Where There's A Will, There's A Wee-Wee

The Jaybird wore a green, long-sleeved shirt to daycare on Tuesday. It was cold outside, so long sleeves were called for.

Sometime between the morning dropoff and afternoon nap, he decided he no longer wanted to wear that particular shirt. He informed Miss Betty of that fact. In no uncertain terms, the green shirt had to go. He pointed out, very reasonably, he thought, that Mommy and Daddy had brought a change of clothes that morning and it sat there in his cubby, waiting to be worn.

Miss Betty, very reasonably, she thought, pointed out that the reason Mommy and Daddy brought in a change of clothes was that on Monday, when he was lumped in with the older kids for nap time, the Jaybird had a little ... accident while he slept, and had to wear the way-too-big "house" clothes provided by the school for the rest of the day.

Now, I can almost envision the little wheels spinning in his little mind after Miss Betty's refusal:

Hmm.
I want to change my clothes, but they won't let me.
I got to change yesterday because I went pee-pee on my clothes.
What do I need to do to get my way and change out of this horrible, hand-me-down, too-stupid-for-words green shirt?
Oh. I know!

I'm not sure at what point Miss Betty noticed the wet stain spreading across the Jaybird's pants and shirt. I can only imagine her horror when she realized that the Jaybird had wet himself -- on purpose -- in order to force the much-desired change of clothes. I am sure that she was not at all pleased about the turn of events, and neither were the Jaybird's Mommy and Daddy when we found out that afternoon.

Still ... you have to hand it to the kid. He knew what he wanted, and Miss Betty inadvertantly gave him the means to reach that goal.

There's no way she could have perceived the depths of depravity I evidently have bred into my first-born son. It's not on Miss Betty, by any means. She's used to dealing with normal kids. Kids who actually try NOT to wet themselves.

At least now we know what we're up against. I don't even want to think about what he'll do the first time we refuse his desperate plea for a puppy, or a car of his own, or a mohawk. Or a tattoo. Or a sword.

Santaphobia Rears Its Ugly Head

We want to think our kids will be different. You know, perfect little angels. Inquisitive, appreciative, calm when other kids go nuts. We are, of course, kidding ourselves.

Take my kids, for example. (No, really. Please. Take them! At least for the afternoon, so I can decompress.) Just don't take them to Disney World. Or to visit Santa Claus.

OK, I know. A 4-year-old and an 18-month-old are going to act like ... well, a 4-year-old and an 18-month-old. Knowing that doesn't make it any less exasperating.

The 4-year-old was a 3-year-old on Monday. Tuesday, his birthday, we took him to the Magic Kingdom. You know, the Happiest Place on Earth?

Ugh.

He rode the Indy cars and the merry-go-round. No Peter Pan. No Small World. No Goofy's airplane roller coaster. No Pirates. No Haunted Mansion. No Dumbo ride. No teacups.

He watched Country Bears Jamboree (after I threw him across my shoulders and carried him in, kicking and screaming), the Tiki birds and a couple of parades. That was it. Did I mention that lunch at the Happiest Place on Earth was the Saddest Meal on Earth? He did not -- DID NOT -- want the chicken nuggets and fries. He ate a couple of sliced up grapes and an oatmeal cookie.

He settled down, though, and once we decided not to abort the mission and just take in the day on his terms, it was a very nice day. He loved the cupcake, so we had that going for us.

Then, today, Santa Claus came to town. The daycare center brought him in for photos. Every other kid in the place jumped on Santa's lap and generally had a jolly good time with the old elf. Not mine.

The 4-year-old refused -- REFUSED -- to sit on Santa's lap for a picture. The 18-month-old took one look at that red costume, that shaggy beard and those awful, nightmarish white gloves and began to bawl.

Sigh.

Other parents and the daycare director tried to comfort me by saying a lot of kids act like that around Santa. It's a form of separation anxiety. Or maybe they just don't like the look of that dude in the red suit. Evidently, there's something shady about that beard, those glasses and that just-too-happy-to-be-for-real countenance.

I didn't see any other kids acting like that, though. Ah, well.

At least now when they're in therapy after college they'll be able to pinpoint the traumatic moment that made their childhoods such a misery.

Happy birthday. Merry Christmas.

Sigh.

Should Crime Dog Take A Bite Out Of Hall?

