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Sex and the Super Bowl

copyright © 2009 Betsy L. Angert.  BeThink.org Citizens in the United States are complicated, complex, and mostly they act in ways that are contrary to what they profess to believe in.  No matter a person's race, religion, or creed, people point to what they think right.  Then, especially on Super Bowl Sunday they engage in all, that were someone else to do the same, they would say, that is wrong.   Indeed, on the Monday through Saturday, before the final event the sanctity of sex, only after marriage, is subject to interpretation.  Voyeurism is at times defined as an involuntary response.  Adultery is but a betrayal advocated as merely a reason for divorce.  The deed doers surmise the divine, will understand.  Humans are flawed.  They are frail when faced with animal lust.  When stimulated, an uncontrollable desire for sex seethes from every pore.  Even the threat of a police sweep cannot assuage the palpable passion.

While people may profess puritanical principles, those our forefathers inscribed on parchment, today, as the Super Bowl looms large in our collective consciousness, the American public concludes, they cannot adhere to such strict ethical standards.  

Admittedly, these beliefs have shaped our laws and sustained a stable society.  Americans, we, the people, wish to maintain the moral codes.  People say they are proud and proper, except when they are not.  The pious and non-believers, each, trust that they practice as they preach, or at least on Sundays.  Super Bowl Sunday may the only day on which all bets are off, or on.

Some do not seek corporal satisfactions.  Instead, in anticipation of the game, citizens count the possible ways they might come by extra cash.  Some bet on which team will win, what songs might be sung, or whether the game will go into overtime.  Super Bowl gambling pools are as American as apple pie.  

The masses gamble on the fact that society will not judge them as they might judge others who do as they will do.  ESPN Writer, Jeff Merron, may have said it best as he mused, Sex goes to the Super Bowl.  Forthrightly, Mister Merron spoke of what few will. 

Some people say the Super Bowl is all about money.  Others say it's all about power.  For many, it's all about advertising.  A few die-hards insist football's the important thing.

But most of us know that it's really (like everything else) about sex.  There are the parties leading up to the game.  The groupies.  The cheerleaders.  A few hot commercials during the broadcast.  Halftime quickies, for some big spenders in the corporate boxes.

We could go deeper (pardon the pun), into the realm of academic theory . . . Enough of that.  Let's get to the Super Bowl sex lore.

In the beginning, ancestral wisdom was welcome.  Quotes from our forbearers, the colonist trusted, would not lead us astray.  Words of acumen avowed that then, we were a country united in faith.  The new world was young when, on June 21, 1776, John Adams, a future President, penned a letterto his cousin Zabdiel Adams.  In the epistle, he proclaimed, "[I]t is religion and morality alone which can establish the principles upon which freedom can securely stand.  The only foundation of a free constitution is pure virtue."  

Ample evidence establishes the essential value of religion in this nation.  Yet, as we aged, some would say we have forgotten our ways.  It is written, in the Daily Resource for Entrepreneurs, the canon that best describes America today.  Sex Sells More  [Now] Than Ever.

Yet, the Protestant ethic of earlier generations remains strong.  Many believe America is a Christian nation.  Others argue it is not.  That debate aside, perhaps the people in this country may acknowledge that the country is as its citizens are conflicted.  Residents of this great land are ready to act in ways they claim are repugnant.

Hence, while sex sells it does so behind the scenes.  Sales are hidden from view, just as the women who might stimulate a sexual thought are.  Super Bowl spectators in 2004 might recall the first time and what seems to be the last occasion, a female performer appeared on the field for halftime festivities.  

On that infamous day, a bit of bare breast was exposed broadly.  What was difficult to see from the bleachers, and only visible for but a second live, and in person, was the source of much sexual stimulation for those with an imagination.  Fines were slapped on broadcasters, later rescinded, and then, to ensure that all of America understood the seriousness of the situation, the case, in November 2008, was taken to the Supreme Court of the United States for "appropriate" review.  

While it may seem that the action, gyrating genitals, bouncing "t and a" are in or barred from the Bowl, what really rotates the pelvis is found on the streets of whatever city hosts the event.  This year, the exploits are held in Tampa Bay, Florida.

Throughout the week before the main event, people prepare for climatic celebrations.  Excitement is high, as are the prospects for an erection.  TheRoad to Super Bowl XLIII is flanked by 43 strip clubs.  In "The Big Guava," as the city is sometimes called ,  there is Lip Stixx, Centerfolds and the Bliss Cabaret.  Down the street a visitors, or a resident can enter Diamond Dolls and Bare Assets.  The Wild Gentlemen's Club is quite the haunt.  Indeed, there are 43 erotic dance emporiums in the Tampa metropolitan area. 

(O)ne for each Super Bowl.  And the week of Super Bowl XLIII is to Tampa's naughty nightlife what Black Friday is to America's shopping malls.

All the exotic dancing joints have earned Tampa a bawdy reputation _ the lads' magazine, Maxim, even put it on its top 10 list of best U.S. party cities a couple years ago, based mostly on the two score and more night spots to see naked or nearly naked women.

Bare bottom babes, oh my.  What might the forefathers think or say.  Surely, John Adams, often regarded as the most influential of the founding fathers, would offer his words of woe.  "Our Constitution was made only for a moral and religious people.  It is wholly inadequate to the government of any other."  He may then adjoin "We have no government armed with power capable of contending with passions unbridled by morality and religion."  Each might explain why the police force in Tampa Bay proposed as they did.  

Tampa Bay spokeswoman Andrea Davis said officers will not patrol the clubs.  Law enforcement will not look for dancers who get too close to patrons.  Ms Davis affirmed in 2001, when the city last hosted the games, no reports were filed.  She  then offered; officers are obliged to investigate if someone complains, few customers are likely to protest when a performer leans in and snuggles in those special ways.

Participants at The Adult Entertainment Expo, 2008, might best explain why in a nation so pious, the police will hear few if any objections to the pleasure found in the wondrous world of titillation.  What is hidden behind walls, is not thought to be a thorny issue. 

(T)world's largest sex industry trade show, attracts as many as 30,000 visitors and more than 400 registered exhibitors every year, including a growing number of small-business owners, organizers say.

"There's an extremely supportive environment out there  . . ." says Suki Dunham, the 39-year-old co-owner of OhMiBod, a Greenland, N.H.-based vibrator company she and her husband launched in 2006.  Dunham, a former marketer at Apple, used [the 2008] event to unveil a new line of Naughtinanos, an iPhone-compatible device that vibrates in sync with a caller's voice.

  
Officers will have their hands full with what is in full view, as could be expected in a country where citizens claim to honor a code of ethical standards and then gravitate to the will of their genitals.  Even still, Tampa Bay locals, and lawmakers, true Americans, tired of the city's sleazy reputation wish to maintain a modicum of decorum.  

However, no matter how hard "The Big Guava" residents work to clean up the street, regardless of the reprimands, there seems to be no way to control the flow of dollars in the sex trade or the lack of sense that is all too rampant in this "ethical" nation.  The second President understood that the government was powerless.  He had hoped the people might self-regulate.  "Religion & virtue are the only foundations, not only of republicanism and of all free government, but of social felicity under all governments and in all the combinations of human society." 
President Adams asserted; "Statesmen, my dear sir, may plan and speculate for liberty, but it is religion and morality alone, which can establish the principles upon which freedom can securely stand."

Perchance that explains why in a nation as virtuous as the United States, the sex toy market, in the United States, which, "excludes the pornography industry, accounts for up to $2 billion in total adult industry sales every year."

Toys, thankfully, are the treasures that allow for the appearance of civility  Americans do not worry of what remains hidden from view.  What hinders the image of a healthy righteous America, is what comes out from the clubs and onto the streets, the week the Super Bowl is in town.

Prostitution is the problem, or a commercial that promotes a vegetarian diet.  

Law officers have come to expect that they cannot control for human vices, even in a country so safe from sin and saintly as the United States is.  

In this country, we claim to be guided by G-d.  Devout citizens describe the homeland as Fisher Ames, of the Federalist Party did in an oration on the Sublime Virtues of General George Washington.  In 1800, the political leader stated, "Our liberty depends on our education, our laws, and habits . . . it is founded on morals and religion, whose authority reigns in the heart, and on the influence all these produce on public opinion before that opinion governs rulers."

Perhaps, that is the paradigm.  In the United States, morals and religion do not reign on the heart; however, these do produce public opinion.  Until the opinion that governs the spirit is identical the one that governs rulers, Super Bowl Sunday will be as Mondays through Saturdays are normally, seconds, minutes, hours, day, months, and years of American hypocrisy.

References, religion, and realities . . . 

• Super Bowl Sunday.  MSNBC. February 1, 2009
• Tampa Police Launch Sex Crime Sweep. By Warren Elly.  Fox News 13.  Tampa. January 26, 2009
• Super Bowl LXIII: Game On.  Associated Press.  My Fox LA. February 1, 2009
• Bet on Super Bowl Halftime Songs, Overtime, By Joe Saumarez-Smith.  Bloomberg. January 30, 2009
• Super Bowl gambling pools as American as apple pie. By Tim Grace.  Enterprise. January 2009
• Sex goes to the Super Bowl, By Jeff Merron.  ESPN. January 2009
• Is America a Christian Nation>  By Carl Pearlston.  Catholic Education Resource.  2001
• FCC, DOJ Appeal Janet Jackson To Supreme Court, By John Eggerton.  Broadcasting & Cable. November 21, 2008
• Debating America's Christian Character, By Barbara Bradley Hagerty.  Morning Edition. May 5, 2005
• Why Sex Sells More Than Ever, By Angus Loten.  Inc.  The Daily Resource for Entrepreneurs. January 2008
• Road to Super Bowl XLIII flanked by 43 strip clubs. By Mitch Stacy.  KOB TV.  Associated Press. January 26, 2009
• Super Bowl Crackdown: Tampa Police Targeting Prostitutes. By Josh Poltilove.  The Tampa Tribune. January 26, 2009
• PETA Veggie Love Commercial Banned from Superbowl XLIII.  YouTube. January 29, 2009

An Inauguration Invitation

copyright © 2009 Betsy L. Angert.  BeThink.org I am asking you to believe, not just in my ability to bring about a real change in Washington, I'm asking you to believe in yours.  ~ Barack Obama The invitation arrived in an electronic mail.  As much as America wishes to be hopeful, I had none.  I saw the communiqué and thought it would not be possible.  I would never be selected to attend the inauguration.  Of all the millions who are moved by this historic occasion, while I am amongst these, my anecdote is and would be far less remarkable.  My personal reflection on the Obama election, would not be tragic.  Nor would any thought I might muse of move a reader to say, "Yes.  She should be seated at the swearing in ceremony." Whatever I might communicate is certainly of little interest to most, if not all.  Surely, the saga of a grandson, or grand-daughter, of a slave, one who worked as their ancestors had, might mesmerize more, or at least a legend such as this would enthrall me.  Indeed, it did.  Only yesterday, I saw and heard a film essay on James "Little Man" Presley.  This steady man in Mississippi began his career when he was six [6.]  On camera, this glorious gent recounted his reality of fifty years of work in the cotton fields.  He shared his sorrow; as a Black man, he was barred from restaurants and royalties that might be awarded to a white man.  "Little Man" Presley also presented his pleasure.

As he spoke of his thirteen children, wife, employer, and the Journalist who has known him since the day of the Correspondent's birth, I cried.  When Mister Presley at the mention of the President Elect Obama, and said he voted for him, I knew what I, and everyone else must feel. That individual his family must be bequeathed entrance to the formal investiture.

Once again, as I stood blubbering, I bemoaned what I had faith I had no right to feel.  Regrettably, I would not be able to attend the official observance.  The installation of Barack Obama into the Oval Office would be one I would miss.  It was true; my yarn could not compare to the composition an elderly man or woman, coal in color, might submit.  Some of these individuals never felt their tally counted.  For many, it did not; not until the Voters Rights Act 1965 was passed into law.  Yes, a request for my narrative could not negate the truth of my tale; it was nothing in contrast to what others might tell.  My complexion had always made me more privileged and that is wrong.  

To my core I felt and continue to feel if the new Administration offers free transportation and tickets to the event, they should not be given to me.  

