A BURNING DESIRE

I suppose it was the night air, or the fifty mosquito bites on the nape of my neck that brought me back to reality the second I became a smidge nostalgic for my younger days and life in Michigan. I recall front porch screens that closed with a snap and bang, adventures in Cedar Point (America’s roller coast) and a taste for summer cocktails of Faygo and Deep Woods Off. (Shaken.) But, oh, do I love Las Vegas more. At least, I thought I did until I took a drive down a back road today.

Back then, it was the best of times…it was the worst of times, and I love remembering them. I love my family very much and it is good to see them again. Although I admit that sometimes the visits are too short  (burdened with the ever looming vacation itinerary) and the in-between times too long, I do think that in the world of crazed family situational comedies and tragedies, perhaps the more poignant visit is the most appropriate.

On this particular trip we flew first class. I feel no shame in writing about it. The pillows average airplane size, the Reuben/Chicken Salad variety dwindled to merely Chicken Salad by the time they got to row 6, and my Bloody Mary tasted like feet. I’m sure someone in coach won the lottery. We all have our win falls and downfalls. Poo-poo on those who can’t see past the little curtain that separates things. Anyway…dropping into Detroit brought chilly winds, loving faces, and sprouting nieces who I swear are growing in front of me as I spend time with them.

The Zoo, Lake Michigan, Fireworks, Grandma’s Birthday and a Lansing Lugnuts game filled my dance card for the week and I was able to put my summer plans on the back burner for a while. (Even if they did indeed fit in my carry-on.)

Jackson, Michigan is a very interesting place and a perfect example of rural Mid-West. The culture shock isn’t terribly jarring, (even if songs from 5 years ago are still in the county’s top ten and going to one of two Starbucks within 60 miles is considered a “trip”) I argue everyone needs to take two steps backs every now and then and remember where they came from. Breakfast at the Bone Island Grille and sharing stories with my Mom and Grandma did just that, and I took off my sunglasses at the table and opted to drop the “out of town” act at least until the bill came.

For some reason this trip I found myself particularly interested in the surrounding areas of Jackson. The ones that had father and son, one-garage auto shops with signs that read, “Save a Squirrel, Check your Breaks” and Taste-E Freezes oozing with chocolate covered cherry compote. I noticed broken windows in broken down factory buildings, deserted fairgrounds and weeds hiding between cracks in the road.

When I came upon a weathered yard sign that read “Burning Barrels – $10″ I stumbled upon a whole different avenue of forgotten times. For those of you who don’t know, burning barrels are empty oil drums, stripped and painted for the sole purpose of keeping in your acre backyard, so that your family can take trash out every other day to burn. That’s right. Garbage men came around once every two weeks…and it was relatively light work. Everything else was toted and burned. After a year or so, when the ashes get to around 2-inches from overflowing, you call up a handyman to come and tote the heavy bugger away, and you start over again.

Kinda crude in the age of fuel emissions and recycled Diet Coke cans I suppose. But for a young boy, growing up, it provided relief to that occasional desire to hold a match to something and created an instant bon-fire and a source of amusement. I had forgotten about watching those plastic bottles shrivel up and the Kleenex take flight into the air as a charred web of ash.

As I get older and find these visits “back home” to be more and more about finding time instead of catching up, I wonder how my life has changed from the days of the burning barrel. I suppose I’m wiser, but to this day in Las Vegas, twice a week mind you, I still drag to the corner a heap of garbage without a care. I take for granted the work it must take to dispose of the same trash I used to so willingly….excitedly even….ignite myself, years ago.

We all have demons. We all have regrets. We all have things that weigh on our minds and hearts. There are things that need to be said…and things that need to be undone. And I all too often find myself willing and able to tote those fears, doubts, angers and griefs out to the road, knowing that if we reach the curb, we won’t have to worry about them anymore. We do that all too often with hopes, goals, promises and dreams as well.

If I were to manage these hopes, fears, ambitions, etc….strike the match and begin a blaze, for whatever reason…at least then I would be most likely to stand and watch the progress of my decision. Ponder….reflect….and then watch whatever I trashed wisp away into the air, or shrivel up and melt. At least then, I see it with my own eyes. At least then, when my burning barrel gets full…it’s my responsibility to figure out a way to remove it.

Deep stuff, huh? I thought so too. But, using a burning barrel as a metaphor isn’t the only thing I found interesting this trip. The innocence in my Grandmother’s and nieces eyes…the fervent desire to cling to precious time with her son in my mother’s smile….the practical need for an ant trap back home so my house sitter isn’t grossed out…all these things add to the stew I brew up every time I step on a plane back to Jackson, MI. As often as I roll my eyes every time someone might suggest I ever live in the Mid-West again…Jackson has always provided me with something that I can take home with me to think about.

I need to think about what I throw away everyday in my personal trash can, perhaps sift out the recyclables, and then make room in the back yard for a burning barrel once more. I think it is important to reflect on everything in the past, the present and in the future. All too often, because of time or space we forget how we once used to deal with things. Perhaps in the rapid fire age of drive-thru Starbucks and zoom zoom race cars we need a back road tour of how to slow down our decision-making.

At least then maybe I can appreciate the trips “back home,” enjoy a slow-paced itinerary, and be thankful for golden nuggets like a simple Jackson city burning barrel.

Help the “needy.”

Whoever invented the term “inner beauty” should be hunted down, bound with used Slinkies, towed to the nearest cul de sac and beaten with large sticks.

I know full well that by shouting from the rooftops that I’m a Dr. Phil fan will strongly effect my creditability in this posting. Some view this dude as a complete sell out, phony bologna with clinical advice as accurate as his painted-on smile. To a small degree, I agree. Anything on the boob tube needs a little make-up to remove the shine. But, in the big picture, I think Dr. Phil is a decent person who wants to do right, and puts things in the spotlight so that they can, at the very least, get attention. The dude makes a bundle doing so, granted…but I don’t think that deserves character lynching. That’s just being guilty of wanting to earn a really good living. Some of us would kill for some of that right now…so I won’t begrudge him.

Today he was talking about the “sexualization” of teens and how media is totally influencing those who do not have role models at home. I find this topic AMAZINGLY interesting. As a high school teacher in an upper-class, private high school I deal with student entitlement issues, social out casting and an overflow of arrogance as thick as the wallets they are used to receiving handouts from. It’s an uphill battle in some cases. But, you can’t get upset over things that ultimately aren’t within your control. These students are used to a certain way of life…and cannot be faulted for NOT thinking otherwise. They don’t know an “otherwise.”

I watched a promo for the upcoming Gossip Girl episode. (A show I admit I’ve never seen.) It showed a young man and women in bed…in a steamy, kiss-filled embrace followed by a discussion about how the girl might have accidentally married the boy’s best friend…and was he jealous??? Then it showed that they were in high school. They look 25!!

It’s farce. It’s all farce. It’s unrealistic to think of little Mary in my High School Drama class in a black thong (Why black? Well…I saw it on the commercial) in a steamy embrace…and talking about accidentally marrying someone because she replied “si” instead of  “I do” in a drunken stupor. It’s downright unimaginable.

I think it’s likewise unimaginable to think that ANY of my students are sexually active. But…and I’m impressing my “I suppose” theory here….I’m sure that’s not the case either. I bet there is a LOT I don’t know. To be blissfully naive sure seems nice on the onset, but when I look in the eyes of these kids who I have the pleasure of teaching everyday…do you want to know what I see? I see someone who has a fundamental void in their life that needs to be filled. Something is missing, and these impressionable hopefuls are filling these voids with what they KNOW. AKA: Gossip girl poo-poo.

I watch as they distribute off-hand insults on a daily basis. There are plenty of rolling eyes. Even their lingo. I’ve even used the word “creeper” in class. But, in a year that word will most likely follow suit to many other words of yesteryear (aka: “snap,” “Gangsta,” and “word”) and find a backseat to the next big trend. It’s a living, breathing, evolving mess of “whatever happens to stick to the wall at that particular moment.”

What they say…what they do…certainly what they wear…and how they “act” (in class, with friends, in social situation, and in gaining acceptance from members of the opposite sex) are all a part of this whirlwind of commitment that these “needy” students cling to. It’s what gets them through Anatomy class and any thing else that’s more than a mere speed bump in their day.

As a drama teacher, I have the great fortune of providing an outlet to students who are “needy.” Performance offers an opportunity to do something fun, in front of an audience, with the support of the ensemble that is usually followed by praise from the adult supervisor. Subconsciously isn’t that what every kid wants?

I watched as the parents of this 14-year old on Dr. Phil sat in a short skirt and tall boots, slathered in make-up as Dr. Phil and mommy argued about her rolling her skirt down to show her thong. Mommy retorted, “Well, it’s not her thong that she rolls..it’s her skirt and that’s what I have a problem with.”

I’m sitting there going….“how about NOT letting your 14 year old wear a thong.” Maybe I’m old fashioned. Maybe I’m conservative. But, I know I’m not crazy. I’m a full-grown man with eyes and ears in the public like everyone else. Everybody has innocent crushes with a make-shift celebrities. The media demands it. (And don’t say you DON’T. Do I even have to go there, you Twilight fans!!??)

But, must we surpass reason in order to supply evidence that we’re all “in tune” with what society throws at us? Have we forgotten our moral and personal, family standards…or are we just sitting on them because it’s easier than cooking a family meal and sitting down together to talk about how the day went?