The Hall of Fame ballot came in the mail today. This is my second time voting, my second year with the privilege of helping to choose which baseball greats are enshrined at Cooperstown.


I'll never forget the thrill of receiving my first ballot in the mail last year. I've been waiting for this year's since Dec. 1. It was post-marked Nov. 30 out of Long Island, so I'm not sure what took it so long to get here. But it's here now. Let's take a look at the candidates (the guys I voted for last year have an asterisk; I also voted for Rickey Henderson and Jim Rice, but they're not on this year's ballot because they got in; and I voted for Tommy John, but it was his final year of eligibility).


2B Roberto Alomar
P Kevin Appier
OF/DH Harold Baines
P Bert Blyleven*
OF Ellis Burks
OF Andre Dawson
1B Andres Galarraga
P Pat Hentgen
P Mike Jackson
1B Eric Karros
OF Ray Lankford
SS Barry Larkin
DH Edgar Martinez
1B Don Mattingly
1B Fred McGriff
1B Mark McGwire
P Jack Morris
OF Dale Murphy*
OF Dave Parker
OF Tim Raines
P Shane Reynolds
1B/DH David Segui
P Lee Smith*
SS Alan Trammell
3B Robin Ventura
C Todd Zeile

I'll definitely vote for the players I checked last year, and I will not vote for the players who received the required five percent for carryover but did not receive my vote. That means no McGwire, no Morris, no Raines, no Trammell, no Parker, no Mattingly, no Dawson.

That eliminates a good portion of the ballot. I can also say right now that these are the only players I'm considering to join Blyleven, Murphy and Smith on my ballot: Alomar, Larkin, Martinez and McGriff.

I'm not one of those who believe in the concept of "good enough for the Hall, but not great enough to be a first-ballot Hall of Famer." Either a player is a Hall of Famer or he's not. Once I've eliminated that player from consideration, almost nothing will change my mind in subsequent years (assuming I still have a vote next year; the BBWAA membership is a precious thing, and even those of us who've been in it long enough to vote for the HoF aren't guaranteed anything if we're not affiliated with a newspaper or a Web site. So ... anyone out there hiring? No? Didn't think so.) I say almost nothing will change my mind, because if anyone ever proves without a shadow of a doubt that McGwire did not use performance-enhancing drugs during his career, his candidacy will deserve serious consideration. Now, do I have hard evidence that McGwire used steroids or anything else to crack the top eight all-time in homers? That he cheated when he became the first to hit 70 home runs in 1998? Nope. But the guidelines we're given for Hall of Fame voting are important to remember.

What are the guidelines? I am allowed to vote for up to 10 players. I don't have to vote for any. As I did last year, I'll just show you in its entirety my favorite rule for election, Rule No. 5: Voting shall be based upon the player's record, playing ability, integrity, sportsmanship, character, and contributions to the team(s) on which the player played.

Rule No. 5 means I will not vote for anyone who can't sit before a Congressional hearing and say, unequivocally, that he did not use steroids. (Or for anyone who can't sit before a Congressional hearing and say, honestly, that he did not use steroids. I'm looking at you, Rafael Palmeiro. But you're next year's problem.)

I'll probably send my ballot by fax to secretary-treasurer Jack O'Connell of the BBWAA the final week of December. Meanwhile, I'll review the records of my viable candidates, making liberal use of my favorite Web site for answers to all things MLB: baseball-reference.com.

The candidate I know best, of course, is McGriff. I saw him play nearly every day during the twilight of his career with the Devil Rays. I saw his last home run, No. 493, lifted high down the right-field line at Petco Park and into the little group of seats that juts out into short right, the homer that tied him for 26th all-time with Lou Gehrig. The Crime Dog and the Iron Horse have the most home runs of anyone short of the formerly magic 500 plateau.

Fred McGriff hit exactly the same number of major-league home runs as Lou Gehrig. That's a powerful sentence. A powerful argument.

Of course, home runs are not the only measuring stick. I'll take it all into account: fielding, hitting, character, sportsmanship, etc.

I'll take a gander at the high-brow statistics concocted by the high-brow, smarter-than-me guys who worship at the Church of Bill James.

I'll also listen to anyone who cares to weigh in. So, this is your chance to participate in one of the most hallowed responsibilities a sportswriter can earn. Let me know what you think.