I had never, through my actions, given up on the country I love.  I had no reason to.  Granted, I frequently felt there was no hope for my homeland.  However, these moments were fleeting.  Prejudice did not permeate my very existence. Nor did bigotry shade my second-by-second experience.  Every thought I might express was not filtered through a truth I could never forget, for I was not dark as pitch.  I did not realize repercussions for nothing more than my race.

I am an activist.  My current age does not make my participation worthy of note, at least not in the year 2008, or 2009.  I am one of millions.  Four or perhaps more will readily appear in the Capital Mall in Washington, District of Columbia.  Almost all will reach the destination without assistance from the Obama Administration.  Why should I not do the same?

For me, without tickets, which I vigorously tried to obtain through conventional means, I would not truly be part of this momentous occasion.  I would be disengaged, detached from the essence that bonds me and helped me to believe.  I imagine as one in a crowd of countless, all I would see would be projected onto a screen.  I would feel separate, not equal to those more worthy of the honor of an invitation.  

Surely, the historic significance would be not be as I hoped.  Were I to go, as a one amongst the masses might, I would grapple with what has long haunted me.  I would not feel as connected to what means so much to me.

Hence,  each time the invitation appeared in my mailbox, the opportunity to pen my prose, to state why this inauguration was so very important to me, I submitted what I knew was not enough, not special, and not unique.

Each time, I did not request what I hoped for, in many ways, more so than accommodations to the services.  My dream was not to merely be welcomed to the Capitol.  I wanted to find what was, and still is lost to me.  The people I think of as parents, biological proxy to me.  My desire was the President Elect and his staff might make a personal dream come true.  Thus, I engraved and placed into the ethereal Internet for weeks. 

Dearest Barack, Michelle, Malia, and Sasha, and all those who consider themselves part of the Obama Family . . .

I know not how to best express what this inauguration means to me.  Attendance at the investiture would be the fulfillment of a dream, a desire to return the love that was given to me.  Perchance, a bit of historical context might help to explain why this occasion moves me.  My beginnings were not humble.  Some might say that my childhood was filled with hurt.  However, for me, the circumstances were joyous.

My parents had been together for years.  They prospered financially.  Yet, as a family they were disconnected.  My birth was accidental and a source of anything but delight.  It was decided another person, and her family would raise me.  Mary [Hazel] Washington, and her husband, Arthur, thankfully took me into a world that was not my own.  I became the white child who was far more accepted in a Black world, than she was in her own Caucasian community.  My complexion was light as was my heart when with the persons who truly cared for me.

Later, at an age younger than Natasha Obama currently is, I witnessed an extraordinary event.  My natural mother and father were home, together, in my presence.  The two had grown farther apart in my five years on Earth.  As they spoke of the 1960 election, they argued.  The conversation was animated, more so than any I had heard in the past.  My Mom, the ultimate Progressive mentioned she would not vote for the Republican candidate, register in the Grand Old Party; nor would she lie to the man whose bloodline I share and say she had.  I was intrigued and remained so forever.

The two, Mommy, and her husband whose home I lived in, but rarely saw, and never really knew, divorced. However, sadly, the Washington's exited.  Much occurred in the time of transition.  Mary and Arthur had reason to believe they were no longer needed.  Oh, what they did not know was how wanted they were, how honored I was to be raised in their world.  

The people who did not reject me, taught me to trust.  Mary mentored me in empathy.  Arthur, her spouse, and their offspring, through their actions, helped me to understand the principle, love thy fellow man.

I never forgot how safe and sane I felt when with what felt to be my family, the persons who served as my surrogate parents.  I could not have had a better home, more love, or been as welcome as I was in the neighborhood where residents did not appear as I did.  At the age of eleven or twelve, I had an opportunity, the first of many, to stand up for the rights of the people who gave me more than a physical presence in the world.  I marched for equality, civil rights for all.  With Civil Rights leader Father Groppi, in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, I was among the many who said and sung, "Set my people free."

As I aged, I searched for Mary [Hazel] and Arthur Washington.  While I never located the couple who bestowed upon me the freedom that comes with acceptance, as a politically active person, particularly in the 2008 election year, I saw them frequently.  The Washington's were within me each time I made a telephone call in support of Barack Obama.  My mother and father, brownish-purple in hue, were with me as I waved banners for a President Elect Obama.  Mary and Arthur drove to rallies, spoke to relatives.  The two were close at hand when I registered voters.

My hope is that if I am able to find my way to the inauguration, Mary [Hazel] and Arthur Washington will know that with thanks to them, "Yes, we can," and indeed, "We did achieve a dream!"

Mary [Hazel], Arthur, and sons, Arthur Junior and oh, how I wish I recalled the name of the younger, if you read this, please, please, please, get in touch with me.  For as long as I recall, I have, from time to time, searched telephone books, cyberspace communities, asked relatives, sought some clue of where you might be.  I wanted, I yearn for you to know what as a five and one half year old I could not, did not know how to share.  You, your kindness, commitment to my well-being, the care you bestowed upon me has forever meant more to me than mere words.

I speak of each of you, your family, even when my mouth is closed.  Who you are exudes from my every pore.  So much of what I think, say, do, feel, and am, at least all that I treasure of me, is with thanks to each of you.  Mary, I know my parents rejected what seemed the perfect reason to name me Hazel, your given name, as you requested.  Nonetheless, please trust that while you and I may not share a moniker, for me, we share sooooo much more.

I thank you for being my first and best teacher.  You are a mentor, one that money cannot buy.  If I have any hope in 2009, it is that perchance, one day, you and I will meet.  I wish to do more than merely greet you with a smile.  Even from afar, I will, as I have, embrace the being that is you, and express my sincere gratitude for the being you helped me to become.

The Washington family, this is my Inauguration Invitation to you.  May we begin to bring hope for a renewed future alive.

Hugs, kisses, and references for other realities . . . 

• Crossing the railroad tracks amid a new time in history, By Wayne Drash.  Cable News Network.  January 12, 2009
• Introduction To Federal Voting Rights Laws.  United States Department of Justice.
• Can Mall Be Filled For an Inauguration? 4 Million May Try It. By Nikita Stewart and Michael E. Ruane.  Washington Post.  Tuesday, November 18, 2008; A01

A Day That Lives In Infamy

This much is clear: violence breeds violence, repression brings retaliation,  and only a cleansing of our whole society can remove this sickness from our soul.  ~ Robert F. Kennedy copyright © 2009 Betsy L. Angert.  BeThink.org It is the seventh day of the month, a date that now lives in infamy.  On this occasion, she passed.  She was killed by an attack that was all too sudden.  Her physical presence on Earth did not end in the month of December.  The year was not 1941.  The events at Pearl Harbor did cause my Mom's heart to stop.  Indeed, she only ceased to exist in a form that I can see with my eyes or touch with my hand, less than a decade ago.  Truly, it feels as if Mommy just took her leave.   In every moment, she is still with me.  All these years later, I mourn my loss.  Oh, if only I could bring her back.  She enters into my dreams almost daily.  Since childhood, I knew, if she were gone, I might not be able to go on.  Today, on the anniversary of her bodily discorporation, I mourn, as I trust she would, the casualties in Iraq, Afghanistan, Gaza, Israel, and anywhere that war delays, defers, or denies family time, space, and a proper setting in which to grieve.

Unreported by United States Armed Forces, the Bush Administration, or the American free press, it was estimated that since the US-led invasion began, as of September 2007, over a million Iraqis were killed.  Opinion Research Business, a prominent British survey agency, approximated 1.2 million Iraqi residents violently realized a horrific conclusion to life.  At times, entire families were among the fatalities, survived by only friends, and relatives who lived.  That does not negate the notion, that someone, somewhere, suffered a loss when each one of those individual lives was snuffed out.

Unlike in my situation, those who loved the dearly departed Iraqis, had no warning.  The persons who live to lament were not able to visit their beloved before their final breath.  Opportunities to say good-bye were few, if they existed at all.  The bombs blasted.  The bullets pierced the delicate flesh of the persons now fallen.  Survivors were left only with their sorrow.  Sadly, some probably regret they could not save a cherished soul.  While I might relate to that feeling, at least I know my Mom passed quietly, safely at home, in the company of those nearest and dearest.  She went to her rest in peace.

In Afghanistan, the challenges are equal to those in Iraq.  Homes sit snugly in a war zone.  Soldiers, who are suspicious of Afghani natives, surround local communities.  Troops are also found within indigenous societal circles.  Weaponry is wielded.  No innocent man, woman, or child is out of harm's way.  When a friend or family folk is maimed or murdered, neighbors may wish to send condolences, as those close to my Mom did.  Colleagues may yearn to congregate around a casket and cry.  People may seek closure.  Cremations, with a chance to offer ceremonial respects, might be as is customary.  Yet, again, since American and allies attacks commenced, citizens of Afghanistan cannot do as my relatives, and I had done when Mommy departed.

No one is certain how many have passed in the roughed terrain of Afghanistan.  The Pentagon does not release statistics of the insurgents killed.  Nor do they dare calculate the numbers of blameless civilian losses.  The United States Armed Services applaud the accuracy of air strikes.  American military speaks of the smart strategy. 

(F)or all their precision, American bombs sometimes take out the wrong targets.  As U.S. air strikes doubled from 2006 to 2007, the number of accidental civilian deaths soared, from 116 to 321, according to Marc Garlasco, a former Pentagon targeting chief who tabulates civilian casualties for Human Rights Watch (HRW), an independent research group.  By his count, the death toll among civilians so far this year [September 2008] is approaching 200.

The military dismisses such tallies as exaggerated, and their provenance is often murky.  . . .

Whatever the tally, officials both inside and outside the U.S. military say attacks that kill civilians occur with distressing regularity; they generate headlines only when dozens die.  Afghans vividly recall the July 2002 bombing of a wedding party--celebratory gunfire led to retaliation by an AC-130--that killed up to 48 civilians and wounded 117 in Oruzgan province; many were women and children.

This past July, 47 people were killed and nine wounded on their way to a wedding in eastern Afghanistan.  Among the dead were 39 women and children, including the bride-to-be, Afghan authorities said.

What of the families, and friends, of those who survived?  How must they reconcile the loss?  Joyous, the beloved went to a celebration.  Yet, they never returned.  They cease to exist, taken down by a missile.  How must the living feel?

For the people who were close to these sweet spirits and lived, July must be as January is for me, a reminder of what was, would have been, and will never be.  The difference is, for all the persons, perhaps hundreds or thousands in Afghanistan who were touched by those who perished while at a wedding in 2002 and on their way to nuptials in 2007, they know a life was cut short by unnecessary combat.  Beautiful beings were blow into oblivion.

Yet, all the while, people in the States, those who purchased and produced the deadly artillery, pay little attention to what does not affect them personally.  Indeed, on this January 7, 2009, the death toll on foreign shores mounts, and many in America think that fine.  As long as it is not their Mom, Dad, son, or daughter, citizens in this "civilized" country will continue to plan inaugural parties, propose to escalate combat in the Middle East, and sanction the strikes that ensue in Gaza.  

Oh, some may protest.  A few will state they cannot endorse the murders.  Others; however, will justify the cause for they will speak of Hamas as the enemy, evil, just as they do of those in Iraq and Afghanistan.  Justice is served, the American Administration will assuage, as they offer a convenient truth; terrorist must be eliminated.

In truth, as long, those who inhabit the world's superpower do not suffer, do not experience the loss, the United States will do little to interfere, to impede, what through their dollars, and decades of support, they have endorsed.

Perchance, my Mom, today, yesterday, and forever gave me a gift that gives even when she is far away, one I wish every American might receive.  Mommy taught me to empathize, to truly place my heart in the being of another.  She modeled what most dare not muse.  

Mommy, who never wished to hurt any one or another entity, understood how bereavement affected me.  She knew; when the soul of someone is lost to this world, I ache.  Hence, she stayed on Earth so that I might see her one more time, hold her hand, and say all that we might.  When she knew I could, and would not regret, my Mom wished me well.  "Have a good trip," the lovely Berenice Barbara said as I left her physical presence.  "You too," I replied.

It was January 7th, a day that lives in infamy for me, and one that I trust will be tarnished for those in foreign lands who lost a loved one in Iraq, Afghanistan, Gaza, or anywhere on this globe.