Another thing…I’m NOT a parent, so one could make the argument that I have no basis for comparison…but, it seems to me that mommy dearest on the Dr. Phil show has her priorities completely out of whack! This is a young lady that is desperately seeking something…anything. And you’re arguing about her thong. Honestly. Mommy is complaining about how hot the sun is on Earth and she’s standing on Pluto! The big picture concern is that mommy is not in touch with her daughter.

What I think we all need is an outlet.  Something that takes us away from what is “expected” of us and allows us to do something for us instead. People have hobbies, have guilty secrets…but, until we can find a way to channel these “needs” that are suppressing what is truly deep down inside of us…instead of letting them control us like a robot to suit the demands of a PLASTIC society…then we will fill these voids our students with empty hopes and invisible promises.

With that said…I think parents need to be huge participants…no, no…ADVOCATES in helping to find and encourage these outlets.

Every night this last two weeks I’ve been putting make-up on in preparation for the onstage role I’m playing in Thoroughly Modern Millie. Tonight a young stage hand asked me with a roll of the eyes, “how long does it take you to do that usually.” I answered about a half hour. She couldn’t believe it. It’s hard work making every line…ever contour and feature fit the mold I’m trying to create so that I might offer an effective character. For the theatre…that’s time spent in preparation for a show. I argue, in life…it’s now different. Whether it’s make-up or self education, manipulation or transformation…that preparation time is something parents desperately need to be a part of.

People use the term inner beauty as a means by which to avoid what is being displayed outside. It’s totally misused. We all have the opportunity to be beautiful. Inner…outer…no matter what you want to label it…it’s all you. And just like the lingering MySpace photo of you holding a beer in a drunken frat party…what you put out there for the world to see…you can’t take it back! This “you” is the only one you get. You get ONE SHOT at life…make it beautiful.

Parents…they need your help. How else are they going to perfect those contours and features?

I’m right…and you’re wrong!

Fazoli’s has pretty decent food for an Italian Fast Food joint. I’ve always thought that the 10 minute wait in the drive-thru kinda contradicted the idea of “fast”…but all in all, I continue to offer my patronage to the place. It’s the site of today’s topic.

I pulled up to the window and received my food…and was curious as to why one soft drink was smaller than the other. “I thought I ordered two extra-large drinks,” I commented. What followed could be described simply as a one-way, minute-long, detailed commentary of exactly what I ordered, and why in the world I would even question such a thing, because obviously the drive-thru clerk is doing their job correctly and I’m not doing my job of paying attention.

I didn’t really answer back. I was flabbergasted. (Besides, I think they wanted me to answer back, and I wasn’t going there.) I received my food and drinks and drove away, too afraid to ask for the bread sticks they forgot.

What’s up with people lately? Cities, schools, small business and the like are being frosted with a condescending glaze of “right-fighters.” (An endearing term I respectfully steal from Dr. Phil.) Everyone is right…and don’t you dare confront them, lest you feel the lash of their scornful gaze and acidic rebuttals.

It’s not just adults in the workplace at 4pm on Friday at Fazoli’s…..named Jeff. More so, I fear we’re raising a society of right-fighters who are encouraged to stand firm. It borrows from the old adage of “if someone punches you on the playground…you punch back. That’s my boy!” These concepts, while strong-willed and I suppose in that regard, positive…are fueling an “age of entitlement” that will make everyone RIGHT…and everyone else WRONG, spinning us around in a never-ending rabbit season/duck season argument.

Conversation…and dare I say, confrontation is like a dance. It takes two to tango, whether your partner wants to dance or not! You cannot engage in an exchange if you’re too busy being right!

As a drama teacher, I’d say this is one of my biggest challenges when working with my students. Entitlement issues are always present. (On the onset of auditions…as they mature from freshmen to seniors and climb the ladder of ensemble member to leading role…even in the most arrogant student and quirkiest wallflower I teach.) They are challenged with the demands of the stage and what it takes out-audition others in heated competition for the opportunity to do what they love onstage.

They are also challenged with living in a fish bowl onstage…and off. In school they walk the halls as the Cat in the Hat, Blanche or Stella, Sweeney Todd and Sandy Dumbrowski. You need tough skin to change into P.E. clothes every other day elbow to elbow with your peers, being referred to as the Magical Mr. Mistofolees. It’s a burden. To counteract that…they wind up protecting themselves with confidence, that sometimes overflows into brazen arrogance and conceit. These wind up being entitlement issues and they present themselves the very first time a prop is taking from the drama classroom knowing that “Mr. Ball won’t mind.” They’re not being malicious…they are just overly confident. This is dangerous ground. That same student will display that same confidence when ensuring a customer at their first job, that they ordered it wrong…and what they’re receiving is 100% correct.

So, what’s the solution? That’s a tough one. As I look at my graying parents and remember my childhood punishments of yesteryear…I recall a strict environment where school work came first and being polite or not was NOT my decision to make. I recall soap in my mouth…canceled vacations…and my father literally “pulling the car over.” I would be remiss to suggest giving someone “the belt” but I don’t think that’s the solution.

We now have a generation of adults, my age, who are raising children that are the product of a “wanna be a better parent” rebound. Parents don’t realize that they can certainly be their son or daughter’s friend…but they have to be their parent first.

I had a student absent from class this week…they were on their fifth cruise this year with their parents. Fifth. Another, a junior, has been home all week, alone. His parents away on business. I was in Marshall’s the other day in the sock aisle and could not believe how a 12 year old was talking to her mother. I actually heard the b-word. I felt embarrassed for the mom, angered at the child…and in totally disbelief that the mostly one-way conversation lasted as long as it did. Suddenly formal, black dress socks weren’t that important to me anymore.

My parents never spanked me as a child. My dad did, however, tell me of this paddle he made out of particle board that he hung in the basement closet. He indicated how large it was, and he said he painted it green. Pretty much a horror story for a 6 year old.

He said that he hoped he would never have to use it. Thankfully, he never had to. Around the age of 17 years old, in a non-related, high-spirited conversation, I asked my father if I could see this paddle. He told me it never existed. I couldn’t believe it. It never crossed my mind that it was made up. While this may be the reason for my sometimes obsessive/compulsive behavior and midnight paranoia about locking the door downstairs… I’m sure of it……it was whole fully effect in hindsight.

My parents had a level of expectation for every avenue of my growing up, and not meeting that expectation was not an option. Did I fall short? All the time. I was a kid…they do that. But, that standard, that house-wide understanding that we were to be at the dinner table at 6pm for dinner (for instance)….that starchness that forced it’s way into my personal teen routine…that’s what is needed today.

Parents today are not evil. They’re not stupid. They’re not careless. They are just…in their minds….right. Who’s job is it to evaluate the individual family’s parenting skills? Where’s that rubric? As a teacher, you can give As and Bs…you can re-do a seating chart…issue a detention. You can even sit down and “have a talk” with a student. But, in the end, they go home to a set of parents who are less concerned about “dealing with the issue with their children,” and more concerned about “skirting the blame.”

Another incident occurred when a student in my school was caught drawing graffiti on the bathroom walls with a Sharpie and given a Saturday detention. The parents called a meeting with the administration to explain how it was the teacher’s fault for letting the kid out of class.

It comes down to ownership. If you’re working in a drive-thru….why are you there? Ultimately to offer service to the paying patron, right? You dishing out pasta for $7.00 an hour. You’re not selling Cadillacs! Is the argument, or rather, forced “right-fighting” worth it? What do you gain? Entitlement?

If you’re a student auditioning for a play, and you don’t get cast…do you issue formal complaints regarding the cast list and the director’s choice? (Trying hard to find loopholes in the process.) Or, do you figure it’s part of a bigger plan and then go back to evaluate your audition offering and see where you need improvement. One is a little bit more pride-swallowing and labor intensive. (Isn’t that part of the actor’s job description?)

As a parent, would you rather support your student’s efforts in working hard to succeed…and if they fail, be part of the up-hill climb as their biggest support in the hopes that they will turn things around and make it o the top? Or, would you rather send a scathing email…leave an insinuative voice mail….or assume the teacher is out to get your child? I assure you that one path is easier to do than another…and I assure you…if teachers didn’t want your child to succeed, then they would have gone into real estate.

The bottom line is, right-fighting doesn’t work. You’re not dealing with the root of any issue. Instead your glazing it over with a sugar-coating that nullifies any positive effort on anyone’s part.

I call it sweeping it under the rug. Some people refer to that as “dodging.” Today I called it, “get out quick before the angry Fazoli’s man eats your face.”

Take the high road next time. Talk it out and work toward a positive solution. Be a part of a solution to find a resolve.  Succumb to the fact that you just might be wrong.

Who needs an extra large soda and carb-filled bread sticks anyways?

AUDITIONS….Hit me BABY, one more time!

Tomorrow I will walk into a room and dash people’s hopes. I will force people to spew forth their inner-most fears and watch as they squirm in front of me. I will not hesitate in forcing a select few to step forward and swallow their pride. I will expect to see a huge amount of self-loathing, fear, resentment and depression. I will make kids cry tomorrow.

As you might have guessed…it’s time for the High School Musical auditions at Faith Lutheran again. (You thought we were going to war or something!) No, I LOVE auditions, but with it comes a stigma, and is ultimately followed by a small armyof wanna-b actors who “cannot understand!” I’ll have to make sure my brain is well-adjusted, and that my heart is left in my sock drawer that day.

This year we’re tackling many projects at once. It’s “SEUSSICAL the musical” this time ’round, and for those who are unfamiliar, let’s just say it is a spirited romp through the pages of Dr. Seuss. This is also the first H.S. Musical in the new Chapel/Performing Arts Center at Faith. Both challenges present uphill climbs and we will have numerous busy days ahead to say the least.