Guidelines For Living Well: Advice For My Sons

I've begun to compile a list of guidelines to help Jay and Chris navigate life as they grow older. Obviously, it's too soon for them to grasp most of these. But they are the things I've learned about how to live well and be a good person, and I *try* to demonstrate these qualities and make my own life an example for my sons. Key word: try. I don't always succeed, which is why one of the guidelines is to allow yourself only one major regret in life.

Many of these should be familiar. I'm not religious, per se, but religious texts are great sources of moral platitudes. So, a couple of commandments and the Golden Rule are here. One of them I ripped off verbatim from Joseph Campbell: Follow your bliss. Most of these I just picked up over the course of 40 years. I take credit for inventing none of them. I merely observed what seemed to work or what made sense over the years and wrote it down. This is by no means a comprehensive list. Eventually, I'd like to amplify each of these guidelines by listing examples of each behavior and reasons why they are important. For now, I'd like to flesh out the list by calling on others to add to it. So, I welcome any and all additions.

The List (in no particular order):

1. Be honest with yourself.
2. Treat others the way you want to be treated.
3. Tell the truth.
4. Control your response to your emotions.
5. Act out of compassion.
6. Do everything you do as well as you can.
7. Attend to your own physical and mental health.
8. Allow yourself only one major regret in life.
9. Make a smile your default facial expression.
10. Observe carefully and actively with all your physical senses: Listen, look, touch, smell, taste.
11. Look for and appreciate the humor in everything.
12. Give your love carefully, but give it fully.
13. If a hand is good enough to play, raise; if not, fold. Never merely call. (It's OK to check sometimes, though.)
14. Read.
15. Say what you mean, but know your reason for saying it; remember that words are powerful and can carry powerful consequences.
16. Listen to criticism, learn from it; never let it discourage you.
17. Some people will never like you, no matter what you do.
18. Know your strengths and cultivate them.
19. Know your responsibilities and live up to them.
20. Embrace your imagination.
21. Embrace your curiosity.
22. Make a plan and stick to it, but make sure the plan is flexible.
23. Know who you are.
24. Like who you are.
25. Never stop learning.
26. Follow your bliss.
27. When negotiating with an adversary, find out what the adversary wants and determine whether you can provide it. Knowing this will allow you to negotiate from strength.
28. Be willing to compromise, but make sure it's worth it.
29. Learn from everyone you encounter.
30. Have fun.
31. Be kind to animals.
32. Follow instructions.
33. Respect those in authority, especially your parents.
34. Be confident, but don't mistake hubris for confidence.
35. When traveling, determine how long it will take to get where you're going and add a half-hour to account for potential delays.

Everything That Rises Must Converge

I love Lost. Can't help it. Only one other show, ever, has captured my imagination like this, and that was Northern Exposure. So now, it's Lost. I avoided it for four-plus years, but my neighbor Curt loaned me the first four seasons on DVD and I watched it all in about three days. Not sure whether to thank Curt or curse him. Considering the complicated nature of the show, maybe both courses of action are appropriate.

So, thank you, Curt. And curse you!

I got hooked early because of the literary allusions and direct references to things that interest me. Early on, I liked the idea that Sawyer, the resident con man, was a big reader. And when the first book he read on the show was Watership Down -- one of the books that shaped my literary ambitions as a child -- I was absolutely geeked.

It's been like that throughout, actually. They'll sneak in a subtle reference to a literary work or music and it makes the geek in me glow. This season, Daniel Faraday, the resident mad physicist, played Chopin's Fantasie Impromptu as a kid in a flashback. His mom told him to knock it off, because he was destined to use his mind in other pursuits (like manipulating the space-time continuum). Still, there was my favorite composer, Chopin, smack dab in the middle of my favorite show. Someone on a fan site noticed that the song itself, as played by the young Faraday, picked up at the 1:08 mark. It actually is the beginning of the prettiest segment of the song, my favorite part of the song. Anyone who's watched the show knows the significance of that number (1:08). There is no way it's coincidence that the scene began with Faraday playing the song at that instant, and that's one of the reasons I love this show.

Like most of the geeks who've been sucked into this show's vortex of mind-numbing mystery, I have theories. I'm not going to write them here, though. Instead (and this part will be of interest only to those who watch the show), I'll point out what I thought was a huge clue from the season finale.