May we all rest in peace. 

• More than 1,000,000 Iraqis murdered.  Opinion Research Business. September 2007
• Afghan Civilian Deaths: A Rising Toll.  Time. September 4, 2008
• Is the Real Target Hamas Rule?, By Ethan Bronner.  The New York Times.  January 3, 2009

"I'm Dying;" Please Ponder My Plea

copyright © 2009 Betsy L. Angert.  BeThink.org I did not know of him or of his condition until today.  When he first approached me, he assured me, I did not need to assist him.  He was well taken care of.  kwickkick wanted to help me help myself.  Indeed, he hoped to lend a hand to all who reside in America.  He had only his story, a reminder of what is most important to a person when they learn they are about to pass.  Kwickkick offered his plea, to you, and to me, and asked us to ponder. As he shared, I thought of how the compassionate chap, kwickkick could have been me.  However, he did not know of my situation.  As I said, we had just met.  The 34-year-old man, who discovered just hours earlier, he has but little time to live, is a contract employee in the sales division at software company.  He is as many skilled workers in the United States.  kwickkick is one of the forty-five, or more, millions of Americans without health insurance.  Too many of whom understand that the lack of medical coverage is a death sentence waiting to happen.  For kwickkick, the decree has been delivered.  It was as he expected and thus he penned, I'm Dying. [Please click on the his statement to read his tale which appears just below.]

As any healthy person, I cannot begin to imagine what kwickkick feels or what lies ahead for him.  However, as a human, as one who can relate to a life without medical insurance, I understand the historical references so eloquently stated in an essay so emotive.  

While my circumstances were never as dire as his, as an educated professional employee, for all but this past year of my life, I too never had health insurance.  My income, while barely, and rarely able to sustain me, was too high to qualify for Medicare or other services.  I too had to sacrifice much and still could not go to see a physician when I was in need.  Auspiciously, my situation, while at times serious did not leave me in the condition kwickkick finds himself in.  This gentle giant, of a being is dying.  

Nothing can be done to save his life.  Yet, he hopes his words will ensure the rest of us remain well, survive serenely, and do not endure the strife a life without medical coverage caused him.

The apprehension kwickkick so deftly expresses is, that after he leaves Earth, many others will be stricken as he is.  Kwickkick wants a better health care system for every American.  Hence, he submits his appeal.  Please read I'm Dying.  Updated here at BeThink, or in its original form at Daily Kos.

As kwickkick requests, share his tale with your Senators, Representatives, Republicans, and Democrats.  Forward the plea to President Elect Barack Obama.  Tom Daschle, too might benefit from a read.  Reach out to any and everyone you might think of.  Please, do what you can quickly.  While it may be too late for kwickkick, and he believes it will be, please ponder, the longer we  wait to communicate, to create the country we wish to live in, the more people will die a death that need not be.

copyright © 20089 kwickkick.  kwickkick at Daily Kos

The results from some tests came back today.  I have pancreatic cancer.  It is untreatable.  I will die in 2009.  I am not telling you this for pity, or for whining.  I have known this was coming for a while, and have made my peace with it.  I am telling you this to urge you on in your fight for universal health care.  And to urge you to continue to fight to support the Obama administration, loudly, whenever you feel you can.

My doctor says it probably would not have made a difference, but I have delayed seeing a physician for two years, even though I have had a series of symptoms.  I have been unable to qualify for health insurance that I could afford -- and even if I could, my cancer would have been deemed a preexisting condition unless I had the insurance before two years ago.

I cut back on everything -- movies, clothes, restaurants, hot water, air conditioning (in Texas), cost of each meal -- and saved up my money so that I could see a doctor.  I still didn't want to spend so much, and delayed everything until the symptoms became too serious (I was taken to an emergency room -- and was booted to a county hospital when they found out I had no insurance, but made too much to qualify for Medicaid.)

Eventually, I saw my doctor, and paid what I could.  What was so frightening to me was not the fact that I was ultimately diagnosed with cancer -- again, it would not have made a difference with my type -- but the number of people I met in the waiting rooms who had done the exact same thing I had done.  They had delayed and delayed seeing a doctor, despite the pain and difficult symptom, because they couldn't afford it.  We all knew that their chances were far worse -- we were all at an oncologist's office, and we all knew that delay made cancer fatalities far more likely.  An air of acceptance permeated the room; we could not change where we were.

These people didn't have to be there.  They didn't have to risk death.  Many of my new friends, I have no doubt, will die soon because they could not get insurance.

This is the reality of the world we are in.  Hopefully Obama will change things, although it will be too late for all of us in the waiting room.  But these are the real stakes.  This is what matters.  I know why people are offended that Rick Warren is offering the prayer.  I know Obama will do many things that anger people on this site.

All i ask is that, when you can, remember that he needs our support for the big things, so perhaps we should be more patient and forgiving on the small.  The fight against universal healthcare will be vicious.  The medical industry will get out all guns, and the Repubs will lap it up.

That is why we need Obama.  So, when you are angered by a small thing in the future, remember the big things. Remember those people in the waiting room, who all will probably be dead when the program is finally introduced. Remember me and remember my plea. The stakes are too high. It literally means life and death, for all those people who will be in the waiting rooms in the future.

Please, don't take our eye off the ball.

================ 
Thank you for all your kind words of support. 
Know this: 
There is no reason to be sad. My possibilities for the next number of months are endless. I can do whatever I want and not worry about the consequences. I will not be taking anything at all -- no clinical trials, no radical procedures. No matter how much I fight this year, it will still end the same way. Perhaps I'll buy a few more months, all while destroying the ones that I will likely get by doing nothing other than eating well and keeping myself active. 
A friend of mine is going to fly me to London (where he lives.) From there, I will spend a few weeks in Europe, hitching and backpacking when I can. I've never seen Europe and I want to.

As for using myself to fight for universal health care, sitting on the steps of the Capitol as one suggested -- I can't. I have so much I want to do in the next few months, and I don't know how long I have. I don't want to wait to die. I want to take the opportunity to live.

So please, carry on the fight. Remember this plea. But you will have to carry the flag without me. 
Also, in answers to other items here: Yes, you can send this post wherever you want. And I will stay in contact, although probably not when I am in Europe.

Love to all.

Update 
Again, thank you so much for all of your good wishes. It really does mean a lot to me.

I also wanted to make a few replies here. For those wondering about my background, I'm a 34 year old guy, I'm a contract employee in the sales division at software company, I've never been married but I am in a serious relationship with a woman I met four years ago.

As for my healthcare provider -- there is no insurance company to go after; I still don't have one. And my doctor/hospital are everything you would ever want. They  have provided me with so much care, and have taken only what I could afford, and I had to insist that they take that.

Many people have offered to host me in Europe and I thank you for that. My friend and one other -- and hopefully my girlfriend, if she can get out of work without losing her job -- are taking me on this trip. Whenever we can, we will be staying at good hotels, all expenses paid (my friend is truly digging deep on this one.) I'm not sure where we'll be going, but I know I want to see France and Italy, in addition to England. That will be probably all I will be able to handle. I'm hoping that I make it through the whole trip without having to come back home early.

I know that I am going to have to have pain management, so there should be no worries about that. That has already become readily apparent. When I need to, I will use morphine. Also, my sister is making arrangements for me to go to a hospice when I need to.

As for the last part -- people feeling sorry for me. I do appreciate your good feelings, but please know this: The last number of weeks as I was building toward the obvious answer of my condition has been a time of astonishing clarity for me. It is almost as if the world is brighter, the grass is greener, the sky is bluer.

While I have tried to live a fulfilling life, and as much as I dedicated myself to things that mattered,  I now see that I also wasted time on things that really weren't important. The things that matter are so clear to me. I have come to recognize that life is divided between those things we can control, and those things we can't. The secret of life is to recognize and accept those things that cannot be controlled, but to work like hell on the things that can be controlled to insure, they come out as the most fulfilling as possible.

That is why I made my post. I cannot control my cancer. I know this. There really are no options that would not entail wasting my last months. But I can, in my own small way, contribute to making sure our community never loses sight of the things that matter, of the things we can change. We have total control over what we fight for. We should never waste time. Our world has been so damaged -- we have to direct our power toward helping people -- through health insurance, jobs programs, justice for all. Those are the big items. And we have the power to make sure things change.

But we also have the opportunity to change our own lives. Life is a glorious, wonderful thing. There is so much beauty and awe in this world. Please, whatever you do politically, remember to find the joy in your life. It's there, and it is in your control to reach it. Grab hold of it and never let go. And if you do, it doesn't matter when you die. Yours will have been a life well lived.

Again, love to all, and thanks. This will probably be my last post for awhile.

I Resolve . . .

Something Could Change

copyright © 2008 Betsy L. Angert.  BeThink.org Come 2009, I will commence on a new path. I will exercise regularly, smoke not at all.  A healthy diet will become my regime.  On Monday, January 5, my life mission will be realized in my work.  The opportunity to inaugurate again, to give birth to me at my best will inspire a rejuvenation.  Today, I resolve to . . . not make a single New Years resolution.  In truth, I never have committed to change.  Yet, the person you see before you is not the same being that might have appeared on any other day, of any other year.  I have evolved, and so do we all.

As the New Year approaches, I reflect on a reality I see and hear everywhere.  People far and wide seek a novel strategy, one that has never appealed to persons such as I.  Most everyone is ready for a new reality.  Individuals are intent.  Now is the time to begin anew.  Resolutions are rampant.  

No matter where an individual might reside, the calendar motivates people to review, reflect, and revise schedules that did not work as well as once envisioned.  Pages in an almanac pass, and people presume, surely, these sheets of paper were meant to show signs of progress.  Most ponder; twelve months of misery or mindless maneuvers.  It is time for a change.  Yet, the mantra few admit to on January 1st, is the one individuals maintain throughout their lives, 'people do not change.'  Experts espouse there is evidence for this belief.  

Dr. Edward D. Miller, Dean of the medical faculty at Johns Hopkins University School of Medicine, refers to the more than 70 percent of coronary bypass patients who revert to unhealthy habits within two years of corrective surgery. Although two-thirds of Americans believe they weigh seventeen pounds more than their ideal weight, few are able to shed the pounds.  In a recent study, nutritional specialists at Duke University affirmed that two-thirds of dieters gain back any lost weight within a year.  

While more than seventy-four percent [74%] of the Americans who are willing to confess, they smoke express a desire to give up the habit, 67% of these say they are addicted to cigarettes.  Even the most sanguine studies state "20 to 40 percent of participants are able to quit smoking and stay off cigarettes for at least one year."  For nearly everyone, a New Years Resolution is no more than a trial declaration.  People propose; "I will try."  Rarely do individuals voice a determined decision to do.

As I said, I never did.  My fear of failure secured my silence.  Personally, while it appeared that I battled with unhealthy habits, these were not my genuine challenge.  My fear for the change I thought would never come, a career that fosters contentment, a close connection with a compassionate someone who would not suffocate me, a personal sense of fulfillment were the greater challenges.  

Severe trepidation told me I could not achieve as I believed best.  Even if I thought the impossible probable in time, I trusted that a resolution would not help me realize a transformation.  Some might have said I was resistant, resigned to life as it was.

Certainly, Marion Kramer Jacobs, a Clinical Psychologist in Laguna Beach, California could concur with such a conclusion.  Doctor Jacobs offers the decree, defeatist yearn to hear.  "We're hard-wired not to change quickly."  She declares; "Think of what chaos would ensue if you could snap your finger and change instantly tomorrow. You would be one person today, someone else tomorrow."

The author of "Take-Charge Living: How to Recast Your Role in Life . . . One Scene at a Time," is cited amongst those who contend the challenge to change may have evolutionary origins.  She and other experts in human behavior surmise, mankind is accustomed to hierarchies.  Rules, regulations, [even traditional resolutions] inform us.  Societal structures require us to know our roles and perform them dutifully.  Oh, how we do.

Governments guide us.  Policymakers pass laws.  People obey.  Entrepreneurs employ us.  Bosses bark of business strategies.  Supervisors boom orders to subordinates.  Laborers walk in lockstep.  Families flourish when parents lead the little ones.  Therefore, the accepted theory seems to be a person cannot change without assistance.  Community, career, and domestic counselors count on this conviction.