My wife just closed her play “CLUE” this weekend. What an amazing show. I couldn’t have been more proud of my wife. She remains a constant source of joy, hope and encouragement. I can only dream to have a show with 1/8 as much talent, thoughtfulness and fun as hers.  The students did such a good job too! The audiences seemed to really enjoy it, and the overall post-show commentary was peppered with “best show at Faith,” “very professional,” and “my favorite play I’ve ever seen” – like comments. She set the bar really high and that particular standard will make Seussical a very ambitious project!

So, why then am I looking forward to the onslaught of doe-eyed hopefuls tomorrow, ready to appease me with their riveting renditions of Andrew Lloyd Webber masterpieces and Sweeney Todd adaptions? Shouldn’t I be in the after-glow of the best play ever on the faith stage. Well, let just say that I’m looking at these auditions differently.

I believe every high school student needs the theatrical audition process. This isn’t just a recruiting statement for my classes. I’m happy when they show up, but truth be told a separation of wheat and chaff in the classroom is usually welcomed with open arms by the uber-sensitive teacher these days. Instead, I suggest that the fundamental routines  required of the every-day high school auditioner, is a test of will. It’s a self-disciplined, independent character building workshop. It’s something non-drama people DON’T DO.

How many times have you told someone you can’t sing…and then whale out “Womanizer” in the shower? How often do you proclaim to waddle on two left feet…and then nearly jazzersize in front of the mirror during your morning rituals? We all do. If you have vocal chords, you can sing. If you have muscles and can so much as twitch…you can dance. Some better than others….granted….but for the most part the shear opportunity to put yourself to the test is something that will FREEZE people with fear.

I had a young lady who talked to me yesterday about auditions who literally said “what happens if I faint…or pee myself?” I giggled, thinking she was joking. Her face was white. “Oh…you’re serious!” I said.

What do you do with that? I wasn’t sure…and to this moment, I don’t quite remember what I told her. I only know that this is someone who HAS to get in font of people or she’ll have a stroke if she’s ever in a room when a fire alarm goes off.

I had a friend who has this beautiful dog. Silky coat, beautiful eyes, shining personality. But, if it ever thunder stormed, the do would wet all over the house. It was just frightened of something that was completely out of their control.

Students need to break out of their shells. They need to be IN control…and the only way to test that is to put them into a situation that COULD spiral out of control. How are you ever going to learn how to swim unless you actually get into the water. You can read every book about swimming ever written…but it’s the experience, the practical application….the “nearly drowning” moment that helps you define those self-discipline boundaries.

The private school in which I teach has many students whose parents will NOT LET them audition for the musical, because they HAVE to do track or another sport or activity. These are the same moms and dads whose social life includes get-togethers with the other “richies” in the stands during these meets to “cheer their kids on” …or rather, “hang with the richies and count their diamonds and 100 dollar bills.” Scarcastic? Yes. Overly-dramatic? Sure. Accurate…..oh yeah.

In the Living Skills class at Faith, they have those creepy “real babies” that students tote around so that they can feel what it feels like to be a parent. They are forgotten about in dance class. Abandoned in the lunch room. Stepped on in the hall. It’s all rather silly…but it is a wonderful social distraction and the goofy names the kids give their dolls are really what’s MOST important, right? How far from these antics are some of the sheltering parents of the students in our school?

This may not even remotely apply to your school’s demographic. When I can count the number of Jaguars in the parking lot at Faith and find that the number exceeds that of the average zoo…then I suppose my controlled group would have to remain a smidge skewed. But, for all intents and purposes…I’d hope you’d agree that the average student needs to remain just that….well-rounded…well-adjusted….and average. Before they can be expected to excel in one thing…they need exposure to all things. That’s why P.E. was required of all students when I was in school. You wanna know what else was “required?” The rope! We all had to climb the rope. It remains a nightmare I re-live again and again.

Did I climb the darn thing? Nope. Can’t. But, I tried. Tried hard! I was made fun of. I was the dork. But, how I handled that situation was ultimately the biggest test of that particular unit.

So, as far as auditions are concerned…where does one go when the spotlight is on them? If they run into the wings, they’re masked, but people will still know they are there. Auditioning is everything that a true test of self-worth should be. It challenges you. It requires a lot from you. It puts the pressure on you. And then…it throws you curve balls. (I could argue that the “real world” to an average high schooler might be defined the same way.)

Dosen’t matter what role you get…what only matters that that you don’t look back with regret. If you prepare, and then execute…then you’ve completed your task. If you walk away with your head high…then you’re a success.

On the heels of a successful play…looking forward to a very busy musical…and anticipating a very emotional outpouring at auditions…I can hope to see tomorrow new faces with aspirations of greatness. I can also surely expect to see tomorrow the pool of lifeless, limp, cutetsy little beings. They’ll be in the hallways being stepped on by students, abandoned and made fun of.  Some of these “babies” will find their way onstage someday faced with the challenge of an audition. I guarantee they’ll walk away stronger. If not, they’ll at least be able to run to someone’s open arms who will coddle them and protect them. Either that, or they’ll pee themselves. Even then they get to change and be fresh again.

I assure you, even the best-kep Living Skills doll won’t even receive that benefit, audition or not.

“I’d like to thank…”

A head held high or one for the record books? Which would you prefer?

Slumdog Millionaire just won Best Picture. You might have heard about Heath Ledger (saw that coming!) and Sean Penn. Penelope Cruz might’ve surprised a few…but for the most part we watched  yet another predictable telecast of a mostly entertaining Oscar ceremony led by one of the industry’s most charismatic leading men. I liked some of the new formats presented and for the first time in years I wasn’t bored to tears. (Although I admit I was working on a few costume drawing for Seussical the Musical and tore myself away.)

One thing stood out in the program, and ironically is was a simple clip from a vignette and a movie I haven’t seen in a long time. You all remember “Good Will Hunting” right? Robin Williams’ character says “…you have to love something more than yourself…”

I don’t know what it’s like to be a movie star. I can’t fathom the paparazzi, the exposure…the lavish lifestyle and living in a fishbowl. But I can imagine that that sort of thing would certainly come in between what you do as a performer and how you do it.

Sean Penn, tonight, was praised as someone who doesn’t allow the fame to get in the way of his process, and for the record I have nothing against Penn personally. I enjoy his films. But, I was disheartened to see that on the heels of someone praising his ethics and poise when approaching the craft of creating a character and his unwavering ability to not allow that to be compromised by the heavy chains of stardom, he accepted his award and used the acceptance speech time to get on a soap box and speak about a current political issue on gay rights. Granted the film is about gay rights…but the award is a acting merit award, given to honor the actor and his/her craft. It’s not a promotion. It’s not a platform. And yet, all too often actors (or rather those who routinely gain exposure) use that opportunity to further themselves or their beliefs.

Let’s bring this down to high school theater at Faith Lutheran. We just finished a successful first week run of our high school play. The students did amazing and I felt that the audiences were very receptive. I watched as those bright-eyed students munched on bite-sized cupcakes after the show, still in make-up. These enthusiastic hopefuls, who, at the very least, want to impress and do well onstage made up of a variety of personalities. Some want a career in performing. Some simply enjoy the ride. All too often, as their teacher / director, one of the hardest things I have to do is to attempt to break down that wall that society (and oftentimes their parents and peers) builds up around these young actors. It’s a wall of self-worth, entitlement and pride. I’m guilty of doing it myself.

Acting is appealing in high school because anyone can do it. If you have no arms or legs, you can still be an actor. What separates a good actor from a bad actor is determined by their self-discipline and what others think. It’s subjective. Kids want to fill a fundamental void in their lives by stepping onstage. They’re escaping…gaining acceptance…finding an outlet…utilizing the stage as a surrogate therapy session. Whatever the reason (subconscious or not)…everyone onstage in high school, WANTS to be onstage for a reason. How do you get past that as a teacher, and help those students realize that the craft of acting is MORE than that, and that they need to love it more than themselves in order to truly do it to the glory of God?

My job is part time counselor, theater teacher, drama director…and I carry lots of school keys. Every day changes and shifts into something I never would have guessed. It’s a roller-coaster. The other day I was nearly brought to tears when a first-time actor came off stage and looked me in the eye and said “I’m so happy!” and then rushed away. (You had to be there.) I was also recently nearly brought to tears when I was told a long-time student of mine might consider going to another school, known for the performing arts status symbols and community-recognized talent pool and opportunity.

High School is high school. It shouldn’t be the NBA where kids are drafted or selected or chosen. It should remain a secondary education platform for all students to broaden horizons and expand on things that interest them. We can channel interest, but to focus on a single one and drive it home prior to graduation is setting students up for failure in my opinion.

Leading roles are fun…and exciting, and challenging. But, it’s a supporting role world. Faith Lutheran does not have the best drama program in the country. (It’s DARN close, I’ll tell you!) But, should we even care about that? Is that the goal? To be the best…to get a leading role….to accept an Oscar? If that’s the goal…then count me out. That’s using the talents God gave us as a springboard for our own personal interest and ultimately looking out for number one.

Self promotion gets people in the seats, and I suppose one might argue that you have to be brilliant in marketing before even thinking about opening a show on Broadway or at Faith Lutheran. Entertaining comes with a price. But, the process of shifting focus…redirecting…and remembering not to upstage God…that’s the continuing road every performer must travel.