It occurred as Jacob sat on a park bench in the "real world" off the island, waiting for (the real) John Locke to be pushed out of an eighth-story window by his father. Before we see Locke's body plunge to Earth in the background, Jacob (a moving force -- for good? for evil? -- on the island) is reading Flannery O'Connor's short story collection, Everything That Rises Must Converge. The title itself is a pretty big clue, coming as it did from the work of this guy, who basically believed that human existence is a collective striving to cast off the crude, violent nature inherent to the species and "rise" to "converge" into a single, higher level of existence. OK, I found that on a fan site, but as big a geek as I am about these things I had never heard of Pierre Teilhard de Chardin before Wednesday. (And oh, can it be coincidence that one of the main Dharma characters, Dr. Chang, is named Pierre?)

So, the good vs. evil dynamic being played out on the island is actually about Jacob's belief that, despite the apparent brutal nature of human beings, it is possible to ascend to a higher form collectively -- eventually.

Now, what about O'Connor's book? I happen to own it, and when I went back to read the title story, I noticed something astounding. Among the other titles in the collection are these stories: A View of the Woods; the Comforts of Home; the Lame Shall Enter First; Why Do the Heathen Rage?; Revelation; Parker's Back; Judgement (sic) Day.

Wow. It's almost as if the writers of Lost took almost every important theme they've explored for the past five years directly from the titles in O'Connor's collection.

Maybe I'm reading too much into it, but that's what this show does to you. It's actually participatory television (if your curiosity is powerful enough) and it makes you want to search deeper into the mystery.

Can't wait for Season Six. In January. Curse you, Curt. And thank you.

Countrywide To Homeowner (me): You're Out Of Luck

I just got off the phone with a "home retention" representative for Countrywide, the company that holds the 30-year fixed mortgage that my wife and I took out on our house in 2004. It was, to say the least, a frustrating conversation.

The goal of my call was to find out what, if anything, is available to help people (like my family) who have never missed a mortgage payment but whose financial circumstance has shifted so dramatically that making those payments over the coming months will become much more difficult, if not impossible.

I explained that I lost my job in July and, even though we haven't missed any payments, our income has been essentially cut in half and a once-affordable mortgage has, for the time being, become unaffordable. After I explained our circumstance, Lori the Countrywide Phone Drone (CPD) told me in clipped tones that there is no program of aid available for customers whose mortgages are current.

I then told her we're trying to make sure that the mortgage stays current, something that might be impossible with our family income slashed by more than half after my layoff eight months ago. Was there really nothing to be done? Then why do we receive almost daily emails and snail mails from Countrywide inviting us to call and find out what can be done to make the mortgage payment easier to meet? Is all of that just marketing BS and meaningless advertising?

Again, she told me I was basically out of luck.

I asked her if I would be better off, in terms of finding help from Countrywide, if we had missed a few payments. She told me there was no guarantee I would be helped if payments were missed.

Then, helpful soul that I am, I told her that it might be a good idea (and maybe even good for her career) if she were to tell her superiors at Countrywide about our story. I told her I'd be willing to bet there are millions of Countrywide customers in similar circumstances, people who were good customers but had lost their jobs and were in danger of falling behind on payments, and that many millions more were coming down the tracks with all the job loss the nation is suffering now. I told her that if Countrywide was smart, it would do something to help those customers. Otherwise, Countrywide might find itself on the figurative fiscal breadline with other failed financial institutions.

What could they do? Here's one solution:

Create a program that allows good, responsible customers who want to pay their mortgage the opportunity to pay interest only for a year. That would essentially cut the payment by one-third (leaving a substantial monthly escrow payment and whatever the interest would be). In our case, it would save us about $500 a month for a year, giving us a little more breathing room while I continue to search for work. Once the customer's situation improved, or at the end of the year-long suspension of principle payments, the mortgage payment would revert to its previous level.

I tell you what else. The CPD I spoke with could use an attitude adjustment. I was cordial and calm throughout the conversation. She had my payment record in front of her, so she knew she was talking to a responsible customer, someone who ABSOLUTELY WANTS TO DO THE RIGHT THING, but she was rude and short from start to finish. I signed off by informing her, in the pleasantest of voices, that she had been no help whatsoever.

Look, I'm not asking for a handout. I'm asking for help from a mortgage company to prevent yet another mortgage from becoming a "toxic asset." I'm asking for breathing room while my family adjusts to its new financial situation. I'm asking for time to find a job, at which point we'll gladly pay the mortgage as it's written. I'm asking for common sense from a company with everything to lose if the millions of others in my situation suddenly can't make their payments.