Constituents are elated change has come in the form of a new President, Barack Obama.  

Small business owners are advised  if they follow a profound plan, they too will be transformed.  "Clarify and Simplify," create an action plan for your workforce, soon all will be well.  Certainly, a focused staff with will reap fiscal rewards.  

Experts also seek to assist employees.  Articles and airwaves are filled with plans,  Again Americans are presented with secrets for success.  Follow this strategy and realize your dreams; secure your resolution.  Persons accustomed to being told what to do read essays such as, What says 'hire me!' to employers.

Dieters are delivered dictums.  The plump are given programs to eliminate the excess pounds;  5 small changes to help you lose weight.  Yes, fat persons, just as those fit to be tied by debt, an addiction to cigarettes, alcohol, or other penchants, are ready to follow the steps anyone might present.   The hope is they might avoid another year of harrowing habits.

"Most of us think that we can change our lives if we just summon the willpower and try even harder this time around," said Alan Deutschman, the former Executive Director of Unboundary, a firm that counsels corporations on how to alter business agendas.  Mister Deutschman, author of "Change or Die," declares in his diary, while most people have the ability to alter behaviors and attitudes, they rarely do.  "It's exceptionally hard to make life changes and our efforts are usually doomed to failure when we try to do it on our own."  

Perchance that is why most turn to friends or more frequently family for moral support.  Authorities who admit a personal life is not as predictable as supposed facts, figures, and formulas might pretend it to be, give parents recommendations that provide greater flexibility.  As 2008 exits, and 2009 enters, Moms and Dads are invited to resolve that they cannot solve every problem. This is the truth most people believe.  Good intentions, while admirable, do not achieve results.  Yet, men, women, and children never stop trying to transform others or themselves.

Perchance, rather than accept the rituals, adopt our roles, or obligate our selves to rules that dictate a future of failure, we might resolve to recognize that change comes slowly.  Transformation travels from within.  Growth is a process.  Dreams are not realized in an instant.  

As infants, we did not walk or talk.  Toddlers have few tales to tell and narrate none exceptionally well.  Children can make choices; however, by the time they are teens the decision to run out into the street, against traffic, may not seem wise.  Little humans change constantly, as do bigger-in-mind-and body beings.

Young adults will assess all they knew again and again.  What a woman or man, in her or his twenties, thinks is best may not be what the same individual at thirty would advise.  Resolve, as I have, no matter the day or eve, New Year, or old, that rather than bemoan the research that elucidates why eighty percent [80%] of people will not successfully embark on self-renewal projects, embrace that you are, just as I am, not as we were.  Tomorrow, we will not be as we are.

I resolve to remember change is a constant.  My path is well traveled.  At times, I tripped.  I fell from the healthier course and then I picked myself up.  Harmful habits went by the wayside with help from me.  Friends, family, and experts may have lent a hand.  However, they could not do what only I could achieve for myself.  On this, the First day of January, I resolve to recall that I have evolved.

Resources for Resolutions . . . 

• Average American Weighs 17 Pounds More Than "Ideal." By Frank Newport. Gallup. November 28, 2007
• Most Americans Consider Smoking Very Harmful. Gallup. July 28, 2008
• Smoking Cessation.  American Heart Association. January 1, 2009
• So, you've lost 100 pounds. Now what? The struggle to stay slim doesn't end, even after the fat pants are gone, By Bonnie Taub-Dix, R.D.  MSNBC News. April 18, 2008
• Planning for a Happier New Year, By Paul B. Brown.  The New York Times. December 30, 2008
• Parenting Resolutions, By Lisa Belkin.  The New York Times. December 31, 2008
• New Year, New You? Nice Try, By Alex Williams.  The New York Times January 1, 2009
• Poll: Obama leadership rates high as Bush's after 9/11, By Paul Steinhauser.  Cable News Network. December 31, 2008
• 5 small changes to help you lose weight.  Cable News Network.  January 1, 2009
• Smoking, weight, money top New Year's resolutions, By Adam Crisp. The Chattanooga Times Free Press.  MSNBC News. January 1, 2009
• Blame brain for failing to keep New Year's resolution.  Daily Telegraph. December 31, 2008
• Experts warn against going cold turkey.  Daily Telegraph. December 31, 2008

Dalliance Defined

copyright © 2008 Betsy L. Angert. BeThink.org

For me, it all began near a week ago. There was no word of it on the Nightly News. Nightline offered no interviews. Articles did not appear in popular, or prized periodicals. Even the National Enquirer had no exclusive accounts. Bloggers did mot blast me with rumors of what might have been. The story, while sensational, did warrant banner headlines. After all, neither person was as widely known as former Presidential aspirant John Edwards is. The woman may or may not have had a history that would titillate many a reader. I know not whether this thirty or forty-ish female was the mother of what the media would wish to label a "love child." I feel certain that her name is not Rielle Hunter or Lisa Druck. She is not the fictional character, Alison Poole. She was but a real person looking for love, as was he, in a parking lot.

I am not sure whether this is the first time, I have seen this particular pair. Often, over many years, before or after my daily swim in a public pool, I gaze upon a couple of cars positioned far on the fringe of the city acreage. The automobiles are not always the ones I saw days earlier. However, the coupes are consistently stationed at the farthest edge of the property. Each vehicle is expensive, a late model sedan, sports car, chassis, or coach, and always, the two will occupy spaces adjacent to the other. This time, the cars were identifiable; perhaps because, I was closer to the area reserved for lovers.

On this hot summer day, when I initially arrived at the commons, I sought shade for the "Silver Sweetness," or what others might think of as my vehicle. My swim is long. I thought it would be nice if my metal friend could be to be cool and comfortable as I stroked through the water. After, my dip in the pool, I returned to the parking lot. It was time to travel back home. As I approached my automobile, and saw the man and woman outside what, in that moment I thought might be their respective automobiles, I could not help but think they did not desire as I had. Noticeably, the pair had other priorities.

Unlike on other occasions over the many years, when cars were tightly closed as they sat alone on the edge of the lot, on this day no single car steamed from within. The windows in each of the two ostensibly joined vehicles were dry and clear. On this day, I observed the automobiles parked in "the spot" did not appear to be unoccupied for hours. Instead of the usual sight, cryptic cars, I witnessed people "in love."

They couple cooed, and warmly chortled in a public parking lot. The duet may have defined dalliance. The two whose cars sat empty, embraced as they leaned up against the side of what I later learned was the fellow's top-of-the-line BMW. Bavarian Motor Works can craft quite a coupe and this chap, apparently, had crafted quite a practice, medical I assume as I considered his attire. I think the automobile may have been an M6 convertible. If it was a lower priced model, the vehicle was certainly not near the bottom of the product-line. The sleek, streamline steel blue frame and navy canvas top were truly fine, speaking as one, who, as a child was a connoisseur of cars.

The gent, who wore hospital scrubs, and the woman, well-coiffed, in her casual and professionally tailored clothing, wanted more of their moment than I did of mine. I craved only protection from a blistering sun, for my metal companion. I sought a place to park and a swim, nothing more. It seemed my desires were far less significant than those of the twosome.

Bodily thirst and secrecy appeared to be their priority; at least that is what I surmised. Dalliance, in that moment was delicious. I could think of no other reason for two, so completely entangled, to escape the sanctity of home, or office and meet in a parking lot.

They had not come to swim. Bathing suits were not worn or stored in bags visible at their side. The two did not stroll. Nor did they travel away from the automobiles intent that they might swing rackets in the nearby tennis court. As I walked to the Silver Sweetness, and tried not to watch, I realized I was distracted, less so with their "actions" than my reaction.

I wondered; was this encounter a celebration of love. When people experience each other fully, hugs and kisses can be quite delightful. Was this one of these special, spontaneous, moments? It did not seem as such.

The flirtatious energy did not suggest that the two were formally intertwined forever. The playfulness did not express itself as familiarity frequently does; or at least what I witnessed was not as my experience when in a solid, secure, stable, and serene relationship. I felt a sense of ambiguity, awkwardness, or anxiety in the motions of this man and woman. Perchance, I interpreted what I saw incorrectly. I am willing to be wrong and admittedly, frequently, what I assume is in error.

Hence, I was haunted by the questions I felt a need to ask, but knew I could not. Were the two married or even emotionally, intimately involved? Perchance. Was this a tryst, an affair, an adventure, or excitement for those who yearned for exuberant enthusiasm in at least one avenue of life? I knew not, and did not dwell on what might be for either of these individuals. What I observed reminded me of times when I was infatuated, involved, or otherwise engaged.

The chestnut-haired woman smiled ever so broadly. She gazed into his eyes longingly, and held on to his body tightly. The long and lean man looked at the voluptuous frame of his female friend and visibly responded to her buxom body. The fellow looked into her face. Yet, he appeared to focus more on what he felt. He cupped her buttocks in his hands. Even from a distance, I could see his eyes darted to and from her ample bosom. The two laughed as they caressed each other's bulk.

As minutes passed, and I came closer, I pondered. Why would a couple comfortable in their relationship come to a public park only to stand together, smile, and smack lips, or rumps? I could think of no reason for such an adventure. Nonetheless, I acknowledge the truth of the adage, 'Different strokes for different folks.' I trust I cannot quarrel with what entertains another.

I looked away content in the knowledge that I could never know what is real for this couple or any persons. We are all so unique. I struggle to grasp what is within me, let alone presume to know what might be true for these two.

I continued on to my car. I chose to enjoy the day and my own doings, just as this duo did. Soon after, I had the sense the "friends," or "lovers" saw me. I felt four eyes upon me. I tried not to notice their glare. Yet, I recognized the energy had changed.

The mirth melted. The time for enchantment faded. The satisfaction expressed in smiles and soft giggles fell into silence. I had not meant to disturb them. Perhaps, their now evident need to dash had nothing to do with me. The time for afternoon-delights may have naturally come to an end. I know not. I was only certain I did not wish to intrude or be the cause of an abrupt closure.

I entered the Silver Sweetness and started the engine. I hoped that my anticipated exit might settle the minds of the two who now seemed hurried. As I placed the car [oh, how I hate to use that word when I describe the metal baby that has been so good to me] in gear, I looked out the windshield and saw that my move to leave had not eased the minds of this duet.

I reminded myself, what they do is not my choice. I cannot please, appease, affect, or alter individuals that I do not communicate with. I must accept that their actions are separate from me, although I felt a need to apologize. I did not wish to disturb. I could not say "I am sorry." That would have been more odd than any engagement they or I imagined.

Nonetheless. Through the corner of my eye, I observed the woman quickly slip into her Lexus roadster. Once snug in the single front seat of her pearl white luxury automobile, she placed the vehicle in gear and backed out. She drove a few feet to where her beau stood, and thoughtfully spoke a swift good-bye. Then, she sped off.

I decided not to follow her lead, and left more slowly. I did not wish to travel too near or flee too soon. I felt a strange need to give the woman her space. I placed a bottle of water to my mouth, and drank a bit. After, I departed. As I drove away, I wondered would the fellow follow.

The road from the community park to the main avenue is a long one. It may be half a mile long. As I turned onto the back boulevard, I saw the pearl-white Lexus coupe was long gone. Far off into the distance, I saw the woman was about to enter the main street. The chap never appeared in my rear-view mirror. Only thoughts of what had occurred were visible.

I thought of the times in my life when I was immersed in infatuation. Thoughts of another could fill an entire day, weeks, months and even years. I recall how I might do what I did not desire or delay more meaningful activities. More than once, in retrospect, I pondered what might have been if my head and heart were one.

How many hours had I wasted as I sought love and settled for lust? As I journeyed home, my mind was filled with the folly of intimacy and how often, when in a whirlwind relationship, people to do not really relate. They take no time to meditate. Most couples barely deliberate. Sincere discussions can be a distraction when individuals just want to do it!

Often, I realize depth in a love liaison is void. Conversation can be vacuous. Veracity is too often vacant. The vigor and vitality felt is vast, more so than any authenticity. What passes for passion is frequently fantasy. The illusion is fantastic, and the involvement is just for fun.

I think of what I have heard from men and women alike when they speak of past loves, or even those they bed in the present. So often, in retrospect, a man once intent on an adventure such as I observed, will muse.