I look forward to SEUSSICAL auditions in two weeks. In three weeks I will do my duty as grief counselor to those who worked so hard and didn’t get that leading role. It’s all very perfunctory and while I do care for these students and their feelings very much…it’s a very hard job to look them in the tear-filled eyes and explain to them that this is ONE musical. One opportunity…one show…and they are only 16 years old. It’s not about the show…not about the role…not about the opportunity. It’s about knowing why you love something so much, and then investing yourself in that one thing to the point to where you can love it more than yourself. For them, the high school student…it’s recognizing why they wanted that role…and why it’s okay to be upset, but knowing WHY they’re upset. Is it because they lost an opportunity for themselves?

I don’t think I’m there yet. I love the applause at the end. I love the glow of the spotlight. I love make-up and costumes, and props. Love it! Heck, this whole blog post can be construed as my own little soap box! And as a dirty, scummy sinner…I can love my God enough to know that I’m going to have a hard time teaching my students to get past the role and show, and do their best in God’s name, when I struggle to do it myself.

God gave me talents to use onstage to His glory. He did the same to my students and the Academy Award winners. I will pat my students on the back offering a “good show” sentiment, and I can look forward to next weekend’s round two and the auditions afterward. I can maybe even look forward to next year’s Oscar awards. Maybe. But, one thing is for certain…there is no trophy shelf in heaven. As much as I want to be that actor that performs in the name of the Lord…I’ll have to start breaking down my own walls of entitlement and self-motivation.

And even then…how do you pass that down? Loving the art of acting is easy, but loving the Lord more than you love yourself is hard…even in a leading role.

ARTIST vs. VANDAL: The Graffiti Argument

We are mere days away from opening the first High School production in Faith Lutheran’s new Chapel/Performing Arts Center! “CLUE,” based on the campy motion picture will certainly be one for the record books, and my wife (the director) will certainly consider this the hood ornament on her “drama career” Ferrari.  It’s been a long couple of weeks, and I look forward to a busy final rehearsal schedule and then an even busier follow-up rehearsal schedule as I swan dive into “Thoroughly Modern Millie” rehearsals. (I’ve been cast as Trevor Graydon.)

But, before I go on and on about how sore my feet are…or reveal the secret to magically removing dried paint from under your fingernails…allow me to relive the moment I first began spattering paint on the set last Friday and the look my the students gave me.

I had a hard time explaining to them that up close it looks like little splatters. But from a distance, and under the theatrical lights and magic of “pretend-land”…it looks amazing. Even after tutorials, some remain flat-out unbelievers.

“It just looks messy,” one said. “You ruined my wall!” another shouted! It was a wonderful uproar.

I had the opportunity to visit Home Depot several times this last week.  There is one conveniently located right around the corner of the school, and after my 17th trip to the macho-man mega-store, (casters were on sale), I noticed on the back of a neighboring Atlanta Bread Company restaurant, several graffiti-d “words”…scribbled with cheap spray paint on the exterior, trailing from one end of the store to the other.

Now, I truly believe graffiti, and graffiti artists for that matter, has its place in society. I’ve seen amazing graffiti displayed that I could easily categorize as breath-taking. Even the lettering of some simple offerings are completed with poise, flare and prestige. I think whoever invests time in something…anything…that is original, artistic and theirs (in other words, something they are passionate about)….then it should be considered art.

Art is such a subjective thing. Like theatrical arts, the visual arts world revolves around visionaries and skeptics. I recall, years ago, an commotion upon the displaying of a painting of the Virgin Mary. The artists’ medium was cow manure. The entire painting, which some deemed beautiful, was made entirely from dung. Some called it art…some called it crap. I thought they were both right.

Mayor Oscar Goodman, the martini-drinking mayor of Las Vegas, whose flare for the dramatics is as well-known as his reputation for extending himself beyond any conservatives city limits, made a public statement saying that any vandal caught spray-painting city property will have their thumbs chopped off.

I think graffiti artists have a voice and something to say. And I think they should have a place to display their artwork. With that said, I think it’s a ROTTEN SHAME that vandals scroll unreadable…rushed… “tags” all over the walls of Atlanta Bread Company.

If you’re an artist, if you have something to say (or rather, a message to send) then at least say it in words others can read. At least display it in places where you aren’t cowering in the shadows at midnight, waiting for that one car to speed by. If you want to protest…PROTEST! But at least show your face. If you want to defame, call-out or destroy something…if you feel strong enough, at least have the courage to do it where you can be seen. Anyone who scribbles with spray paint on the BACKS of anything…unreadable nonsense or “gang signs”….and then leaves it….they are nothing but a destructive vandal and a coward. Arguement

Graffiti is misunderstood. Artists in general are misunderstood in some ways. But as someone who is trying to find their “something” that sets them apart…that “something” that makes them special…or, that “something” that needs to be said, don’t allow yourself to be lumped into the same category as thieves, gangsters and criminals. Instead find an outlet, a channel, or a means by which to express yourself in a way that supports your vision or art. I can’t help but think, even IF those vandals did accomplish their goal in successfully tagging that store…what now? Nobody can read it…nobody understands it….nobody cares. And unless your purpose for doing that is to upset people…you’re not achieving anything. And if your goal is to upset people…you’re doing it in a simple-minded way and you will never be perceived as artistic…only destructive.

Maybe that cow-dung artist had something to say with that particular offering. You know it’s said that artists aren’t truly famous until they are dead and the legacy of their art has lived on after they have. Perhaps this young hopeful was looking for a break and found it through a risky piece of art and a little exposure. Perhaps he knew that good or bad press regarding the event would at least garnish him some press. Either way, he was willing to sign his name to the piece.

We all have something special about us. Something that we do well, or are good at. Something that separates us from everyone else. Look around…some of us are very outspoken about our talents. Others, not so much, and I can’t help but think that these people are ones that simply haven’t found the right outlet yet. I always tell my students, if you want to be a doctor or lawyer…go for it! But if you like video games, or skateboarding, or graffiti art….go for it! But it’s HOW you “go for it” that will define you. If you invest everything you have (including hard work at school, a determined spirit, and a don’t-give-up attitude) you can accomplish anything you want, and before you know it, you’ll be designing video games, or copyrighting your own brand of skateboard, or displaying your art to critical acclaim.

The tiny specs of paint on that CLUE set up close look very messy and divided. But from a distance, you can see that thy run together and generate the preferred ambiance.

We together with our separate talents and likes really don’t do much of anything, if we cannot collaborate. And artist is not an artist unless someone is there to look and reflect on their painting. An actor is not an actor without an audience. A graffiti artist is not an artist at all…unless they can define who their audience is. There should be places where graffiti can be displayed. The painter has a museum. The actor, the stage. But I refuse to believe that the side of a dumpster or the back of an Atlanta Bread Company is the graffiti artist’s place.

I took several steps back to observe my finished, painted  set this weekend. I can only hope it’s pleasing to the audience and in God’s eye. Perhaps taking several steps back and reevaluating what your passion is, and how you can better direct it, and questioning if it too is pleasing in God’s eye,  is something that could help reveal that outlet for you.

Sure seems a better alternative to chopping off appendages.

BEATRICE, my beautiful companion

I have a student who told me that every time her ears are ringing, it upsets her to the point of nausea. Even so much to make her unfocused or head achy. Hmm. When my ears ring, I just get distracted. Let’s hope a crowd of people doesn’t strike up a conversation about this young lady. While my ears aren’t currently ringing, I am immediately distracted by something that is making me unfocused and head achy. Today I made the not so hard decision to put my dog to sleep.

I have three other dogs that I love very much, and I couldn’t have been more grateful to come home to them today. (Penelope is sitting on my lap as I type.) But, Beatrice, my 13-year old, blind, diabetic, toothless chihuahua…held a special place in my heart, and today I had to say goodbye to a dear companion.

What sparked this posting has to do with my inability to come up with a clever idea for a chapel talk I give to the high school next week. Usually my chapel cup spillith over with high theatrics and a song and dance routine that challenges students to be distracted. My incorporation of crazed costumes, choreographed dance and student participation is legendary. I probably get on peoples nerves with the expectation of a horse and pony show at every turn.  I guess I really don’t mind. I do it for the students, chiefly so that they aren’t falling asleep and honestly because I love to perform and be a firm witness while utilizing the few talents God gave me. It’s always a stuffy affair putting it together and I just simply haven’t had the time to coordinate any additional participation this time…so I’m stuck in my office thinking about the theme: “Thank God for Beauty.”

Easy right? Whip out a song from “Beauty and the Beast”…change a few lyrics and add a wink to the audience. But, I don’t WANT to be big and loud this time. I’m baffled. I’m also deliberately trying to distract myself away from Beatrice, who has been occupying my mind all day.

Then it hit me. Not an idea for the chapel talk…still thinking about that one…but about “Beauty.” In first Peter 3 verses 3-4: “Your beauty should not come from outward adornment, such as braided hair or the wearing of gold jewelry and fine clothes. Instead it should be that of your inner self. The unfading beauty of a gentle spirit, which is of great worth in God’s sight.”

Beatrice was a puppy mill doggy. We found this out on our way to PetSmart for a routine shopping venture for a simple container of fish food. They were having the weekly visit from the SPCA. The tents were out and the bandannas were freshly pressed and dangling from every pitbull, terrier and mixed breed in the lot. We walked by and took time to try and make a few tails wag, when I saw this sad-looking, pot-bellied little thing in the top cage, nuzzled in a small heap of newspapers.  She was pathetic looking…and I knew she was coming home with us.

Her belly was black and calloused, and when we took her to the vet we found out that it was a form of yeast infection caused by exposure to an unkept kennel for durations of time. Weeks of medicine and lengthy warm, medicated baths turned her belly fawn and baby soft.

She had two teeth, both infected which were pulled and her tongue poked out the side of her mouth just enough to bring a smile to your face.