I'm asking myself whether there is a solution at all, especially with people like Lori the Countrywide Phone Drone (and the mindless corporation she represents) holding the keys.

Cut The Crap, Geithner

Treasury Secretary Timothy Geithner was as uninspiring as a pile of dead leaves and as informative as a homeowners association newsletter. I know very little about the machinations of macroeconomics, but somehow I know even less today than I knew before Geithner's disastrous "unveiling" of the Obama administration's plan for the remaining $350 billion of TARP money.

I, like Joe Scarborough, Chris Matthews, Rachel Maddow and the rest of MSNBC's talking heads, am left feeling a bit disgruntled with our economic leaders. These are the people who are supposed to get us out of this mess? Well then, good luck to all of us.

Contrast Geithner's pathetic performance with Obama's in Fort Myers on Monday. He is a communicator of the highest order. He exudes confidence. He oozes empathy. When he walked over and kissed the homeless woman who asked, "Please help," Obama struck exactly the right emotional tone.

Very nice. Very touching. But . . .

I still have many, many questions. As an accomplished professional sports journalist who has been out of work since July, I have yet to see any real progress. Quite the opposite, in fact. It's more difficult today to get a job than it was six months ago. Six months from now, it will probably be more difficult still.

My family is quintessentially middle class. The difference between us and most? We aren't saddled with thousands of dollars of credit card debt. With help from generous relatives, we have done things the right way.

We didn't overspend on our house, and we financed it with a 30-year, fixed-rate mortgage. We did get a second mortgage, but we used that money to pay off both of our cars and what credit card debt we had remaining. We hardly ever use credit cards, and when we do, we pay them off as quickly as possible. We don't spend to excess, but we do pay all of our bills on time -- including the first and second mortgages.

I'm looking for work. I've found that I'm utterly unqualified for the few jobs that actually are available, and all this talk of millions of new "green" jobs seems geared toward people who already have degrees in ecology or environmental engineering. I always thought I'd be able to work at a book store or somewhere similar if things got really rough, but that option won't be there now, either. I'm trying to write fiction, but trying to make a living doing that is like trying to make a living playing the lottery, even in the best of times.

These are not the best of times.

We are the face of these times. My wife and I worked hard to build our careers. We proved ourselves competent in our work. We had a nice, steady income and a nice home in a clean, safe neighborhood. We thought we had prepared the way for our two young sons to grow up happy, healthy and with the promise of a better life than Beth and I have had. Now? Because of matters that seemed to have been beyond our control, we've had to cash in my retirement fund and hope something ... anything ... comes along for me before that money runs out.

I wish President Obama and Timothy Geithner could hear my story. Then again, would it even register? Obama has spoken glowingly of his devotion to the middle class. Well, here we are, Mr. President. Struggling to survive. Worried about the future. Still willing to do things the right way, but unsure anymore if that will be enough.

So, cut the crap, Geithner. Quit approaching your job like some wide-eyed doctoral candidate who thinks he can scrape by with vague generalities and high-sounding diction.

For God's sake, DO something.

Make 'em take lie detector tests

I wrote this almost three years ago, but it's just as relevant today. Especially in light of the Alex Rodriguez admission of steroid use.