"When she wasn't out at nightclubs, she was taking acting classes. We dated for only a few months, but in that period, I spent a lot of time with her and her friends, whose behavior intrigued and appalled me to such an extent that I ended up basing a novel on the experience," [he] recalled.

Indeed, only today a chap I am acquainted with described the woman he once hugged, kissed, and met away from the office, or his home as "an ostensibly jaded, cocaine-addled, sexually voracious 20 [30-40-50 . . .] year-old." As he spoke, I wondered of his former female friend. I wondered; what might this lovely lady have said of him? Would she say of the man who stood before me, "He is a cute and conservative chap whose . . .

idea of wild is argyle socks. [The once wondrous woman could also soundly state] But it's okay, I like straight guys, I'd never go out with anybody who's as irresponsible as me. Most of the guys I know have really high-powered jobs and make up for lost time when they're not in the office. The Beserk After Work Club. I seem to attract them in a big way, all these boys in Paul Stuart suits with six-figure salaries and hellfire on a dimmer switch in their eyes."

Perhaps, the inamorata, who many would define as traditional, a conventional sort might conclude when with friends she trusts, "Men. I've never met any. They're all boys. I wish I didn't want them so much . . . I hate being alone, but when I wake up in some guy's bed . . . and he's snoring like a garbage truck, I go - let me out of here."

Each of us can only imagine of others, and consider our own truths. What motivates us, moves us, and what is in the minds of those of us whose story does not appear on the Nightly News. When we dash towards and dither in a relationship that takes more time than it might be worth, what are our thoughts.

My own experience tells me, in each of my close encounters, I avoided, as much, if not more than I approached. Sex was perhaps easier than a cherished connection. In serious conversations with many, I have discovered my interactions and I are not as rare as people may wish to propend. Dalliance is not quite the dream we would wish it to be.

A gent is often more comfortable with a sweetie he can spoon, than one who he might wish to wed. Gals may prefer to engage with men they rather not marry. For some the excitement entices; for others convenience is cool. A few express concern they cannot find the one and only. These individuals sing, "If you cannot be with the one you love, love the one you are with."

No matter what those of us who do not make the news say or do, I suspect each of us can wonder; what might an observer say of our escapades, our affairs, the excursions we make to the park, the hotel room, or any of the other out of the way places we go. Our exploits are yet to be exploited. Might we inquire, could we take the scrutiny we often impose upon others. I know I could not. In truth, as I observed the couple in my community, I could think only of me. What had my "love" life been and why?

The Power of Passion Perused . . .

Edwards admits to extramarital affair, Associated Press. MSNBC News. August 9, 2008

Edwards Admits Sexual Affair; Lied as Presidential Candidate, In an ABC News Nightline Interview, Edwards Reveals He Cheated, But Didn't Father Child. By Rhonda Schwartz, Brian Ross, and Chris Francescani. ABC News. August 8, 2008

John Edwards Admits Affair. National enquirer. August 8, 2008

Edwards' Mistress Rielle Hunter the Model for Character in Gen-X Lit, Jake Tapper. ABC News. August 9, 2008

Novel Tale of Pol's Mistress. New York Post. August 6, 2008

Posted by Betsy L. Angert on August 11, 2008 at 01:00 PM in Approval or Love, Art of Loving, Have or Be, Compassion, Conflict, Complex, Emotional Decisions, Emotional Intelligence, Looking at Life, Looking for Love | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack

The Lesson; All Beings Are a Beautiful Bundle of Love

copyright © 2008 Betsy L. Angert. BeThink.org

The day was delightful. The water was superb. The sun was full and bright. A few billowy, puffy clouds floated through the sky. They were white, cumulus, fluffy fellows, the type that excite many a child as they gaze into the heavens. In parks, on lawns, little ones were likely looking up and pointing. "Look," they might say, "It is a horse, a donkey, or perchance a unicorn." It was a day for whimsy. The children, playful in the pool, barely noticed the graceful shapes as they danced above their heads. Instead, they were focused on what they decided were June bugs.

Three young sweet girls stood in the warm water near their Daddy. All were calm, content, and serene. The sisters chatted easily. Father smiled. The youngest lass expressed her curiosity. As her sibling searched for bugs on the plastic rope line, the "baby" in the family asked of the insects. "Are they icky to touch," the cautious curly haired youngster inquired. The more confident elder sister said, "No! They are cute," she said. See." The "older" child showed the girl of fewer years.

A stranger, in the adjacent lane was preparing to swim. Becky was her name. She was much older than the children, and perhaps no wiser; nonetheless, she share her assessment of the beetle. Becky said of the six-legged lovelies, "They are life; all creatures are beautiful." With that thought, the father beamed, and the older lady plunged head first into the water filled cement reservoir.

Lap after lap and look after look the woman and children enjoyed the quiet of the day. The words the swimmer shared seemed to hang in the air. People came and went, throughout the afternoon, and splendor was all anyone saw.

Then, everything changed. The evolution from tranquil to trauma was slow; nonetheless, unexpected. Those in the recreation park were struck, as if by a bolt of lightening. However, unlike when a storm threatens, swimmers were not forced to leave the pool. The jolt evoked more silence. No one screamed, but the sole boy, victim to the method his Mom's adopted for instruction.

The young mother, a woman, perhaps, in her early thirties, was extremely pleasant in appearance, and it seemed her personality was equally delightful. She, Madison, entered the deck area with her small son in her arms. Skin, beautifully tanned, this well-dress lady strode to the lifeguard tower. The little guy, let us call him, Michael, was not as bronze in color, and was visibly agitated. Michael whimpered, even as his Mom held him close.

Becky, the swimmer who enjoyed the company of the little lasses and their Dad before she began her exercise had just finished the more strenuous part of her routine when the mother and child came into view. Becky, a teacher, enjoyed children, in or outside the classroom. She marveled at the openness of a mind not yet crushed by the weight of worry. The sincerity of a small one was a source of fascination for Becky. Children, early in life, were candid and joyous, at least most were, or appeared to be.

Little Michael, a lad, maybe three, or four, was not a cheerful child. He wore no glee on his face, although his features were cute as could be from what Becky was able to see. When the swimmer first noticed Madison and Michael, they were yards away. They approached the guard tower at the opposite end of the pool and spoke with Brianna, the young adult hired to protect the public in an emergency. Becky thought nothing of the interaction. She was relieved to have only her stretches left to complete. Becky moved the shallow end and commenced with another ritual.

Behind her, a metal chair scraped along the concrete. The sound startled her and she looked up at the area where people sat enjoying the sun. Had Becky waited just a moment she would have known Michael and Madison had moved closer to her. The cries filled the air. The sweet little boy shrieked, "I wanna go see Daddy." Michael howled; "No Mom!!!! No!" His face scrunched tightly, this little lovable fellow yelled, "Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Please Mom! No!" Michael repeated the words, "I wanna go see Daddy!"

His mother chided him, gently. "We have to do this." Madison did not seem to believe she could quiet her son's fears. An expectation that the little guy might enjoy was void from her voice. The Mom simply worked feverishly, to accomplish the dreaded task. She prepared Michael for his dip in the water, and said, "Let's just get this over with."

Becky continued with her work out and wondered of the circumstances. Perchance, the mother and father were divorced or newly separated. Michael may have expressed the deep distress he felt for a family no longer united. Becky, the daughter of parents who parted understood how stressful such a situation might be. She was eight when . . . her reverie was interrupted.

Madison had abruptly carried Michael to the step at the shallow end of the pool. The Mom now wore a white shirt over her own bathing suit. Sweetly, she smiled and leaned forward. Madison said to Becky, "I do not wish to disturb you. I want to warn you; I am teaching my son to swim and he screams, loudly." As an experienced educator, Becky imagined it would be a mild and momentary shout. As one who swims daily and had for well over a decade, the teacher witnessed many a young child learn to paddle and breathe in water.

Indeed, at this very facility she has observed perhaps hundreds of child learn to master their strokes. The excellent swim teachers, parents and paid professionals, helped calm many a neophyte nerve. Often Becky watched with admiration as patient Moms, Dads, and lifeguards helped little ones wade through the water. It was as she shared with the girls earlier in the day, "They, people and insects, are life. All creatures are beautiful."

What Becky witnessed next was not beautiful; it was brutal! Madison held Michaels arms tightly. She forced him into the water. The Mom insisted the boy's head remain face down immersed until she pulled him up. Apparently, they had practiced this cycle before. Becky now understood why Michael cringed and cried out long before he was ever near the expansive liquid sea.

Initially, the trained instructor was paralyzed. Becky could not imagine that a mother might torment her child. The volume of Michaels screams increased. His little arms flailed. "Mom, No! Pleassssssssse!" The emotional agony he felt was palpable. Mom did not stop as he pleaded. The pain on his face did not move Madison to succumb. His words, his anguish, nothing stopped this mother on her quest. For Becky, what must have been a minute or less seemed like hours, years, decades. She thought of sweet obedient Michael. While he shed many a tear and shrieked when he could gasp for air, the little love did as he was told or required to do. He dropped his head into the pool on demand.

Off into the distance, in the parking lot, just outside the fence, Becky noticed a late model shiny black vehicle. The man at the wheel peered in. His car was not situated in a space meant for stopping. This fellow seemed interested in the antics of Madison and Michael. Becky mused; possibly the sound of suffering haunted him as it did her. She could not stand by a moment longer.

With an earnest concern, Becky expressed her empathy for the child. She inquired; "Is he frightened.." The mother responded, "He can swim." Becky queried aloud, had the mother sought other means for instruction. Perchance, if Michael were given the opportunity to slowly adjust to the water. If he were allowed to breathe easily as he slowly learned to stoke . . . Becky's words were cut off. Still somewhat genteel and reserved, Madison explained, "This is what his teacher taught me to do." "She is excellent. Everyone goes to her. They call her the swim Nazi."

The practiced swimmer, and professional educator, shared her own expertise. Becky told of a time when she worked with another teacher who was extremely punitive. This castigatory colleague was an award winner. Some children loved her, parents too. Students taught Becky what she had not known; if you are raised in a family where cruelty is common, you learn to believe that rough treatment is love. Violence is fondness when a family is familiar with vicious behavior.

Becky spoke of a man she loves. He was introduced to swimming in much the way Michael was guided. This man loathes his parents. As an adult, he says of himself, he is really messed up. For the man Becky cares for, trust is not an option. The lesson he learned at the hands of his mother, who taught him how to swim, just as Madison now advised Michael, is that people will hurt you.

In this very short and quick conversation Becky, recalled her own memories, and how she has vivid recollections of events in that occurred in her life when she was younger than Michael. Becky looked over at Michael's face. The torment was already etched into his skin. The screeches scarred him.

Madison listened, maybe. She was polite. The Mom never let go of her cherished son, Michael. The activity did not stop. Nor did the blood curdling screams. The echoes of pain continued to pierce the air, and break delicate decorum.

People within the recreation center while startled, they stood still or pretended to ignore what escaped no one. Only Becky articulated her concern. Madison expressed her interest; more so once she realized Becky is an educator. However, without a moment of hesitation, or a break from or for Michael, she offered a retort. "I will speak with the teacher." Becky again offered, the teacher does what she thinks is best. Perhaps, she, just as the pupils Becky spoke of, had parents who were as aggressive as she was.

Those who admire the techniques the Nazi swim teacher endorses may also be intimately acquainted with instruction through intimidation. "In my family no one yells," Becky said. Madison responded; the same was true in her life. She and her husband do not scream.

Michael continues to squeal. "Mom, Please, No!" He thrashes. He grabs for her mother. Michael reaches for Madison's shirt and slaps her body and face. The Mom had mentioned she wore the blouse just for this purpose. Michael grabbed at the swim instructor, just as prescribed, and when with her, Michael clawed for Madison's clothing.

His moves do not seem to suggest an intention to hurt the mother Michael loves. From appearances, the boy only hopes to find a source of solace. He wants to hold on to someone, anyone. His words seem to express a desire that his Mom will save him from her. The child cries out again and again. He flaps; he flounders. Little lovable Michael thrashes and struggles. Madison was not discouraged.