She never walked, she shuffled. Her body remained skinny, but she approached her food dish like a tank and ate with passion smacking her watered-down mash with her toothless gums and licking the bowl afterward side-ways with her long tongue. My wife always said that she looked like a wasp after eating, noting her skinny legs and big, full belly.

Beatrice had many problems. She was old, for one. She was not very well taken care of. The reality of a life as a puppy mill dog showed in her weak bladder and loss of muscle tone and low calcium levels. She was tired, and slow moving. She needed a place, soft and warm to retire.

I loved this dog very much. Silly as it sounds, it was kinda like having a grand parent in the house. She was quirky, and predictable…and she let out these wonderful little squeaks when she heard my voice as I walked in the room. That sound would instantly change my mood.

After a while, we noticed a physical change in her, and she was diagnosed with diabetes and we began a routine of insulin shots twice a day. She was a champion and became quite accustomed to the matter, even though her paper-thin skin wasn’t the most receptive of the change.

Over two years this dog shuffled, smacked and squeaked…and made us quite happy. I wouldn’t have changed a moment of these last two years. Slowly, we began noticing a considerable decline in her health in the last week, and upon the urging of our vet, and knowing that she was suffering, we made the decision.

My wife brought her to the vet and held her. I was driving to school for a parent meeting and was listening to a mix playlist on shuffle, when “Waiting for the Light to Shine” from the musical BIG RIVER began to play. I lost it. What a beautiful song. How amazing that it came on right at the time my heart was heavy. And what a wonderful thought that my now blind chihuahua, perhaps is seeing light again.

I refuse to go into it with anyone about pets…and souls…and heaven.

Instead…may I ask a question? One I truly want an answer to. You see, my dog Beatrice had a beautiful spirit…one I cannot explain. She was nothing less than a pathetic-looking, scrappy dog…but inside, and in every move or squeak…I saw that light shine. Why is it we have a hard time finding that light in one another as Christians? I can only imagine it has something to do with indifference, I suppose. To the passer-by, Beatrice looked old…and ratty. But to me…that was a beautiful little dog that brought a pathethic sinner much joy, in a beautiful way, every day.

My students probably don’t want to hear about a dead dog in Chapel.  I’ll remain in search of another idea. But if I could find a way to share that beautiful inside that I know is in all of us…that is hard to find sometimes, but peeks through just enough to make us smile occasionally…then I think I can do away with the song and dance. It’s the little things that bring us closer to God quickly. Miracles happen every day, but I certainly don’t expect a giant flood and an ark in my backyard. But, then again, I didn’t expect a black-bellied chihuahua at the pet store that day either. Instead, I find great joy in life’s surprises and look forward to that light shining in the sallest of places…and then, through us all.

“WAITIN’ FOR THE LIGHT TO SHINE”

I have lived in the darkness for so long
I am waitin’ for the light to shine
Far beyond horizons I have seen
Beyond the things I’ve been
Beyond the dreams I’ve dreamed

I am waitin’ for the light to shine
I am waitin’ for the light to shine
I have lived in the darkness for so long
I’m waitin’ for the light to shine

The Sun’ll Come Out….Tomorrow.

“Bring on tomorrow. Let it shine. Like the sun coming up on a beautiful day, it’s yours and mine. We can make a difference. It’s not too late. Bring on tomorrow…I can’t wait.”

Fame has never been my favorite musical. Sure, it has redeeming qualities…but I’m not overflowing with excitement about the piece. This song, however is from the show. I started with ANNIE’s: “The sun’ll come out, tomorrow…” but figured readers would drop off the site quickly due to it’s overexposure!

I like the lyric. Anytime a piece of music reminds me that a brighter future waits around the corner, I am immediately attached to the piece. You see, all too often I wind up with a gray cloud around my head. Someone will say something hurtful…sometimes a class will test my patience…sometimes my patience will test my endurance…sometimes my endurance will test my faith…sometimes people just mess with my corn flakes! Whatever the reason for the change in weather, I, like many other overly paranoid, highly emotional, sensitive and strong, yet fashionable drama teachers, have a hard time resting my head on my pillow at night. How does one not tire of (what they believe to be) their calling?

Prayer. “Simple solution, sir.” Say it, don’t spray it! Okay, okay….so prayer is what Pastor Steve tells you to do every Sunday. Prayer is what happiness when you remember to fold your hands at night. Prayer is what happens when you are all alone. Prayer is what happens, when you need a solution, and it’s convenient. Prayer is not a stronghold investment in your faith, and I’m simply talking from MY point of view: an ignorant Lutheran with a whole lotta sin on my heart. I’m a terrible example of a Christian and prayer NEEDS to happen because it is the solution…not because it might be the solution…if it’s convenient…if I remember….if I care.

So, what does this have to do with a brighter tomorrow? I’ll tell you: President Barack Obama. (Whoa! Didn’t see that one coming, did you!) It’s true. Yesterday I had the pleasure of watching the 44th President being sworn in, elbow to elbow with hundreds of my students in the brand new chapel/theater auditorium. The streaming video connection wasn’t the best…and it paused every so often, only to jump forward a few seconds, and I’ll admit, that made it a smidge distracting, but the overall experience is nothing less that historical.

I sat there among my students…some sleeping…some joking…some rolling their eyes….some crying…watching history. Over 400 years ago, Abraham Lincoln challenged an important piece of parchment called the Declaration of Independence. He freed the slaves. Some people were not too happy. Years later, women were given the right to vote. Later, African-Americans attended public schools side by side with Caucasian students in an effort to bring us closer together. Not merely in arrangement in the back end of the everyday, stuffy bus…but more so in heart, mind, and soul. These are momentous occasions, as they draw us closer to a promise of a free country for all who desire, work and pray for it.

I asked my students, “why should you care about this day? Why is it significant?” They responded, “Well, it’s the first black President.” I prodded, “Okay. Well…what does that mean?” My beautiful, white-collar, 100% Caucasian class stared back at me as if I was setting some sort of political “you outta know” trap. I shifted my approach.

“How many of you have auditioned for a play or musical here at Faith Lutheran?” (About 20 hands.) “How did it work out for you?” (No response!) I explained that very rarely does an audition turn out exactly as you envision. I can look them in the eye and promise until I’m blue in the face that no matter who they are, what their experience is, and how vigorously they’ve prepared…when they walk through that audition door, they have the EXACT same shot at getting the leading role, as their peer that has earned that opportunity. I can SAY it’s based solely on the audition…even to myself, in my heart…but how can I ever PROVE that? Can I? I haven’t found out a way yet.

I reference Dr. Martin Luther King’s speech: ” I say to you today, my friends, so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream. I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the treu meaning of it’s creed: ‘We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal.’” I love that speech. All men a created equal in the eyes of God…and should be seen that way in the eyes of man. Have we had the opportunity to prove that? Not until yesterday. Yesterday, the people of this country put into office the first African-American President. Republican or Democrat, black or white…Christian or otherwise…this is the new tomorrow. This is the beam of light in the cloud that darkens. This is the “something to look forward to.”

I watch as my property value goes down. (I counted five foreclosures in my subdivision, last time I walked the dog.) Gas prices have come down…but will they stay there? We’re a country at war where lives are lost daily. In my own backyard, I watch as our school cuts out those navy blue, itchy faculty polos to make room in the yearly expense report for primary spending. It’s a tough time.

But the sun’ll come out tomorrow. Is Barack Obama the solution to our problems? Who can tell. Maybe…maybe not. All I know is that we as Americans took a giant step yesterday in proving to every citizen that this is truly the land of the free, where everyone has the opportunity for a leading role.

Will the inauguration effect my drama students immediately? Yes. I remember being their age and watching the Challenger explode. I recall the smell of burned coffee in the air, and the look on the Rebel Yell secretary’s face when I walked into my office at UNLV the day the twin towers collapsed. They are vivid recollections. These students…when they are my age…will remember sitting in the Chapel / Performing Arts Center watching a hiccuping screen as our President was sworn in. That promise of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness for ALL was cemented in a huge foundation block yesterday. And while the immediate ramifications couldn’t compete with the wonderfully comfortable auditorium seats and the sleepy-headiness of some…the long term ramifications woke up a nation nodding off.

It is my prayer that somehow, someday…I will be able to prove to my students that hope is always around the corner. There is a new tomorrow, and it will shine.

“We can make a difference, it’s not too late. Bring on tomorrow. I can’t wait.”

Don’t Tip your “Serving” Tray

I was watching a TIVO’d American Idol yesterday with my wife. A young hopeful was brutally rebuffed and sulked away, rejected, hurt and emotional. He turned to the camera (of course) and, tearing the clouds apart, cried “My spirit is broken!” (Somewhere in the distance a wolf howled.)

Sheesh…somethings just don’t change. You have to admire those editing masters that never get any credit for the behind-the-scenes vignette work that is poured over every 2-hour “road to Hollywood” Idol episode. Those vignettes are always emotional, abrasive…and very cheesy. They know their stuff. What does America like: drama, in-your-face realism and cheese.

I bring up the topic of ones SPIRIT today because I had a similar situation happen to me yesterday. While I did not appear on American Idol, I did at one point feel like my spirit was broken. (Even candidly that statement sounds over-the-top.) Let’s just say that my heart sank for what I loved. That’s what your spirit is after all…right? What you’re passionate about, what you love and your predominate feeling or mood about it…it all boils down to your essential essence or spirit.