Want to know who's using? Hook 'em all up to a polygraph.
Want to know who's lying? Strap 'em all to a lie detector.
If Major League Baseball wants to clean up its act, there's a way. It might be flawed, but even the result of a scientifically debatable polygraph is better than having to take these guys at their word ever again.
If the notoriously overprotective players union wants to clear the collective name of its constituency, it will voluntarily waive the players' right to hide behind the Employee Polygraph Protection Act of 1988, which states (in part):
"An employer engaged in commerce ... cannot, in any manner or for any reason, have an employee or prospective employee submit to a polygraph test."
Give up that right, and make a show of it. Bring everything into the light. Right now.
Do it before any more IRS investigators break down the door of [name redacted] or that other suspected steroid/HGH user, [name redacted].
Want the scandal to go away? Forget about financing a virtually hopeless study at UCLA in a quest for a urine test that reliably detects human growth hormone (a substance that is extremely difficult to detect even in a blood test).
Work out a deal with the American Polygraph Association - whose business is truth, a strong dose of which baseball could use - and set up an independent board to administer, monitor and analyze the results.
Do it every year, to major-leaguers and to minor-leaguers. Make it a standard part of reporting to spring training, an annual ritual, like the preseason physical or daily pitchers fielding practice.
Pop the polygraph on 'em at random times during the season. Keep 'em on their toes.
Make every result public. Players who admit during the test to having used performance-enhancing substances should receive reduced penalties, an acknowledgment that for once, they told the truth.
Players who lie about it should be fined, suspended and prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.
They have done this to themselves. Jason Grimsley has done it to himself. But it's not only Grimsley, or the six names redacted from the now-infamous affidavit that brought to light the most celebrated IRS investigation this side of Al Capone.
It's Grimsley, it's the six blacked-out names he named, it's every name of every player of every organization for the past 15 years - and maybe before. That includes this year, Year Two of MLB's supposedly tough-as-nails but really soft-as-cotton policy governing the use of performance enhancers.
They're all under the same blanket now, the blanket of suspicion. No one is above it.
Is that fair?
Not to the players who have spent their careers legally squeezing every ounce of ability out of their unenhanced bodies and minds. Fair or not, it is what the current culture of baseball dictates.
Speculation. Whispers. Suspicion.
Who now can watch a pitcher throw 98 mph and not wonder? Who now can watch a batter slug a baseball 450 feet and not suspect?
Want to know for sure? Read the printout after the polygraph. Those jagged lines don't lie.
Not that it will ever happen. For one thing, as reliable as polygraphs are, there always is that element of uncertainty - just as there are Web sites selling synthetic HGH, there are Web sites out there that teach you how to beat a lie detector.
Besides, union leader Don Fehr fought tooth and nail against steroid testing, on the grounds that testing "without cause" would violate the players' civil rights. To think that he would submit to a solution as admittedly drastic as across-the-board lie detector tests is ludicrous.
Nor would Commissioner Bud Selig ever stoop to such draconian methods.
So, what? Believe [name redacted] when he says he's clean? Take it on faith that the same players who pass the toothless MLB drug test aren't using something else?
That's hard to do now. And maybe it always will be.

I wonder just how united we really are

I was moved, as I'd like to think most people were, by the events of Tuesday in Washington. It wasn't President Obama's best speech, but he said what he had to say and hit on all the themes that needed to be hit on.

The networks gushed all day and into the night about how now we can move forward together "as one." I want to feel that way, but anecdotal evidence suggests it's just not so.

At this Yahoo! baseball blog, a cute examination of Obama's connection to his beloved White Sox devolved into a back-and-forth snipe fest among the commenters at the bottom. This is only one example; on my Facebook account, mixed among all the expressions of joy, I saw comments from friends that were cheap shots at Michele Obama's gold outfit and frank expressions of fear of Obama's policies. Why are people afraid? Why do people feel the need to belittle the First Couple already?

It's no surprise, though. The people who spewed such hate at the Palin and McCain rallies during the campaign aren't going to change their hearts just because 52 percent of the country says they should. They are who they are, and this country is what it is: still split along Rovian lines, still a Red America and a Blue America.

I have as much cause as anyone to feel disenchanted with the economic future of this country. Yet, my natural sense of optimism (blind optimism?) is in keeping with Obama's message. That's enough for me today.

What I hope Obama will say in his inauguration address tomorrow

Fellow Americans: I stand before you today on the steps of this hallowed building, humbled by the enormous responsibility we share. Humbled, but determined. Determined to stand upon the shoulders of those who came before us in order to meet the enormous challenges of our generation. Our mothers and fathers, grandmothers and grandfathers, and generation upon generation of Americans have risen up in the way most appropriate to their times to overcome the great problems of their age. The citizen patriots of the Revolutionary War, who gave birth to our great nation; the abolitionist voices in the wilderness in the first half of the 19th century, who recognized and dared to speak out against the evils of slavery; the men, women and children of the age of Lincoln, who waged a brutal war and died by the hundreds of thousands to secure the sanctity of the United States of America and to give freedom to the unjustly chained; the children of the Great Depression, who, even as their empty stomachs rumbled, never lost faith in the promise of our nation; the men and women of the Greatest Generation, who partnered with the forces of good in the world to strike down tyranny and preserve the rights of human beings everywhere; the marchers of Selma, Ala., risking life and limb to transform Dr. King’s dream into reality; all of these people, all of these Americans, helped nourish the ideals of a young and burgeoning nation by not only weathering the change inherent to a life of freedom, but by becoming themselves the very agents of change.