Still alert and attentive to her purpose, Madison proclaims, "The swim teacher has them trained within a week." Once more, she says, "Everyone goes to her." She may have sensed or seen Becky's alarm. Apprehensive, the mother said, "I will speak to my husband. He is in the car."

Becky realized the man who she had observed earlier might have studied the pair with an interest that could not be described. Possibly, what the father felt was beyond words. Becky knew that emotionally, this event tugged at her heartstrings. She wondered; did the Dad wait for he too could not endure the misery inflicted on his son. How could a mother be so cruel? How could anyone treat a child with such contempt? Why were words of compassion and caution not enough to stop the abuse? Was Becky alone in her anguish?

She exited the pool area, entered the locker room. Then she scrubbed herself in the shower. All the while Becky heard the howls and the hollers. This small sorrowful soul did not rant or rage against his Mom. He only called out for help. Each shout sliced the air and sent chills up Becky's spine. She could hardly contain her own tears.

Becky left the building and again approached Madison, whose energy and purpose had not waned. The worried woman spoke, "If I could I would like to inquire; would it not be better if Michael loved his lessons (and the person who teaches him)?" Did she share the latter thought? She was so troubled, she did not know what she said. Had she asked if it was necessary to master the skill in a week? Madison ignored Becky. She was done with this exchange. She said to Michael, "Just a few more minutes."

Defeated, Becky left the deck. She walked to the office where the guards stood in alert. The group discussed what left each of them distraught. A resigned Brianna verbalized her belief, "There is nothing we can do or say." Shocked to discover Becky spoke to the woman, Brianna began to ask of what was said. Then she realized Madison, with a drained and strained Michael in her arms, was near. She let out a sound that signaled the need for silence.

The mother and her madness quickly fled the premises. After a short discussion with the guards, Becky thanked them for listening to her fears and followed the path from the pool to the parking lot. Apparently, the couple and their child were settling into the coupe. The father glanced over as he saw Becky near the vehicle. Nothing was said. For Becky, there were no words.

She pondered. Was Becky the person now considered a predator? Had Madison grumbled to her husband as she shared details of the encounter? Exhausted and uncertain of the empathy she had supposed all beings had for others, Becky went to her car. She could not drive away, although she saw the family did. The lover of living beings, of children, could not fully understand what existed only for moments in her own life. She was haunted by the hurt she saw in Michael's face and heard in his calls.

Stunned and shaken Becky sat trembling for a very long time. She wailed; she wept. Had she just let a sweet child fend for himself in a world too awful to survive?

Hours passed and Becky imagines, in her life, Michael, and the impression he made on her would never move on. Sadly, she fears, what for her was but minutes, for Michael, will be life.

Becky had mentioned to Madison, or hoped she had, the effect of trauma. To this day, the older educator recounts the stresses that transformed her being. The lessons, what her Mom, Dad, and mentors did supposedly for her benefit, if not facilitated fondly, harmed her deeply. Cognizant that children absorb all they encounter and are affected by every exchange, Becky contemplates the drama Michael endured.

In a desire to calm her self, Becky, an educator who loves to learn, sought answers. She had so many questions, so many concerns. As a teacher, never labeled a dictatorial tyrant, she had much trepidation. What had Madison taught Michael? Was he expected to sink or swim? As she read, her angst increased. What would become of Michael?

How Do You Recognize a Patient (or Person) with Trauma if it is Not Always Obvious?
Different people respond differently to traumatic events. Some people will carry it around in ways that everybody can see that they've been impacted. But most people actually will go through a traumatic experience and won't have any easily visible or obvious manifestation of that. The problems may emerge many months or sometimes even years after the original event. So it's very important for people who are trying to understand trauma to become aware of the various ways in which traumatic symptoms can manifest, the various ways in which trauma can be carried forward by children and adults, and the pervasive impact that trauma has independent of the way someone is observed to perform.

How Do Relationships Affect the Way the Brain Develops?
Human beings are at our core, relational creatures. We are designed to live, work, play, and grow in groups. The very nature of humanity arises from relationships. You learn language, you learn social language, you learn appropriate emotional regulation, and essentially everything that's important about life as a human being you learn in context of relationships. And the very substance of a successful individual is bathed in a whole host of relationships with people in that person's life . . .

Can You Continue with the Relationships and How it Affects the Brain
When you look at someone, when you hear someone, when you have a conversation, when you make a joke with somebody, when you touch someone, every single one of those physical interactions are translated into patterned neuronal activity that go into the brain of both people in that interaction and result in positive changes. These physical changes influence our immune system and they influence the autonomic nervous system that controls your heart and your lungs and your gut. Literally, when people have a wealth of relationships, where relationships are present in high quantities and they're of good quality, these individuals are actually physically healthier, they're emotionally healthier, they're more cognitively enriched, and they actually reach their potential to be humane in ways that are impossible without relationships.

It's a very interesting thing that people don't really appreciate this very much, but that there's no better biological interaction that you can have than a relationship.

Yes, all beings are but a beautiful bundle of love. Yet, rarely do humans honor that veracity. So few people understand the depth of each interaction. Too frequently, individuals do what was done to them, or what they think they can. Societal standards, customs, traditions, the lessons taught by authoritarian teachers shape them. People learn. Yet, they may not have studied the ultimate lesson. We are each a lovely and fragile beings. We grow well when hearts, minds, bodies, and souls are tenderly touched.

"Michael, I am soooooooo sorry," Becky mused. What of the relationship she had with Michael, or for that matter, with all beings. What affect did her actions or inactions have. Becky though of how all that occurred developed, and how Michael might grow. "If only I had done more, been more, were a better teacher to your Mom, or had offered to help you learn to swim." Becky, heart heavy with regret promised herself, if she were to meet this family again, she would . . . in truth, she did not know what she could or would do. She only hoped that someone would tell her. How does one swim in a world where too many forget, all beings are but a bundle of love.

Sources and Suffering . . .

Trauma, Brain and Relationship: Helping Children Heal, By Bruce Perry, Ph.D. From Neurons to Neighborhoods. 
New Ways to Prevent and Heal Emotional Trauma in Children and Adults. May 2003

Posted by Betsy L. Angert on July 6, 2008 at 09:00 AM in "Take me as I am!", Abuse, Adult Influence on Children, Aggression, Approval or Love, Art of Loving, Have or Be, Change the World [Within], Children, Desire to Learn, Dreams Live and Die , Education, Emotional Decisions, Emotional Intelligence, Empathy and Evolution, Family, Functioning, Fables, Life, A Forward Motion, Looking at Life, Nature or Nurture, Quality of Life, Teach The Children | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack

Fight The Smears; Silence is Not Golden

copyright © 2008 Betsy L. Angert. BeThink.org

Today, change has come. Contrary to the reality that has filled centuries of history, a Presidential candidate has chosen to Fight the Smears. Barack Obama, a man whose first name is defined as my own, "blessed," has opened a door. He has unlocked a window. Thankfully, the propitious aspirant has risen above supposed ceilings. Presidential hopeful Obama has endorsed a principle that I discovered as a child. Secrets are the source of sorrow.

Barack Obama's campaign revealed a Web site this morning entitled "Fight the Smears" -- aimed at, . . . beating back misinformation, half truths or downright lies being spread about the Democratic nominee via television, the Web, radio and, most pervasively, e-mail.

"The Obama campaign isn't going to let dishonest smears spread across the Internet unanswered," explained campaign spokesman Tommy Vietor.

Intentional slander causes great pain. Individuals who malign advance untold misery. Only the truth can set any of us free. However, few wish to speak of what they know. Most repeat the proverb, "Ignorance is bliss." Yet, in life, we may realize, when we are quiet, gospel is often fleeting.

Americans witness an amplified effect of silence each election year. What was intentionally withheld and accidentally revealed, or what was not explained well in advance to the electorate reverberates as it rolls through the press. Barack Obama understood this before he began his Presidential bid, or possibly, he did what was his habit.. In his biographical accounts, Dreams From My Father and The Audacity of Hope, the Senator honestly revealed some of what might have been considered character flaws. Perchance, he only exposed the ways one works through a rite of passage.

My Mom, a wondrous woman who believes, we must "never suffer" would have been impressed by a man who freely disclosures as Barack Obama has. I feel certain Senator Obama's mother was pleased with the person she raised to be real. Perhaps, Barack Obama's parent helped him to muse as my Mom did for me when she said, "In some families there are skeletons in the closet. In our home, there are no spaces in which to store the bones." In my life, people speak of what is in a moment. Myths do not become accepted as legends. I have come to recognize, forever is fluid when people are free to be.

In homes such as mine, no one need tiptoe around the torrid tales. Topics are not taboo. I experience when people are authentic in word and deed, individuals feel safe, secure, and serene. They trust that discussions are endless. Disagreements do not end a relationship; they begin an evolution. I know this to my core. I have lived it for a lifetime. Friends, who were less familiar with what always was in my family, through me, have come to appreciate secrets need not be.

I had and will forever have faith that no one is supremely correct. Nor are any of us mistaken. The only blunder, I believe, is a purposeful intent to cause pain. I do not think conversations injure, or at least dialogues need not do harm. However, for some this is the objective. In an election season, the people see what is contrary to the standard in my family. It seems the plan is to persistently penetrate any semblance of sympathy for a defined opponent. Conversations amongst candidates are not compassionate. Even constituents bicker brutally. Countrywide everyone speaks of a desire for peace, while they consciously war.

For me, disagreements are fine. They need not be feuds. In my mind, heart, body, and soul, chatter does not equate to conclusions. Talk is the catalyst for what is, in my life, eternal, slow change.

Perchance, if we as a nation truly wish to create a fertile future the manner in which we speak, and our expectation for what needs to be in an exchange or an election must be altered. However, if that is to occur we must acknowledge, transformation comes from within individuals.

With access to information, ah, what a mind can do. Malleable psyche morphs in ways we cannot see and in moments that may not make sense to any of us. Frequently, I have observed hearts melt when we share "stories" serenely.

Each of us may have an effect on another; however, we cannot know what that might be. Thus, we speak and hope we are heard. We listen; if we are open, we learn what we never imagined. Perhaps, the "blessed" Barack Obama, was instructed at his Mom's knee just as the "blessed one" Betsy was. What might be awkward, if not addressed, will forge a feeling of deep distress.

I was taught to endorse the adage, "Silence is Not golden." Indeed, I discovered, without words, people can only assume. Assumptions are often erroneous. At times, so too are our thoughts. Yet, we may wish to believe what is real for us is obvious., even if odious, and inaccurate.

Hence, I, as a human, one in a species that is bit too emotional for my taste, when given divergent information, initially, may become defensive. Nonetheless, I know I will forever reflect on every word another offers. I suspect others do as well. My belief is that this theory has spurred the Fight the Smears campaign.

Over time, and with or without further discussions, I may evolve to a place not entered before. I love the enlightenment that grows with empathy. Thus, I participate endlessly. I seek wisdom wherever it may be. I am convinced, knowledge is everywhere. Erudition will empower me. Ellen, my dear sweet compeer encourages me to have courage in my convictions.

Ellen and I are good friends and have been for well over a decade. We are extremely open with each other. Authentic honesty that does no harm is a habit of mine, and one she adopted unexpectedly in time. Given that all is discussed candidly, and with great care for the other, each of trusts we will not be declined an opportunity to speak. Smears will not be forthcoming. What is said in person will not be awkwardly courteous. Reciprocal reverence is sincere.

Nonetheless, or perhaps, because we are genuine with each other, disputes occur. Politically, we are as far apart as two persons might be. In an election year, needless to say, we can expect other emotive outbursts. A recent one was animated, just as our agreements are. Our earlier interchange illustrates what I believe and why I welcome a focus on the smears.

In my life, as I shared earlier, when people address misinformation, misunderstandings, or mysteries much can be revealed and resolved. Ellen and I, in our relationship, exemplify what is possible when people endorse a policy of "no secrets."

Days ago, each of us was excited as we discussed our sense of political truths. When our voracious vocal analysis ended, some might have thought venom was the cause. It was not. Shuns did not give rise to a sudden silence Essentially, all was postponed, for each of us was late for an appointment.

