers? What if we are fiscally reckless? What if we don't believe in that which was once inalienable? What if we really don't need evidence to use our power?

Before I entertain answers to those hypotheticals, I'm going to try to persuade my community. My job is to convey the importance during a conversation that usually lasts 30 seconds. No one said it would be easy.

But, never give up on hope without a fight.

Proud no matter what

Jacob just climbed on my back. That was fun. He's my little buddy.... now, where was I?

The last few weeks have been interesting. We tried to enroll Jacob in preschool. Poor little guy lasted only two-and-a-half days. He was just too overwhelmed. From all the fallout of the experiment, all the stress and all the tears (and there were many), I can say without question that I will always be proud of my boy.

I know that. I believe that will continue. The challenge? To make sure Jacob always knows that.

The experience did give reason for contemplation, though. It made me think back to my upbringing and how I somehow developed a capacity to categorize too many things as failure.

That got me thinking... why does such a thought even have to be suppressed? Shouldn't it never even creep into one's mind when applied to a child? Obviously, my toddler is not a failure for not being ready to start school at the age of 2. My concern is that at some point I may be tempted to apply that term too loosely... like dad seemed to.

A brief history: My dad's shoes will always have room in the toes. All of my abilities could never quite fill them. I've learned to accept that. I did well in school, he performed spectacularly (Boettcher scholar, member of AOA in medical school, and on and on).

Now, for the part that only three people in the world can really understand: Dad was very difficult to please when report cards were issued. So difficult to please (at least early on) that I was never quite sure it could be done.

I do not mention this to complain or play the victim. The point is, I woke up. So, his method was effective for me in that I took the challenge (sometimes in a vain effort to "show him") and traveled the path he advocated. It also taught me to steam over an A-minus when I was .002 away from my first college 4.0.

The question I am left to contemplate is complicated. Dad drove me to achieve, even if it was sometimes accompanied by some misery, hard feelings and stress. Mom made sure we were as loved as anyone could be. Does one work without the other? I say no.

Without mom's constant reminders that dad didn't mean to make us feel that inadequate (he often forgot to get to that part), I'm sure I would have probably lashed out.

After the lessons were taught, however, dad did a complete 180. To my shock, he didn't care one bit about my law school grades. You could have knocked me over with a deep breath when he told me not to sweat over a B-minus.

So, the point? I'm going to have to be careful. Left alone, I will bend toward being a hard-ass on grades. I will have to remember the time my academic tormentor shed his mask and told me to chill. Apparently, even hard-asses can be reformed.

Sometimes, even examples that produce results don't need to be followed by the letter.

In her lifetime

I was there when history was made.

I was at Mile High Stadium 45 years to the day after Dr. King described his dream.

Sitting behind me was an elderly black woman from California and her family. Her and her husband both wore handicap stickers and labored to get to their seats in the fifth and very top level of Invesco Field at Mile High.

We talked about her love of the Golden State Warriors, a team she has followed for decades. Although she said she is from Oakland, she assured me, while sitting seven sections from a giant Bronco logo, that she never roots for the Raiders.

We also discussed the moment. She explained with a special joy how much it meant to her to see the first African American candidate for president formally accept that nomination. She didn't say it explicitly, but I interpreted in her excitement a wonderment that she could experience such a moment in her lifetime. The fact that her and her husband, both handicapped, chose to cram themselves in the fifth level of a football stadium hundreds of miles from home expressed that meaning.

She was in her seat nearly as early as I was (about 1:30 p.m.) and enjoyed the entire event. Her few times leaving her seat were labored and assisted by her granddaughter and a cane.

When Barack Obama spoke, her smile only grew. Every applause line inspired an enthusiastic "That's Right" from behind me. And, when Obama hit a special chord, she would raise her hand, fingers spread, close her eyes, shake her head and say "Mmmmm Hmmmmm."

My time at Invesco Field at Mile High was filled with live music performances by Stevie Wonder, Sheryl Crow and more. I heard speeches from a Nobel-peace-prize-winning former vice president (Al Gore), a father of the civil rights movement (John Lewis), Governors from around the nation (Virginia, New Mexico, Colorado and others), and Representatives and Senators from around this nation. I saw emotion unique to any event I have ever attended. I saw a fireworks display and pageantry that blew my mind. And, I saw a speech that many describe as the best acceptance speech ever given by a prevailing party candidate.

I was present at a proud and historic moment in our nation's history. But, for some reason, my most vivid memory is the jovial old lady who sat behind me and lit the stage with her joy.

Short Update

... Jacob starts preschool in a few weeks. We bought him some school clothes on Saturday because there are some restrictions on what he cannot wear to school (specifically anything superhero). Jen and I have been talking a lot about this step and we both think it will help him. The school is Montessori and the method seems designed to teach him how to learn on his own.

Still, we will miss him being home as much.

... Also on Saturday I picked up my ticket for Barack Obama's big speech at Invesco Field at Mile High. It seems my volunteering efforts paid off and I got two "all-star" tickets. Baggs will be joining me for what promises to be a memorable evening. We can't wait.

... I miss playing chess regularly and am considering getting back to regular play (i.e. once a week). I prefer playing with friends, but will probably end up playing online more often. I've had some bad experiences playing strangers online (mostly, I seem to run into folks with no manners).

... Just finished reading Friday Night Lights this weekend. Very good book. One of the reasons I left journalism, and sports journalism in particular, was the rabid nature of some fans. I always considered Texas a particularly "unique" place, so this book really only served to confirm that whatever case of over-zealous behaviour I may have seen would only be a bigger problem there. You know what they say about Texas... everything is bigger. Apparently, even obsessions are bigger in Texas.

... My fantasy football draft is coming up on Aug. 23. Get ready for some banter. It's on!

Put up or shut up

Big and important things are happening at home and in life. I had a great weekend that led to a call to action.

I had a nice weekend with Jacob while Jen went camping with her family. She got a break, I got some Jacob time. We played and had a good time. Chris was in town and we grilled and video-gamed like the old days.

While he was here, Chris (the cloth) got engaged in Rocky Mountain National Park. Before that grand event, the Fuzz, the Book, the Cloth and I won the World Cup with China on Wold Cup 2006 for the PS2. I'm not certain which event made Chris more happy. Ok that's a joke, but it was probably closer than you'd think. We celebrated like we won the Super Bowl and loved every bit of it. We had a gathering and met the future Mrs. Cloth and all was well last weekend.

Once playtime was over, however, it was time for me to get to make good on a pledge I made. I decided to take a more active roll in the Obama campaign. Part of the reason is that I had resolved to do that. The other part is that I can be bought for DNC speech tickets. The campaign allows for "all-star" seating for those who pledge to volunteer for two shifts on behalf of the campaign before August 14. This ingenious plan just bought the campaign a large number of free work hours to further distance Obama's lead over McCain in organization and enthusiasm.

Tonight, I registered my first shift. I made 73 phone calls at a phone bank. It was fun. The people are a tight-knit group and it was surprisingly easy and fun to talk to strangers on the phone, especially when they showed enthusiasm for the campaign.

Next up, I will register voters in town at the Sculpture Show here in town. That will make two shifts, and a shot at DNC speech tickets. But, thing is, I won't stop working. Although attendance at the speech will be one of the highlights of my life, it's not my only motivation.

There are 90 days until the election and this is important enough to fight for. I live in a swing state (for once) and can't wait to help tip the balance. When I doubt whether I have the time, I think of Jacob. Our current course will lead to "public" schools and universities priced like private schools (and thus less available to middle class folks like us). Climate change is something Jacob's generation will have to deal with in a way we don't understand now unless something changes.

Sometimes you have to just take the plunge. Sometimes it's all worth it. I don't want to wake up on November 5, 2008 wondering if I could have done anything more. I have signed up to be a leader of a team locally and it involves time commitment.

For Barack Obama, for Jacob and for the good of our country, I will do this. But, we all need to do our part in other ways as well.

I no longer come home from work for lunch to save on the emissions from the car. That saves 10 miles a day. 50 miles a week. It's a smaller carbon footprint, even if slightly so. Jen signed us up to purchase wind-generated power from out of state. We pay a small extra fee, but our house no longer pulls from a generator that burns coal. These are very small steps, but steps nonetheless.

My phone calls are a small step. But I'm not alone, and we recruited more volunteers tonight. The world becomes a better place when we work for it. I don't know if my efforts will dent anything, but it makes me feel good that I'm not the only one pushing for change.

Anyone who wants to volunteer can contact me and help influence the world through local action. Just post a comment here or give me a call. I'm in recruitment mode.

It's time to put up or shut up.

Dapper young man

Jacob got a haircut today. He was in need of one desperately. He has been playing with his trains this evening and I got a few action shots. I also have a few pre-haircut shots. I'm contemplating a few new ideas for coming blog posts, but I'm not sure how it's going to be. For now, I'm keeping with the relaxation theme of this weekend and posting some great pics of Jacob.

Before Haircut
Before Haircut... and into trouble

After Haircut, playing with trains

Dapper young man

Choo Choo!

Jacob and Dad

How Mr. Rocca led to my participation in a Book challenge

Book and I decided to try to read 24 books this year. It's been a fun project. I just finished number 15 tonight. Pursuing this goal got me thinking about a time when I didn't read much.

Way back in the summer of my eighth-grade year, the first teacher to really believe in me (Mr. Rocca) suggested that I go into the honors program for 9th grade. The only catch was that I would have to read 3 books over the summer and write reports on each of them.

Like a lazy bum, I spent most of my summer dreading the assignment and reading nothing. I tried to finish one book with less than a month before classes for high school would begin. I actually took the easy road and simply called the school and changed my schedule to be in regular English class instead of AP.

Problem solved.

I reveled in those last few weeks of summer... and spent the rest of my high school career regretting the decision and trying to make up for it. In fact, for awhile, I even developed a bit of a complex toward AP.

All because I was too lazy to do what many people do for FUN over the course of an entire summer. The "regular class" allowed me to read some very good books and I really ate those books up. I was determined to make the very most out of the class. After all, education is what you make of it.

Even after college, I still didn't read much for pleasure. I did it occasionally, but not often. Of course, I read all my assignments in college, so to do more was just too repetitive.

During the three years between my graduation from CU and my entrance into law school, I only read a few books, but they were extremely meaningful to me. "A Brave New World," by Aldous Huxley struck me particularly. It's concept of "Soma" inspired me to learn German.

I describe the book as similar to George Orwell's book 1984 if that book were about social interactions as opposed to politics.

Soma was a pill that put people into a catatonic, but satisfied state. The description reminded me of exactly how I must look when I watch TV. Jen had recommended the book, so I told her of a plan to see if I could learn a new language with the time I would otherwise have spent watching television. That became a bit of an obsession, but that's another story. Law school was on the horizon and I needed an excuse to escape distraction, so giving up cable was the obvious choice.

Needless to say, I did very little pleasure reading in law school. My eyeballs would have probably shut down. I like to read, but my eyes aren't made of steel and I was anal about reading my assignments.

For about a year after I experienced the bar exam, I avoided all unnecessary reading. (Seriously, that exam is life-alteratingly crappy... it's effects linger and I will never take it again, so let's say I won't be leaving the state anytime soon).

Once the post-bar shock wore off, my path was finally clear. I now can't read enough. This book challenge has been just that, but it has been fun and definitely worth it (even if I've had to suffer through a few badly-chosen books).

My final thought, though, goes back to Mr. Rocca. I "woke up" school-wise in 8th grade. Partly, that was his doing. When my submission for a writing contest was a tongue-in-cheek critique of the awful school lunch food just to be funny and goof around, he went out of his way to find me.

He found me after school in a common area and said how he had specifically looked for my paper thinking it would be a contender for the prize. He said he wished I had taken it seriously and expressed actual disappointment that I did not.

Mr. Rocca had an Afro hairstyle and was often the butt of jokes as a result. His positive approach and Mr. Rogers sweaters were also fodder for middle-school students. But, Mr. Rocca walked the walk. He also required payment of $0.10 per use of the word "ain't."

When I showed up to school wearing a Bart Simpson T-shirt that said "Underachiever and Proud of it," he pulled me aside. Again, he did not take me to task harshly. He said that he would not require me to turn it inside out as some schools had at the time, but that he was disappointed that I would choose to identify myself that way. My protests were heard, but he simply stated that I had a choice about which direction to take and that choices set a direction.

In all honesty, I was actually just a really big fan of the Simpsons and I still do not believe I had internalized it, but his message struck me. And, I could really see the very genuine concern in his eyes. Both his Simpsons critique and his disappointment regarding my writing assignment remain as vivid as if I were watching him live on television right now.

I am not even sure of his first name anymore (it's been almost 20 years), but I want to thank Mr. Rocca for believing in me, for being honest and for leveling with me.

He is one of many who have helped me put on my boots. Sometimes all it takes is acceptance of an outstretched hand. I wish I could find him today so I can thank him. Time to run a google search.

I was lucky to have had his influence just as I learned how to listen.