I read a letter to the editor in the newspaper today, written by a public high school teacher in Clark County about how concerned he was about the state of public education system in Nevada. If you don’t know, our school board passed out 6% pay cuts at Christmas parties, inflated classrooms in the upwards of 28 students per class (an all-time, national high) and offered limited reams of copy paper and office supplies in order to encourage use of technology. (Think about that, Faith Lutheran teachers, next time you complain about your new MacBooks!)

But seriously, there is a gray cloud over anyone who loves to teach in Nevada. There are revolving doors on all of our schools and then there are the teachers that DO stick around. Most of the time, they aren’t the ones you WANT to have around. (Just like students, really! Aren’t the ones that bug you the most…the ones that find your classroom quite cozy?) Our giant school district (which should be divided into three districts, in my opinion) is a not a very happy place. They’ve had a “what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas” attitude about test scores and offered very little as far as incentives are concerned for prospective newbie teachers. There is no silver-lining to this Silver State dilemma.

I was sitting in a restaurant yesterday with a group of colleagues having a lunch meeting. For the sake of my colleagues, and the students they teach and the parents that may read this…I’ll keep the agenda and particulars confidential out of respect. But I left that meeting quite deflated. I teach six classes (two sections of high school drama, high school advanced drama, middle school drama, middle school clowning & puppetry, and I team-teach a middle school dance class and during one of my prep periods I also facilitate over an Independent Study Costume Design class) and I have a very full plate. Drama is amazingly prop heavy and while we’re known as the nomads of all performance classes (meaning most flexible, after all we don’t carry tubas or music stands full of choral music) we still have a fair share of preparatory work before every project. I love my job and look forward to it. I work in one of the top private schools in the country and the expectations are very high. But, above any hidden complaint, or off-handed comment, I work with amazing students, an amazing administration and wonderful colleagues. The buildings are big…the carpets are steamed cleaned 4 times a year, the landscaping is beautiful, and everyone has a hand in building up the ginormous (real word) pillars that hold Faith Lutheran up so high. Everyone wants their particular subject area to succeed. Talk about a high caliber, feverish, energetic and positive environment, right? Well…we fall short.

Everyone wants to be proud of a something big that happens. It’s human nature. Just as the Holy Spirit works through us, we want our emotional spirits and passions to be worked over everyday as well. We want to flex our creative muscles. (And those that don’t are the ones that are “stuck.” See above.) We want to anticipate something. We want to revolutionize something. We want to bring something new to the table. We want to win. We want to be in charge. We want control.

I had this game as a kid called “Don’t Tip the Waiter.” Silly game. There was a two-foot tall cut-out of a snobby waiter that teetered on to spokes that protruded from each hip. Above his head he hoisted up a flat cardboard serving tray. You’d spin a wheel and depending upon your luck you’d be challenged to position a cardboard steak, or broccoli, or pizza slice, on top of the serving tray. If you weren’t careful, if you didn’t use good judgment, and if you weren’t careless, the waiter would become unbalanced and tip over,  dumping the food on the ground. Good times. (I also liked the dude on Sesame Street that would come out with eight cream pies, announce the number of the day, and proceed to trip down the stairs and splat the pies all over!)

I’m extremely fortunate to not fall into like categories as public school teachers do, so I won’t be dealing with the 6% pay cut or reams of paper. But, the high level of expectation, mixed with the superior caliber of faculty members with strong personalities working there (that’s meant to be a compliment) with a dash of pride that so easily consumes us…you find yourself with a volatile cocktail sometimes. Let’s just forget that this week is exam week!

I exchanged blows with my colleagues across dirtied plates of devoured spaghetti, and found myself pouting, fighting and defending the simplest and most minute things in order to prove my point. Again, it’s hard for me to explain without going into details about the particulars…but think about a time when you’ve been SO SURE that you were 100% right, that when it was brought into question (let’s say, even without conflict) you lost it! It’s not a fun situation. You wind up taking everything personally, all the while drudging up past mistakes (and, in your attempts to defend, not just your own mistakes) to prove your points and…why? Ultimately, you want to get your way. Right?

As teachers, (be it science, P.E., History, English or stinkin’ Underwater Basket Weaving!), it is our responsibility to be loyal to not only our individual disciplines…not only the care and success and spiritual well-being  of our students…but it is our responsibility to make certain that pride doesn’t overcome passion.

We all want to win. We hoist philosophies, quirks, resources, lessons, and emotions on a plate so high above our heads sometimes, that we forget what’s up there. We teeter-todder around our everyday on a whirlwind of rituals and “must-dos” that when we reach up to snatch something off of the plate, we don’t even see how that removed “food” is unbalancing the rest of our plate.

I’m guilty as charged. On top of all that, I’m a bit absent-minded. (Put a blind-fold on my waiter!) So, my journey is no different.

I don’t think anyone walked away from our meeting yesterday feeling good. My lasagna wasn’t even that good. So, why did I sit in my car for 15 minutes staring out of the windshield questioning my calling as a drama teacher? Why did I find my love for performing arts and my love for my students and more so, my love for growing in Christ, and watching those I teach grow in Christ everyday…why did I find those things being “messed with.” That’s the stinkin’ tray! That’s my serving tray. Why would I question that? How can I?

You know, I’m a big guy (6′4″) and I can take a lot of heat and punishment. But when my heart takes a beating…when my pride takes a beating…when I’m forced to spill all of the contents of my serving tray onto the floor and regroup before picking them back up…it’s stinks.

Randy, Paula, Simon and that new girl (Carly??) all have a huge advantage. They can break someones spirit and know that it will be well edited.  The show always goes to commercial break. But, when students, parents, administrators, or colleagues break your spirit…you have to look them in the eye the next day in faculty meetings.

I went numb after our lunch-time conflict. I do that sometimes. I don’t deal well with conflict. I want everyone and everything to be sunshine and lollipops. I never said I wasn’t a bit ignorant. But, as a teacher…not only do you have a responsibility to the school, students, parents and community as a whole…but you have a HUGE responsibility to yourself to make sure that your “waiter” isn’t tipped.

One thing the public school teacher wrote about in his letter to the editor was that he didn’t care what happened to the “system” because he cared too much about his students to allow anything to affect his passion for teaching.  I thought that was pretty cool. I suppose God wouldn’t give you the size “serving tray” you have, if He didn’t think you could handle it.

My waiter was tipped yesterday, and my spirit was broken. But despite my human nature, the drama, the in-your-face realism….and yes, the cheese….spilled all over the floor….I’m ready for another game.

To CHEAT or not to CHEAT? That is the question.

Sophocles would rather “fail with honor than to win by cheating.” W.C. Fields contests that “anything worth having is worth cheating for.” Even Tommy Lasorda quips “Nah, we don’t cheat. And even if we did, I wouldn’t tell you!”

Next week is Final Exam week. Our school’s faculty collaboration network is buzzing about how we should be aware of would-be crib-sheet enablers. We should be cognizant to the fact that the average Faith Lutheran student cradles their iPhone neatly in their hoodie posket next to the pack of gum they shouldn’t be chewing. So shortly after Christmas break and officially into the new year, our first resolutions include rounds of that tried and true game: “Name that Cheater.”

Kinda discouraging.

Granted, Faith Lutheran has the benefit over the average public school of having primed paint on the walls and a nicely designed iron gate between the road and the students’ neatly parked SUVs and BMWs. We’re cozy…and those padded walls that keep us warm when there is a draft, and sheltered from the evils of the world are also the same walls that are sometimes so tall, that we forget that there is another side to them.

An alumni recently visited me and made the comment about how college is SO different than she ever imagined. I inquired how. She said that people there don’t care so much about stupid things like the girls at Faith did when she attended school. I delved further. “You know…their hair. The brand they wear. What type of phone, what type of car. They just don’t care what other people think.” She said that at first it kinda turned her off of the whole college scene. But after a while, this forced independence was nothing more than…well,  refreshing. Apparently the “alternative to the public high school education” wore on her and she never knew just how much so until she left the nest.

Perhaps it’s a good problem to have, to be too sheltered.  I can imagine the side effects, however. I mean (and with all due respect) take EVERY home-schooled student you’ve ever met. They’re either brilliant and highly functional, above-average, thoughtful individuals….or they’re awkward, antisocial wallflowers that never break out of their shell.

Back to final exams. I don’t like ‘em, truth be told. First and foremost, I have A.D.D. I’m diagnosed, I take medicine, and I’ve learned to live with and love my disorder. I find myself harnessing the creative outpouring of thought that approaches my everyday from a vastly different perspective than most people….and I LOVE that. I wouldn’t trade it for the world. I would say that it is the reason why the conventional testing situation is hard to approach by me. But, just like a theatrical audition is never anything more than a subjective means by which to determine a cast… taking a test an effective way of evaluating ones scope of understanding? Hardly, I would argue. (That is unless you testing ones ability to regurgitate facts.) I suppose a separate posting on that topic would be appropriate.

Our school requires final exams. I’m fine with that. But I’m not fine with the fact that we live in a world (or in my case work in an environment) where cheating is a problem. There’s always going to be unfair advantages. Always. But, for the majority of students, getting caught cheating on the final would garnish not nearly as much punishment as getting a failing grade for the semester. So, the risk is low enough to consider that tiny crib-sheet.

Blind texting, selling answers off of last-year’s exams…stolen exams….crib sheets. I’ve hear of some pretty interesting cheating methods. (Hiding answers under a large band-aid on the arm. Writing the answers on the bottom of the INSIDE of a Starbuck cup…and putting a shallow pool of liquid in the cup so that on the onset, all appears normal. But when the student takes a “drink”…they’re staring at the answers. Pretty slick!)