Ellen had no doubt that we would chat again. She knows very well, I do not leave conversations behind. Nor does she with me. Neither of us would hide from a possible conflict. History helps us to know this would not be our last quarrel. When one is so far from another politically; yet, so close when principles are practiced, certainly there will be quibbles. Nonetheless, these will likely progress as calmly as this one did, or as others have.

One or the other of us will call, write, or come over. Neither of us will avoid the subject that may have been the source of sore feelings. Perchance, in our personal lives, diplomacy is a practical policy. Ellen and I will chat of what occurred. We will speak of why we said and did as was done. All the while we will warmly express how much we value the other, even the opinions we might think odd.

Again, we will reassure each other. There are no facts. Every individual has faith in what they think accurate. Ellen, I, any individual has a unique perspective. Those who think as we do, dependent on the policy, principle, or practice, do not share our history and a particular point of view. Others will reach a conclusion upon reflection, as will we, which could be you or me. What each being evaluates is envisioned through a personal lens. Eyes and emotions are our sieves.

Ellen and I know to our core, my history is not hers. Her experiences are not mine. Our backgrounds and experiences are dissimilar. The effect of every encounter will be internalized differently. Nonetheless, or indeed, each of us is the change we can believe in.

A broad focus on a shared Fight against Smears, may help to create a community that truly cares. A site that teaches us how the world might function if everyone is open, may serve to keep the peace.

It is for this reason I applaud Barack Obama and those who seek specifics from the source. Granted, Barack and Michelle Obama will not have a chance to look into the eyes of every American. They will not be able to touch the hand or the heart of all citizens in the world. Time will not allow for personal introductions and interchanges. Nonetheless, I believe it is important to begin a practice void in most homes and absent on the campaign trail.

I have faith that if we face the rancor that resonates when misinformation becomes the message, we all will be better off.

Humans appreciate, people will prattle incessantly. Words will be whispered down the lane. Labels will linger if left out in the cold, or locked in a closet and hermetically sealed. However, if we, the persons who are the subject of the silliness that passes for truth, share what is real for us, people may listen, or at least in my life they have.

As I shared, for me, love is the only absolute. It is a challenge to love someone we do not genuinely know. I thank Barack Obama for removing the veil that too often in public forum obscures veracity.

I experience, if we wish to be trusted, we must trust that others desire to know us as we are. I am grateful, Barack Obama is willing to share truth with us. To speak to slurs and slights is to fight for the peace that has never bee part of a political campaign.

Open dialogue is the change I believe in. I appreciate the invitation to talk. I think, together, we can Fight the Smears, challenge affronts, and enter into a world of empathy.

References for the fight . . .

Fight the Smears.

FixCam: Obama Tries to 'Fight the Smears', By Chris Cillizza. The Washington Post. June 12, 2008

Posted by Betsy L. Angert on June 12, 2008 at 07:01 PM in Approval or Love, Compassion, Conflict, Complex, Elections, Emotional Intelligence, Empathy and Evolution, Lies, Life, A Forward Motion, Light. Darkness., Looking at Life | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBack

Misogyny; Women We Love or Hate

Women in Film

copyright © 2008 Betsy L. Angert. BeThink.org

There are many wondrous women. Females are loved and lovely. The face of the "fairer sex" is photographed, fondled, treasured, and cherished. The being that brings life to us all is beloved and beautiful. I am a woman. As such, the idea of misogyny infuriates me.

Yet, with few exceptions, men are not the persons who cause me to fume. At times, a male in defense of a scorned spouse will use define another fellow as a woman-hater. However, it seems to me, a gent will offer this proclamation when the lady he appreciates is not acknowledged in the manner that he thinks just. I realize, more often than not, when my fellow females use the term, and I am exasperated. In all of my life, I have never felt as though a person whose gender differs from my own treated me, feminine as I may be, with disdain.

Indubitably, many a man I have meet openly proclaims an undying devotion to women. Countless chaps cherish those of the opposite sex, in word and in deed. Men, I associate with admire what they consider the stronger sex, females. Still, women scorned, shriek "misogyny," and I inquire where.

I am well aware of income inequities. I abhor the practice that devastates millions of women, particularly those without a man in their lives. However, as I read the research it seems to me, those without a legal life partner no matter the gender, are shown greater contempt than persons of one sex or another might be.

The Lake Research Partners study, commissioned by Women's Voices Women Vote, found unmarried women earn only 56 cents for every dollar a married man earns. In terms of personal earnings, unmarried women live on only $37,264 per year, which is nearly $6,000 less than unmarried men ($42,843) and nearly $30,000 less than married men ($66,646) earn.

Bachelors bring in 64 cents for every hundred pennies a conjugal chap nets. Perhaps, we are marriage misanthropes or is it the reverse? Men or women without a band, or a state sanctioned bond, do not garner the greenbacks they might. Possibly, singles struggle regardless of their identity. Matrimony may move millions to the good life, or money may move people to wed.

Wages, as reported, may best explain the adage "wedded bliss." The statistics may indicate Americans accept a legal union. The data, I believe does not validate that misogyny is alive and well.

A man of means may realize, the woman behind him helped him to secure a substantial salary. Perchance, the phrase was coined for few misogynists walk down the aisle. I know not. I do not recall a time when misogyny was listed as a reason for divorce. Might we ask whether nuptials necessitate bliss or benefits? I struggle to understand how a man who says, "I do" does not like women.

Even single males seem to search for the one. Each year 2.2 million males exchange vows with females. Yet, stereotypical standards have been sustained. Conventional wisdom claims women suffer in the workplace; although, many women are extremely successful. Only tonight, I spoke with one, a stranger to me before today.

Mary mentioned, "superiors" in the business world did not wish to stop her rise. None tried. The woman now in her fifties mused, she excelled and was esteemed. Mary stated she never felt pressure to perform less well. Nor was she stifled by those in the corporate hierarchy were thought to be above her. Indeed, this highly educated scholar soared without hindrance.

The Miss I met this evening expressed her surprise when a peer told her others looked upon her as the "person to beat." Mary marveled, apparently she was a threat to those akin to her. Misogyny was not her experience. Competitiveness amongst colleagues was the only source of sorrow that affected her climb. Mary consistently reminded me, the subtle antagonism did not have an effect on her career at all. She revealed she never felt she must marry. I was startled. I had not considered the connection. For Mary, women have long been free to be. Perhaps that is true. I ponder.

Too successful for a mate?
By Kris Frieswick
MSN Money

The majority of my most successful, good-looking, educated, talented girlfriends are still single.

If they had Y-chromosomes, they would have been married a decade ago. Instead, like successful single women all over the country, they trek into their mid- to late 30s on their own - experiencing fabulous professional success, buying real estate and making savvy investments for the future, without much going on in the relationship department.

What gives?

Carolyn Kaufman, 33, has a doctorate in clinical psychology and teaches college in Columbus, Ohio. She is a perfect example of a woman who has everything except a date. "I have this crazy belief that I have the right to expect my potential partner to be at least as successful as I am, and to have as many things to offer as I do," she says.

Good luck, Carolyn. With more women than men earning advanced degrees -- 61% of master's degrees conferred in 2007 will be to women - those kinds of men are going to become harder and harder to find . . .

Then there's the issue of time. Most highly successful people work crazy hours, which makes it even more difficult to meet a suitable match. Christine Mohr, director of marketing and community relations for the YMCA in Washington, D.C., is out nearly every night of the week at fund-raisers, benefits, and business dinners. "The person I'm trying to find is just as busy as I am," says Mohr, 29. "If we're both that busy, when is the time when we're going to meet?" She says the men she does meet at these events are usually married.

Of course, you have heard all these excuses before, from women both successful and not – I'm too busy, there are no good men left, they're all married or gay, etc. But there's another factor at work for women at the top of their game: They're intimidating to men. No matter how enlightened most men claim they are, few are ready to pair up with a woman who is more successful, better paid and better educated -- not to mention better traveled, more connected and more socially savvy than they are.

Women are not weak. They are strong. That may trouble a man, or another Eve. Who we are as a unique being breeds contempt or compassion, a connection or a crack. Fissures and fractures in a relationship with a female are not indicative of the organs within. Nor do men generally define all those of the "fairer sex" by the mannerisms and makeup of one, at least no more than a woman might when she declares with disregard, "Men!"

An individual woman, or man, might threaten the ego strength of a mate, or a person of the opposite gender. The men that might not choose a particular woman do not hate the sex. They fear intimidation, just as a women might. I believe love or loathing is reserved for individuals of one gender or another, not for the inherent sex of a person.

Sex may not stimulate revulsion. However, I experience race and religion give rise to repulsion. There are those who hate a particular "clan," or rage against a creed. I have yet to meet a misogynist.

Might we ask, were women hung from trees for beauty that was skin deep? Do men burn crosses on the lawns of females whose pious beliefs or practices they despise? Has any chap said, "I do not want one of them to live in my neighborhood" as he looked at the females that grace every enclave. When fathers fondly envision a family, do they forbid their sons to engage with a feminine friend? Has Papa pledged never to allow his male offspring to associate with one of them, women? I do not recall such scenarios.

Men and women differ biologically, they may disagree on occasion. Still, organically the genders are equivalent. I am an advocate of equal rights. I have been for as long as I remember. Glass ceilings, when or if they exist, I believe, must be broken. As I study, I understand as Mary states; many have been shattered. I trust any obstructions can and will continue to crumble. I wonder how many limits were placed in a desire to love, not destroy.

I understand; there are women who feel as though they are less valued. However, I often reflect upon what I observe. The "gentler sex" is more esteemed. We need only consider the contrast; Mother's Day is observed with lack of restraint. Dad does not fare as well. Perchance, the women in the world are revered. Females are given grand respect and hence the most significant responsibility. Moms, misses, matriarchs are afforded an honor that few imagine. They are frequently cared for and given the opportunity to teach the children. Many a mother, a mentor, a nursemaid, holds mankind's future in her hands.

Cross-sectional studies usually have supported the idea that the higher the husband’s income, the lower is the labor force participation rate of his wife. This relationship is just what the theory of the backward-bending supply curve would predict—a strong inverse relationship, other things being equal, between husbands’ income and women’s participation rate. A wife’s freedom from the labor market is looked at as a normal good. So, accordingly, only "poor" women work out of economic necessity.

Husbands with higher incomes would tend to have a smaller proportion of wives in the labor force, because they could afford the luxury of stay-at-home wives and the wives could be relieved of the stress of contributing to the family income. However, considering the rise in real income that, in general, has taken place over time, the increase in labor force participation of wives in recent years generates some doubt about the presumptive relationship.

The need for money to help make ends meet seems to be one of the most popular explanations of wives working, but that can hardly be the reason for the rapid rise in married women’s participation rate, because wives stayed home in earlier decades, when their husbands were earning less. Needing money seems to be a universal and constant factor and thus cannot explain the increasing labor force participation of women.

Illumination may be found in freedom. Women have much liberty to think, say, do, feel, and be as they think best. This may be more true now or less. As a society, we cannot be certain. Have the times changed or do the predominate preferences of the past no longer prevail?

Many of us have heard, "When Mama Ain't Happy, Ain't Nobody Happy." Might it be that Mom, a Miss, or a Madame no longer loves what she once did. Have women wandered into a world they did not imagine decades ago, or has the opportunity to choose evolved over the centuries. Is there more or less misogyny or is there more to consider?

I am intensely cognizant of my desire to be me! I have no interest in being similar to the males of my species. I do not wish to be approached as though I am identical to a mister. I believe gents are not gals, and a guy does not receive greater gratification. Nor does a man hate a woman simply because she is a female.

Granted, at times, monetarily there may be a modicum of difference. Yes, that does need to change. Nonetheless, for me, the hatred of women is not the reason for the discrepancy. Men who despise a woman do not detest her sex; they disdain an individual for whatever reason. She may be a menace, a martyr, a manipulator, or just like the men he has met, who also are a source of misery.

I experience women as people are not hated. Misogyny does not mar an existence. Females who feel slighted might wish to wonder why is he [or she] not fond of me. Might the lovelies look at the image that appears in the mirror and meditate. Ponder the beauty that is reflected back and sense what is not seen. The love or hate others express is not as easily explained as misogyny.

Annals for Misogyny or Misology . . .

Unmarried Women and Income Disparity, By Page Gardner. The Lake Research Partners . April 2008

Valentines Day: February 14. U.S. Census Bureau.