It was not easy. Throughout our nation’s history, change has upended lives, shattered dreams, shaken us to our very foundation. In the darkest hours of our history, when the days and nights were fraught with grief and uncertainty, all that remained was hope. Hope for a better future for ourselves, for our children, for our children’s children. But hope we had then, and hope we have today. Yet, hope without action is one cruel moment removed from despair. We must hope, but we must do more than hope. Our sense of ourselves as a people, as a nation, demands that even as we gather to our hearts the glimmer of hope in the darkness of our age, we act upon our impulse toward that shining beacon of the promise of a better life.

Where else, but the United States of America, can a people reach back into their collective history to seek for such a clear course for the future? Where else, but the United States of America, could the disjointed rhythm of history propel a Hawaiian-born son of a Kenyan father and a Kansan mother into the highest office in the land? Where else, but the United States of America, have the lessons of the past proven so eloquently that, as Benjamin Franklin warned his fellow Founding Fathers, “We must all hang together, or we will surely hang separately?” The path forward, while not smooth, is thoroughly known and eminently passable if we merely listen to the message cast down through history by those who came before us.

We might ask, as President Kennedy urged 48 years ago, “What can I do for my country?” In asking this, we must ponder the purpose of the question: simply, to engender a stronger, more vital America, where anyone who works hard and wants a better life has a fair chance to achieve it. It is our sacred duty as a people to continue the work begun by those citizen patriots of the late 1700s and to honor the hard work and sacrifice endured by the generations that followed. Only by doing so, by mirroring the example of our forefathers, can we ensure generations to come will have their chance to pursue the American dream. What we do for our country today, we also do for your children, for my daughters, for our children’s children.

It will not be easy. High-minded questions and philosophical answers will not alone soothe the fears of the unemployed factory worker in Ohio or Michigan; the retiree whose life savings has been devastated by the worst economic climate since the Great Depression; the young college graduate, burdened with student debt and unable to find a job; the lifelong journalist, out of work as the newspaper industry crumbles; the soldier back from service in Iraq or Afghanistan, ready to return to private life, only to find his or her civilian job no longer exists. These and millions of their fellow Americans are, and by right should be, the agents of change. Confronted with the reality of a sick economy, worried about how to pay the bills and keep a roof over their heads, they seek answers.

These answers will not surface quickly, but surface they will. For the one constant in our nation’s history has been our resolve as a people not only to confront change, but to embrace it and mold it to our present and future needs. Change, while painful, is the only way to grow. And, to paraphrase Dr. Franklin, if we do not grow together, we will surely grow apart.

And so, fellow Americans, I stand before you today and echo the call to action of President Kennedy, who understood the truth about the deeply independent spirit of his fellow countrymen. He understood then and we understand today that together, we the people of the United States of America CAN overcome all obstacles, CAN rise to new heights, CAN live by the example of our ancestors, CAN help our children’s children live a better life, CAN transform the smallest glimmer of hope into the towering promise of a future brimming with optimism, a future worthy of our great nation. Together, we can. Together, we will.

Thank you, God bless you and God bless the United States of America.

Not The Professors' Fault

In my last post, I complained about the lack of vision I witnessed from the University of Florida and University of South Florida journalism schools in the early 1990s. The kind of vision that might have better prepared that era's burgeoning writers (and today's laid off journalists) for the changes that were coming in the way the public received its news.

Let me be clear about one thing, here: I don't put it on the professors at all. With few exceptions, the teachers I had at UF and USF were outstanding. A couple, in particular -- USF's Randy Miller and Rick Wilber -- became mentors to me and I consider them friends, still. Miller provided the inspiration for me to finally graduate, and Wilber gave me moral support and the occasional verbal kick in the butt that I needed back then.

The skills they and others taught are just as relevant now as they were then. It will always be vitally important to know how to report and write well, regardless of the medium used to present the information.

There are multi-media graduate degrees now at USF. One of the first (if not the first) graduate of that program now works for tbo.com. Ironically, I gave the good folks in the Tribune/tbo heirarchy a glowing report on this guy before he was hired (he had interviewed me for a baseball project he did, and I thought he came off as very professional and competent). I don't know how much (if any) that influenced the decision to hire him, but the fact remains he works there now and I don't. So, was this a simple case of "out with the old" (me) and "in with the new" (him)? Eh. Maybe. I certainly don't begrudge that guy his job; anyone who can cling to a position with a media company in this era has my full support. I do have to wonder, though: If USF had offered that program in 1991, with an eye toward the future of the business, and if I had chosen to participate (and actually graduated), would I still have my job today?

That's what I meant in the previous post. I wish I had had that choice way back when.

Should Journalism Schools Have Known This Was Coming?

In 1999, 12 years after I graduated from high school and seven years after I was hired by the Tampa Tribune, I received my degree in mass communications from the University of South Florida. When I stopped being a full-time student in 1993, I needed only a few credits to graduate. But I had a job; I figured the degree would only be a redundancy I could not afford (financially). I was a poor student, in more ways than one.

I know now how important it was to actually finish school. It wasn't so much about what I was learning in the classes as it was about making a plan for my education and seeing it to fruition. I learned most of what I know about journalism from hands-on experience, but I learned most of what I know about myself during my haphazard college career.

And somewhere in the recesses of my time-addled brain, I seem to recall the softest of warnings being sounded in the course of my college career. This was the late 1980s and early 1990s, before the Internet had become so prevalent and before many folks outside of Microsoft's offices in Redmond, Wash., had any inkling of the meanings of acronyms like HTML, SEO or SERP. Words like "blog" and "iTunes" and "podcast" had not been invented. Yet, some professors spoke of the changing nature of journalism. They spoke of it as an eventuality, something relatively far in the future to ponder while mastering the soon-to-be-antiquated skills being taught in J-school. I mean, think about this: In 1991, I took a required class in photography, wherein we learned the art of film development. When's the last time you developed film? Or even used film?

The point is this: While there was a vague uneasiness at the academic level regarding the future of journalism, nothing was done about it in the early 1990s -- when it would have mattered to so many thousands of future journalists.

Should someone have known? Should some bold, visionary dean of a J-school somewhere in the land have shaken the system and forged a new way of learning? For all I know, that might have been happening at top-flight places like Missouri and North Carolina. But at the two J-schools I attended, Florida and South Florida, there was very little in the way of useful, practical vision. There was solid, fundamentally grounded education, but it was based on a model that, before its students would reach their 40s, would become as irrelevant as vinyl records.

Now, would some new way of learning about the practice of journalism have changed the disastrous business model that was the real reason newspapers died in 2008? I doubt that; publishers and owners made too much money on newspapers for too many years to let the old way of doing business give way gracefully to some new, perhaps less-profitable paradigm. So, the profession died, and our society must live with the consequences of a government under the so-so scrutiny of a terribly weakened watch dog.

Would knowing in 1991 what I know now about the way readers/viewers/listeners/Web surfers receive their news have made me a better writer? No. But it might have allowed me and the thousands of other out-of-work writers to better position ourselves in our chosen fields. Was it the University of Florida and the University of South Florida's responsibility to prepare me for a future in journalism? You bet it was, at least in part. The responsibility also rested with me, and with all journalism students whose careers stretched out so promisingly before them in the early '90s.

That was an empty promise. I confess, I had no idea it would happen in my lifetime. If I had, I would have followed my fellow high school nitwits to law school. Instead, I'll continue to scramble to find a way to make the skills I learned and honed for 22 years relevant. Perhaps it's not too late, but it sure would have been nice to have received a meaningful warning all those years ago.

Resolved

Is it too late? Can I still make my New Year's resolutions on Jan. 2? I'll start with this: I resolve to procrastinate less. (Although, to be fair to myself, deadlines never have been an issue for me.)

I also resolve this year to not have another heart attack, to not get laid off from another job and to not spend eight days in the neonatal intensive care unit with my newborn son.

I resolve to be more resolute after overcoming so many obstacles in 2008.

Oh, and here's a big one: I resolve to forgive and (try to) forget.

I resolve to turn off the TV.

I resolve to write.

I resolve to get a job.

If I fail in the latter, I resolve to throw myself whole-heartedly into the former.

I resolve to be the person I know I should be. A better husband. A better father. A better son. A better brother. A better son-in-law. A better neighbor. A better friend. A better homeowner (that persistent patch of clover in the back yard is doomed).

A better everything.