I can’t help but think that we’re approaching the cheating issue in a counter-productive way. What is cheating all about anyway? Break it down. Students want a “good” grade. Why don’t they study? Maybe it’s easier that way. Maybe they’re lazy. Maybe they’re uninterested. Perhaps bogged down. Perhaps family expectations create an overbearing stigma. Whatever the reason…we need to set up a cross fire of dialogue with our students about that cheating is really about.

It’s NOT about the test or the class…or the grade. It’s about the student’s character, integrity, morals, and personal self-worth and expectations. On top of all that, and most importantly, God doesn’t want you to cheat. I would rather take an honest D- over a cheated A, any day. (To paraphrase Sophocles.) But kids don’t work that way. They have a hard time thinking past their own noses.

I was the same way. I totally cheated in high school. (I wrote the answers to the test on the FLAP of my high top Chuck Taylors and sat cross-legged on the floor to take the test. Easy access.) Yeah…totally got caught. At the time I recall freaking out and my heart beating hard. I was taken to the principals office…got a Saturday detention and received a zero on my exam. Sucky. But, today…looking back….I can’t even recall what CLASS it was in. I knew it was a Math class of some kind, because it was Mr. Kastle that busted me. But, it’s amazingly insignificant NOW in the big picture. I remain ashamed that I did that. That’s not the type of guy I am. I don’t cheat. I don’t take the easy way out of anything. And that moment still weighs heavy on my heart as a time I KNEW what was right and wrong…and I fell short.

So, the question remains…how to you effectively impress upon a student that the true reason to attempt an honest final exam has nothing to do with right or wrong answers….but rather, their character? How does that talk start?

I suppose that conversation in a private school would be different that, say at an inner-city, public school. Most students carry their “get out of jail free” cards with them everywhere at Faith Lutheran. Parental bail outs are common and holding their students accountable is becoming less an option in order for these proud papas and mamas to save face. From the student’s perspective, the consequences after getting caught are not great. Their approach to the standardized  (and mediocre) means by which to effectively evaluate a student’s knowledge retention….is just as “everyday” as sneaking onto the Internet after mom and dad go to sleep to chat with their 24 year old cyber-boyrfirend/girlfriend. It’s super easy. It’s also super scary.

Impressing the importance of a student’s SELF-WORTH with regards to their character is not an easy thing to do. They already hate the amount of homework you assign them! How about this:

Leviticus 6:  1 The LORD said to Moses: 2 “If anyone sins and is unfaithful to the LORD by deceiving his neighbor about something entrusted to him or left in his care or stolen, or if he cheats him, 3 or if he finds lost property and lies about it, or if he swears falsely, or if he commits any such sin that people may do- 4 when he thus sins and becomes guilty, he must return what he has stolen or taken by extortion, or what was entrusted to him, or the lost property he found, 5 or whatever it was he swore falsely about. He must make restitution in full, add a fifth of the value to it and give it all to the owner on the day he presents his guilt offering.

Oh no…he didn’t go Biblical!

As teachers, if we DON’T share with students that final, all encompassing reason for NOT cheating….as parents, if you don’t reinforce with supplemental consequences that same philosophy…cheating will always be a huge problem. WHY? Because it’s too easy and the risk of getting caught is too small. Enron officials cheat and it’s a scandal. Celebrities cheat and their faces are on every magazine and television in the country. Students cheat…..they get a slight slap on the hand….maybe. They’re not scared.

There not way to express to students that the ULTIMATE TEST is the test of Faith, and I’m sorry….but there are NO pockets in your heavenly robe for blind texts and crib sheets.

“He’ll cheat without scruple, who can without fear.” – Benjamin Franklin

MY CHRISTMAS HOPE

I’m the first to admit when I’m wrong. There’s something to be said for SUVs. I’m the first to toss off-colored banter around whenever a Junior rolls by in a new Hummer. When one of my favorite senior students proclaimed the arrival of his brand new Escalade (he even jingled his keys at me, like announcing the arrival of Santa Clause or something), sure, I scoffed. But, during my long drive to Michigan from the great state of Nevada…I learned to respect the SUV.

We rented a Ford Explorer. We didn’t really have much of a choice, but then again I don’t necessarily research exotic fruits before venturing into Albertson’s and test drive a Kiwi either. It was roomey, had a new car smell and a big back area for the dogs. I was surprised and happy. So, we loaded up the front-wheel drive sleigh and took off early Friday morning.

My wife and I drove in shifts. She’d take 6 hours…I’d sleep in the back. I’d drive 6 hours…she’d sleep. I haven’t told her yet…but those books on tape DID in fact keep me up a bit. (But in a good way.) You see, you can drive a bulldozer through the bedroom and NOT wake me up I’m such a heavy sleeper…but getting there….that’s another thing. We stopped twice at Rest Areas and tucked some blankets up into the windows and hunkered down for a few hours before raiding the coffee machines and heading off again. (Indiana has the best coffee machines.)

I can’t say that I was looking forward to the drive. Okay…I totally didn’t want to drive. (I feel better now that I’ve come clean.) But looking back…it wasn’t such a bad drive. I expected to be annoyed by the hulking SUV. It wasn’t so hulking. I expected to tire of the lengthy road trip. It was very engaging and not so tiring. I expected the trip to take FOREVER! We pulled into Jackson, MI after 2 1/2 days of driving. Not bad!

Here are a few things I found interesting during our little trip:

• Stephen King tends to favor certain names in his short stories. Names like Gage, Vince and Garaby.
• Never stop at anything called FIESTA MART. Isn’t a fiesta a party? We need to work on redefining some of these gas stations, I’m thinking.
• Kentucky is brutally honest with their landmark names. Let’s just say the DIRTY RIVER….yeah. Pretty dirty.
• I found that you cannot truly appreciate cuisines from foreign lands until you’ve actually consumed the stuff. Foods like “CAKESTERS”….(I think they’re French)….yeah, not so good. “BETTER CHEDDARS”….not so bad. “MOONPIES”…..pretty stinkin’ disgusting. And the McRIB SANDWICH. Yeah….that was interesting. First and foremost, I’m STILL finding bar-b-que sauce in the car. (How it got on the ceiling, I’ll never know.) Second…I didn’t know meat could be bouncy. I suppose I should just keep quiet. This is all being brought to you from the guy who has heightened the CHICK-O-STICK to its own food group. Still, all things considered, I’m adding “Colon Flush” on next year’s Santa list.

Are you jealous of the McRib...or my killer Ear Flap Fleece? Both you can't have.

• I’ve noticed that public restrooms and restroom etiquette varies greatly from state to state. New Mexico has a LOW cleanliness standard. I suppose the Land of Enchantment wants to keeps things adventerous and mysterious. Arizona is fine. Texas is fine, if you’re wearing a cowboy hat, otherwise you get “looks.” Oklahoma is the “Sooner State” which I didn’t understand right away…but after 7 hours crossing that state….PHEW! I was wishing I had reached that rest area sooner rather than later. My wife felt the brunt of Tennessee when she had to hold the stall door shut for an elderly lady so that she may use the facilities…and then the elderly lady did the same for her. You make fast friends that way…and that’s why Tennessee is the Volunteer State. (This is totally true. I can’t MAKE stuff up like this.)
• There is a HUGE chain of waffle houses across the southern states. That’s no big deal, I suppose…but what’s funny is that they’re all just called “WAFFLE HOUSE.” That’s like naming a store that sold furniture “FURNITURE STORE.” In hindsight, I suppose this was funnier at 1:00am when I first thought about it!

So, as Emily and I took turns snuggling down, fully extended in the back of the SUV with our Great Pyrenees, Pug and Chihuahua / Terrier mix, we were able to enjoy many things let alone each others company, which in this VERY busy world, seems to be something we take for granted often. I forgot how much I enjoyed my wife’s company and I’m ashamed I am to have to admit that.

I suppose you could say that we were lucky during the trip. The occasional cluster of dirtied snow on the side of the road outside of the car certainly didn’t compare to the flurry of white dog hair inside the car. My pug served as a surrogate hot-water-bottle sprawling across my lap. Her snoring provided much needed accompaniment to the late night silence. Sometimes I would wander over onto the shoulder’s rumble-stripes to try and fall into sync with her cadence.When we got to Michigan it started to snow hard, and we wound up with three more inches later that night. We just missed the next wave of weather. (That blustery offering turned into the most amazing packing snow in the history of the world. I don’t have my brother’s arm for pitching, but I’m still a dead-eye, it turns out!)

I found that gas prices went down as we got closer to Michigan, and I suppose I’ll trade the more expensive gasoline for three gained hours coming back. It’ll be a wash.

Another thing I found out was that when you are in close proximity with someone, be it your significant other, family or…well, Pug…you wind up complimenting them in some fashion. Not with an everyday verbal gesture, that’s not what I mean…I mean, in character. I think when we were all made, and came into this world…God purposely created us in a way to help others find Him better. Allow me to elaborate. My wife knew I wasn’t keen on the long trip…but she made sure certain aspects that were weighing heavy on my heart, were approached with care and consideration. Her burned CDs featured renditions from Harry Connick, Barry Manilow, Michael Buble and the Muppets. She indulged me to read chapters from “The Princess Bride,” our favorite book. She challenged me to think positively when the two giant Tupperware containers full of gifts in the back of our SUV, kept toppling over in back.  Instead of worrying about tying them up we’ll just “not take right turns anymore,” she said. (She also said that the “change oil” light is merely formality.) I thought she was the crooner and I was the comic!

My amazing niece Rachel and her crazy Uncle Erik.

In the end, we coasted into the choppy Jackson side roads with a great sense of accomplishment. Our families greeted us and I currently sit across a fire sipping coffee having eaten a chuck of chocolate yule log after Christmas Eve dinner. It’s enough to finally excuse my family for not giving in to my curiosity in allowing me to make some traditional, British plum pudding. (Everyone says it’s nasty…but I HAVE to see for myself!)

You know…I find it super-duper easy sometimes to translate Bible stories and message to my life’s experiences. But occasionally I struggle with notion that we suffer the same types of burdens and feel the same emotions that those who lived long ago did. For example, I can’t imagine Mary and Joseph toiling over grungy breakfast food at a mom-n-pop diner like the HUDDLE HOUSE. I also can’t imagine it was a particularly warm welcome at the Inn that memorable night. I would have been very distraught if I got to my destination and found NO warm welcome. I have it too easy to relate it seems.

The pastor at the church we went to for the Christmas Eve service talked about Hope. As I sat there in the same church I was married in ten years ago…remembering that day like it was yesterday…looking at the large hand-carved wooden sculptures on the alter (still thinking they look kinda like giant Jesus Jenga pieces waiting to be stacked on top of each other)…I thought to myself as we embarked on our lengthy journey, that the hope my wife and I shared as we looked forward to rolling into Jackson, MI could not compare to the hope Mary and Joseph desired that night. The hope they shared after the baby Jesus was born. I wonder if they were scared about dust storms like I was worried about snow drifts. I wonder if they were worried about Mary arriving to the Inn safely like I was worried about black ice and semi trucks rushing by. They clung to that hope and it helped Mary sleep at night, I’m sure. I’m not sure however that DURING their journey, in such close proximity and against such adversity, Joseph and Mary complimented each other. I don’t know…but I hope.

How can I even think about that type of hope in Christ? I suppose attempting to connect in any way to the Holy Couple is not realistic. Instead, as I warmed myself in the glow of the candles during the rendition of “Silent Night” at the end of the service…as I look at the same alter that blessed my marriage….as I look at my two beautiful nieces, as I gaze into the bulging eyes of my hot-water-bottle Pug, and as I dote on my amazing wife… I can at least remember that with every mile I put on the SUVs ticker and every Moonpie I conquer …I’m getting closer in my personal journey across my own desert. Everyday…not just Christmas day…I’m growing in my love for the Lord. I’m not perfect. In fact, I’m a paranoid, anxious, ambitious dude who can’t help but hope for the best. It’s what helps me fall asleep in the back of our rented Ford Explorer at night. (It’s no donkey…but it’ll do.)

SUVs have there place in the world I suppose. I know they could use a few more Hummers saddled with snow plows in Jackson, MI! But I can tell you this, just like there is room in this world for the silliest, most impractical SUV you can find…I’m sure there is room in this world for a silly, impractical drama teacher with a hope in the salvation.

Jesus Christ cannot be found at the end of the lengthiest highway in the world…but I bet, that when it is all said and done, and the wrapping paper is out for the garbage and the egg nog has been slurped up….Jesus will still remain steadfast in my heart and I can rest assured that I may continue my journey with a star to lead me.

I don’t need a rest area to settle that into my little brain.

Merry Christmas.

“…UNTIL THEN, WE’LL HAVE TO MUDDLE THROUGH SOME HOW.”

Outside the Faith Lutheran Chapel / Performing Arts Center - Dec. 18, 2008

I wonder if non-believers of Christ handle fragile, glass Christmas tree ornaments with the same “in heaven’s name, don’t even BREATHE…or it may break-like” care as they do their equally fragile, and (some would argue) sensitive beliefs? I betcha they break a few. I also bet…when they do, they simply thrown them away and buy some more.

That’s what is comes down to, isn’t it? A secular Christmas. At least it is for those who have a problem with the inclusion of a religious symbol, a Christmas Carol or even a simple “Merry Christmas.”  Some passers-by are as droopy as the Charlie Brown Christmas tree. And what about those who sit comfortably in their chairs at home watching A Charlie Brown Christmas? If they decide they don’t approve of Linus taking center stage….they don’t simply sit, endure and complain. No, no, no! They simply press a button and change it to something else, that appeals to their liking.

Christmas is becoming a private holiday that we have to celebrate behind closed doors in order to avoid offending anyone. I mean…it’s “JOY TO THE WORLD” not “joy to those who believe exactly what I do, and appropriately demonstrate it through worship and outward like-mindedness.” That doesn’t have the same snappy ring to it, does it?

It’s as if every cry of “Joy to the World” is accompanied by an  icy snowball in the face of those not wanting to receive it. What’s the matter with proclaiming JOY at the coming of our Savior? Even if you don’t believe in my Lord…what’s the matter with wanting to spread JOY? If you don’t even want that…you can hit the mute button, you know, or change the channel.

Thirty of  my students (the school’s drama troupe) and I wanted to spread the joy and sing carols at a local BORDERS bookstore before sipping cocoa and sending each other off for the Christmas Break. The store we wanted to offer our sleigh-driven merriment was a big BORDERS bookstore located in an area 2 miles from the school next to a BEST BUY and a BED, BATH and BEYOND. A perfect place to fa-la-la-la-la while freezing our freshman fingers off, I thought. We spoke with the manager (and for his protection, we’ll call him Penjamin) who told us that because “only a small amount of Border’s customers are of the Christian faith, we’d be upsetting the others” and he turned us away. (Let’s just forget the fact that the last poll I read marks 82% of U.S. Citizens claiming to be Christian.)

Even after we offered to include secular songs into our “play list” (who doesn’t like a rousing offering of FROSTY THE SNOWMAN, my niece’s favorite.) still, no dice.  I guess the fine print his mission statement includes: No Manger, No Menorah, No….whatever Kwanzaa peeps believe….No Lawsuit. He said that Borders is “very concerned about potentially offending their customers,” but they continue to sell ANY book to ANY person, ANY time. A contradiction, some may say. I found it even more interesting when I visited the Borders website that on the front page there is a large section highlighting the Christmas and Christian books. Under shipping there are several options to get your order there BY CHRISTMAS. And under the staff picks…I found a variety of Christmas CDs and books. Other religious-based offerings were shockingly missing.

Located on the front page of BORDERS.COM - Dec. 18, 2008

BORDERS Shipping Options - From Website: Dec. 18, 2008

Granted…I’m sure Penjamin (Santa’s little helper working inventory on the second shift), doesn’t speak for Borders world-wide and I don’t hate Borders…per se. I was just disappointed.  I can’t help but hope that there are businesses, companies, and individuals who still wear their “Merry Christmas” on the sleeve of their coat, laced through their coats arms like mom used to thread our mittens so that we don’t lose them.  But then, my question is, why do people continue to bury their heads in the ground when faced with religion? With all the holiday buzzing and running here and there all around the square…why do people only pause a moment to holler “STOP?”

Wasn’t it Tiny Tim (Dickens, not ukulele) that said he hoped that people would see that he was crippled so that it would help them remember who made the lame beggars walk and blind men see? Why should we be any different? Shouldn’t we be walking, living, breathing examples of the saving grace of Christ? Are we all JUST AS CRIPPLED as poor Tim? Even Charlie Brown’s Christmas tree was transformed when a bunch of people CARED for it.

“Even Charlie Brown’s Christmas tree was transformed when a bunch of people CARED for it.”

Why should anyone else have a say in it? By law there is nothing unconstitutional about displaying religious symbols (I looked it up), and I can’t imagine any non-Christian grabbing a torch and leading a movement to replace the pluralistic Mall-of-America with a secular one. It would be too much work. Then again, so is getting up out of our chairs to change the channel, right? Without the remote, we’re lost.

I want people, young and old, good and bad, frozen as an icicle or warm as a chestnut…to know who my God is. I want them to see that there is a hope of salvation through Jesus Christ…and I want that joy to be the fire that ignites their Christmas spirit.

Did you know that we can all enjoy EGG NOG year ’round? Sure! I know, I’ve seen it in the stores. We don’t need Christmas to come around to sprinkle the nutmeg. “Joy to the World, the Lord has come!” is a call to action. A battle cry! A prayer. A mission statement. A comfort. A reminder. And that sort of thing doesn’t just come around once a year.

We had snow in Vegas yesterday. Lots. Today school was canceled and I celebrated my first Vegas “snow day.” (I also spotted a winged pig in the air too! Ha!) I sat at home looking at the snow falling steadily thinking, “I would have never thought this could happen.” (Then I turned over and went back to sleep!)

When I woke back up and thought about it…I was reminded that when the Lord comes again…we won’t expect it. There is no Weather Channel that forecasts the coming of Christ.  That moment will surprise us…then we’ll all have to stop for a snow day.

So, why should we allow those that are too busy dealing with economy ruin our Christmas? Why should we let those afraid of minor, potential backlash cancel our merriment? Why should we let things like the weather, the gift-buying, the travel, the unsettled family matters….the hurt, the resentment, the hate….the fear…..why should we let that SNUFF out Christmas, like Scrooge extinguished the Ghost of Christmas Past? We shouldn’t. Ignorance is fleeting…passions soar…emotions run deep…and like any director tells his/her ensemble of actors, “you’ll never appease every audience member.”

Should we force those with equally wet Uggs and frost-bitten agendas to sit, hear, and learn the story of the Christ child? We should want to, I suppose. We should offer, I bet. We should try, I know. But, as sinful beings I suppose we can ONLY try. In the meantime, instead of stirring waters and challenging the boundaries of any store manager’s “borders”….I’ll don my Merry Christmas hat…stand tall….remember the reason for the season….and take my kids to Barnes and Nobel, who gladly accept us.