Unmarried Women Hardest Hit by Pay Inequity. Women's Voices. Women Vote. April 22, 2008

Married women, work, and values, By Mahshid Jalilvand. Monthly Labor Review Online. August, 2000, Vol. 123, No.8

Mom to Enjoy Royal Treatment This Year According to NRF, Contact Kathy Grannis or Scott Krugman. National Retail Federation.

Father's day bounty lags behind mom's. Cable News Network, Money. May 17, 2005

Posted by Betsy L. Angert on June 3, 2008 at 09:00 AM in Americana, Income Inequity, Looking at Life, Reality or Perception, Women | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack

Reverend Wright, Senators Obama and Clinton, Moral Issues; Reality of Relationships

Bill O'Reilly Interviews Hillary Clinton Part 1 of 2

copyright © 2008 Betsy L. Angert. BeThink.org

Clerics and parishioners are in the news. In truth, Reverend Pastor Jeremiah Wright and Barack Obama are discussed each day, in most every hour. The quality and quantity of familiarity within that relationship is the topic of much conversation. Hillary Clinton espouses, moral issues matter. Many within the electorate agree. The ethical principles of a Presidential hopeful will have a profound effect on the nation, and the planet. As Jennifer Wills ponders the scenes as they play out before an eager public, she reflects on her own life. She thinks of the trials, and tribulations that she feels when she loves friends as much as family.

Miss Wills is a white woman, fifty-five years of age. This educator is an extremely devout individual. She teaches at a religious school and has for more than a score. Professionally, Jennifer is required to present lessons on piety. The deity of her faith is discussed daily in her classroom. Miss Wills revels in the curriculum. She loves to help her fourth grade pupils explore how and why the Almighty affects their lives.

Years ago, Miss Wills mentored an older group of young persons through her family's church. In her house of worship, she sings in the choir. Jennifer was not paid in dollars to show teens the way; nor is she compensated for the hymns she hums in the many Sunday and Holiday services. Her devotion to the Lord and to his commandments has eternally been compensation enough. Jennifer gladly gives of herself; she shares what she believes and is open to the wisdom of others. However, admittedly she acknowledges she has free will. Jennifer chooses for herself who will and how another might guide her. Miss Wills places her faith in the Lord and the strength he has given her.

Jennifer Wills is among the working class. She epitomizes Middle America. Her life is average and for Jenn that is best. Contrary to what one of her closest dearest friends thinks, Miss Wills considers herself a woman who strongly believes in the liberation of her gender. Jennifer was and is proud to be female. More than a decade ago, Jennifer thought Hillary Clinton could possibly be the first woman President of the United States. She was grateful that the citizens of New York State, twice elected the esteemed former First Lady to the Senate. Miss Wills admires what the Democratic candidate does, or did.

However, in the last few weeks Jennifer felt a need to question what she thought to be true. Was Hillary Clinton the person Jennifer thought her to be? Would the New York Senator be good for the country? Did this dynamic women, a Presidential aspirant truly represent Jennifer and womankind? Miss Wills wondered.

The Reverend Wright issue has caused Jennifer to reflect further. Miss Wills has attended her church for all of her adult life. She has been an active member. Unlike most who attend Mass occasionally, Jennifer is consistent. She does not pray only on the Sabbath. Nor does she enter the Lord's house one day a week. Indeed, Miss Wills walks through the doors of a temple when at work and for pleasure. Jennifer trusts G-d does not take a day to rest; he offers reverence with his every breath. So too does the faithful Miss Wills.

Jennifer believes if we are to be one as a nation veneration is vital. Yet, frequently, for what seems to be months, Jennifer, and all of America has heard Hillary Clinton empathically state her contempt. Consistently, on the campaign trail, and in front of cameras, the candidate declares, "I think given all we have heard and seen, he would not have been my pastor." The inference is as the abrasive judgment, "Shame on you, Barack Obama." Jennifer wonders, what might this potential Commander say in private. Jenn ruminates.

She considers her own circumstances. Often, as Miss Wills sits and listens to the sermons of one minister or another, she marvels at the passion expressed. Yet, Jennifer does not always agree with the content. A homily may inspire the dedicated parishioner, while specifics within the text may trouble her. Granted, she understands why Presidential aspirant Clinton's may proclaim, "You don't choose your family, but you choose what church you want to attend."

Tis True. Yet, Jennifer knows to her core, the church is more than one spiritual leader. For Jennifer, the community, the connection to family, and tradition keep her coming back. She forgives those whose philosophies may have trespassed against her own.

Miss Wills is certain that what she gleans from a homily is significant. She acknowledges that she can admire the man and aspects of his message. The Pastor may lead the congregation; however, each parishioner will follow their own path. Jennifer does not feel a need to accept an entire oration as truth. For Jennifer, the feeling, what the communication evokes is the essence. As an observant person for all of her life, Jennifer has come to realize every individual is unique. Shepherds of the Lord are not different than other humans. They feel; they are flawed.

Oh, how Jennifer would wish to forget what she learned of her former Anglican. A priest, who most would muse had fallen from grace, is no less wondrous to Miss Wills who remembers when he gave Communion to her nieces and nephews. Jennifer does not believe the Lord Almighty loves the cleric less when his behavior is questionable. Jennifer was taught to have faith that we are forgiven, and she will not be the first, or last to cast a stone.

The Pastor who presided over her sisters' nuptials is not less holy when his political stance is not as Jennifer thinks prudent. Ah, but the ceremony was beautiful. The service, the sermon . . . Perhaps, if Jennifer ever marries, she will ask the same Vicar to share a similar recitation.

As a Christian, a believer in Judeo-Christian principles, Miss Wills believes all individuals must be understood as they travel towards enlightenment. Another human can absolve his fellow being as he or she strives for greater illumination. We are all here on Earth to learn. Jennifer refuses to define others, even when they are recognized as "Father." Miss Wills experiences that within the sanctity of our shrines, each person will divine their own truth.

While Hillary Clinton may have exited a church when the Pastor did not please her, Jennifer Wills could not and has not on the many occasions when she thought the words of the wise were not as she held to be true.

Miss Wills would never deem to judge another so harshly. She recalls a time when the elite among the ecclesiastic decided the man who led the choral society was not the best for the job. Jennifer had learned to love the maestro. Sure, she saw the man who mentored the singers sling an ugly phrase or two. She heard Mark, the musical genius, rant, and rage. Jennifer understood, the teacher of tunes was a perfectionist, and at times, persons in the chorus were less than ideal. Flaws could frustrate the musician. Indeed, the conductor was easily agitated.

Apparently, so was the church council. After more than a year of what the hierarchy and the Board felt was anguish, they concluded change was necessary. Choir leader, Mark was let go. Jennifer was torn. She understood many members were unhappy with the vocal trainer. However, she felt his heart in every exchange. Mark cared so deeply for his craft, and for those he worked with. Jennifer cherished him. Under his tutelage, Miss Wills gained confidence. She grew. She realized she had a beautiful voice, and in some ways, Mark empowered her. Without him, Jennifer wonders, would she have ever learned to carol?

Miss Wills, after the dismissal, was asked to take sides. The Pastor who worked fervently to remove the musician from his position and friends from the choir thought that she, as they, must denounce and reject Mark. While Miss Wills understood their distress, she did not share the same.

Within the church community, there are many prominent persons, pious, and prized. They are not family; yet, Jennifer is fond of these individuals in a special way. She would not think to openly comment on or criticize these persons. Nor would Jennifer ever encourage the conversation in the press. Behind a podium and on a platform, Miss Wills would not seek a forum for spite.

Miss Wills understands how when a man, be he clergy or common, is wounded, he will lash out. Jennifer would not wish to embarrass or harm another human. Yet, she observes that those who oppose Barack Obama in a political battle hope to have the blood flow. Jennifer considers, if she did as Senator Clinton and her contributors have done, she could not face her students, or her G-d.

Being the tempered teacher that she is, Jennifer does not think it decent or divine to dictate righteousness without any sense of sympathy for a soul, sensitivity to the stress, or consideration for the situation. A fellow being lambasted for months is not saved by one who blatantly, and while in the spotlight, defines their worrisome words as "offensive" and "outrageous."

To express disagreement, perhaps disappointment may be understandable. However, to vehemently, assert, "I'm going to express my opinion, others can express theirs," with no knowledge of the man beyond a moment, Miss Wills thinks is malicious. In a fit of fury, behind closed doors, with only friends in attendance, even Jennifer has expressed hurtful statements. Were they heard by those she spoke of she would regret having ever uttered the words. For Jennifer, only G-d has the right to condemn a being in the manner Senator Clinton did when she spoke of Reverend Wright on the Bill O'Reilly Show this last day in April.

Jennifer Wills understands why Barack Obama honors Reverend Wright., the man. It made perfect sense to this pious person that the man of hope could not denounce or reject the person, only the words his Pastor presented. This educator has learned much over the years in church and through her personal connections. Jennifer understands relationships are a challenge.

For the past thirty-seven years, Miss Wills has had a friend who was and is there for her. The two frequently dine together. They have traveled the country, one with the other. Terra and Jennifer frequently go to the cinema, the theatre; they remain forever bonded. Politically, Miss Wills and her companion would be in a constant state of conflict were Jennifer to ever speak of her truth as she does with others.

Terra is a businesswoman, a compulsive, career driven atheist. She swings severe verbal blows with steadfast persistence. Indeed, Terra is the friend who defined Jennifer as other than a women's rights activist, although Miss Wills believes herself to be committed to the cause.

Where Miss Wills worries about how her words might affect another; Terra does not. For this nonbeliever, vitriol is valued. Nonetheless, Jennifer met Terra when she was eighteen years old. She feels as though she has learned much through the association; Jenn has learned to love, appreciate, and even admire those who differ from her. In times of need and deep sorrow, Terra has been and will always be with Miss Wills. They share in a special way

While the life-long acquaintance may not be present and able to perform in a manner that is most benevolent, Terra is emotionally available in a way that appeases, appeals, and even pleasures Jennifer. It is good to have friends, people who know you, and care for you.

Miss Wills watches the Reverend Wright scenario unfold. Jennifer listens to the divisive rhetoric and as the scriptures counsel, she "clings" to the religious principles that have served her well all of her life. This teacher of good, for the first time since the current Presidential campaign began admitted this week, she is now "bitter." Hillary Clinton, and the venom she spews, causes Jennifer much concern.

The New York Senator says over and over again "I will fight for you." Jennifer has concluded; if this is what it means to fight, she cannot support a combatant. A pugilist does not bring her joy. Nor will she feel saved if Hillary Clinton is identified as her redeemer.

Educator, Miss Will wants her pupils to look up to the President, to emulate the Commander-In-Chief. A warrior, even if she is a woman, will not teach the children well. As Jennifer considered a contrite Barack Obama, as she watched him speak of the man who he once loved, she felt she could relate.

At times, those who have deeply touched our soul, act in ways that are troublesome. We are powerless to change them. We may feel a need to separate ourselves for safety and sanity. However, while our heart is broken, the spirit survives as does the hope. People heal. Perhaps, once the Pastor has worked through his ancient anger, once we have walked through the pain . . . Let Americans pray for a peace, for unity, for a world where public condemnations do not cloud the issues.

References, the Reverend, The Reality of Relationships . . .

Clinton Says Obama Made the Right Move By Condemning Pastor, In 'Factor' Sit Down. Fox News. May 1, 2008

Clinton: Wright would not have been my pastor, From Alex Mooney and Peter Hamby. Cable News Network. March 25, 2008

Hillary Clinton: Wright Remarks 'Offensive and Outrageous.' ABC News. April 30, 2008

Clinton on O'Reilly: Wright Comments "Outrageous" and "Offensive," By Chris Cillizza. Washington Post. April 30, 2008

Today on the Presidential Trail Associated Press. Boston Globe. March 25, 2008

Romans 12. BibleGateway.

Clinton: I will fight for you, By Robert Mentzer. Wausau Daily Herald. February 19, 2008

Posted by Betsy L. Angert on April 30, 2008 at 11:00 PM in Approval or Love, Elections, Ethics, Hillary Clinton, Looking at Life, Political Campaigns, Politics, Presidential Politics | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack