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One Step Closer to the Tour de France

July 2, 2005 / Jim

Olaia, pushed her bicycle out of the garage and down the sidewalk towards the park.

"Daddy, this is hard. The bike is heavy. It wants to pull me down the hill."

"Just hang on little girl. You’re doing fine. Okay, stop there. Let’s wait for Jaimito." Jaimito was pulling his Hot Cycle, trying to hang onto his Matchbox cars at the same time. His little desires had overwhelmed his abilities and cars began to fall.

"Daddy! Help me!"

"Here, let me put them in my pocket. You think you can manage your Hot Cycle?"

"Yeah," he said as he picked up his "beep beeps" and I put them in my pocket.

Olaia was excited. She hadn’t tried to ride her bike for a couple of months now. Between the afternoon rains and the scorching summer sun we just hadn’t gotten the bike out to ride. Actually, since I had been steadying and running behind her, it was quite a workout and since I am drenched in sweat within seconds, I’d been lazy. "Olaia, it’s too hot today, we’ll bring your bike next time. Olaia, it’s too wet today. We’ll bring your bike next time." Well, a month or two had passed and I was starting to feel more than guilty for not biting the bullet.

Today, though, the conditions were just perfect. The day was overcast and gray. It had rained throughout the morning and into the early afternoon, just late enough to stave off the heat, and short enough that by 6 pm it was dry.

I was still going to get drenched from the exertion though, but I was ready. Olaia pushed her bike the long way around the park to avoid the stairs leading to the grassy field. Jaimito followed her and quickly took to a sprint. He looked like he was skipping on air as he flew around the park at a breakneck pace. I winced as I imagined him tripping and landing on the jagged asphalt. But he made it. I’d never seen that little boy run so fast. He jogged up to me.

"You were fast little man! You ran so faaaast!"

"I was fast, huh? I’m faster." And took off again to show me it wasn’t a fluke.

Olaia approached pushing her bike. "Daddy, I’m gonna do it today. You watch." She took her bike to a corner of the grassy park and labored trying to get her pedals in the right position to start off. After five minutes of watching her struggle, I offered a suggestion. "Why don’t you start up the hill just a little bit. Just a little bit so it’s easier, but not so high that it’s scary or anything."

"Okay, Daddy." I helped her up onto the bike, adjusted her pedals, and gave her a little push and let go. Laura had told me that she’d practiced falling the last time in the park, so I hoped that at least she’d go a few feet and jump off. But as any father, I let go with a little trepidation. Oh, my poor baby. I hope she doesn’t crash.

Olaia, went three feet, then six, then twenty, then fifty, and onward all the way across the park, where she gracefully dismounted as she ran out of steam. I could hardly contain myself. "Olaia! You rode your bike! Oh my, that was awesome. How did you- how did you learn- wow!" And I applauded her. She beamed her bashful smile, pleased but a little surprised herself.

Now she was determined. The next pass she hopped up on her bike and pushed off with no intervention. She looked like a pro, like she’d been doing it since forever. Again and again and again, she made her way across the park on her bike, beaming and proud and as happy as could be.

She would have gone all night, if I hadn’t drawn it to a close. Her little face was beet red by this point, her sweaty hair matted down by her helmet and sticking to her face.

"Okay, Daddy," she said, if you insist. Such determination in that little girl.

And in France today, Lance Armstrong launched his bid for a seventh straight victory in the Tour de France with a powerful performance in the opening time trial.

Look out, Lance, Olaia’s coming for you!

The Simplest Questions of All

June 22, 2005 / Jim

Tuesday night’s prison session was a difficult one. Normally, it’s a positive experience, as I guess this one was in the end, but I’d not had an inmate quite so lost. I was at a loss. What would you do with a kid like this?

We usually start out with a series of questions. What is your favorite food? What is your favorite sport? What do you like to do in your spare time? What talents do you have? These questions, I believe, are the fundamental and most important questions of our lives. They give you a road map of who you are. There’s this quote that I love. It comes up occasionally when I log into one of my servers. It goes like this:

Your only obligation in any lifetime is to be true to yourself. Being true to anyone else or anything else is not only impossible, but the mark of a fake messiah. The simplest questions are the most profound. Where were you born? Where is your home? Where are you going? What are you doing? Think about these once in awhile and watch your answers change.
— Messiah’s Handbook : Reminders for the Advanced Soul

It’s kind of like that at the prison. We ask simple questions and we get simple answers, but they reveal a lot of deep truths. Last night was different though.

Héctor is 16. This is his fourth time in the juvenile detention system in Puerto Rico. To the question, "Who do you most want to emulate?", he answered, "My mom."

"What is it about your mother that makes you want to emulate her? Is it something she does well?"

"She works really hard. She works in a pharmacy and never complains about nothing. She is very organized and dedicated."

"Disciplined?"

"Yeah, disciplined," he answered.

"So, tell me about your mother. Did you live with her?"

"No, I lived alone."

I was puzzled. "Okay, where did you live, with your father?"

"I live by myself. An uncle died and left a house. My father said I could move in there. It’s close to my father."

"Hmm, okay, tell me about your father, then. What’s he like. Do you see him a lot?"

"No, my father works a lot." He then perked up a bit, and said with pride, "My father lets me do whatever I want. I had a car at thirteen."

"At thirteen," I exclaimed in surprise. "You can’t even legally drive at thirteen. How did you drive."

He shrugged and grinned. "I just did."

"So you live alone. Wouldn’t you rather live with someone? How come you don’t live with your mom?"

"I did, but after fourteen years together, she left my dad, and two months later was with this other guy. I hated him. I think she was with him before she and my dad broke up. He is an opportunist. He’s no good for her. Mi padrastro y yo no nos caemos bien."

"I see." And we went on. We talked about some of the other things on the question list. Héctor’s favorite food is lasagna. His favorite sport, soccer. He likes reggaetón music, math, riding his motorbike, and aspires to better his mechanic skills and maybe work in a garage.

We returned to his mother. I asked him if she visited him in the prison. He said that yes, but she wasn’t happy to be there. She was sad or angry and it wasn’t a happy moment for him. I tried to explain to him how a parent could be disappointed in a child but still love them. He looked uncomfortable so we shifted back to what he admired.

"So, maybe you admire her discipline. How might you get that for yourself. How do you get discipline?"

He didn’t know. I mentioned that I was an officer in the Army and that the Army can be a good place to get discipline.

"Ah, no, I wouldn’t like it. Absolutely not."

"Yeah, it’s hard, I agreed, but sometimes hard things are worthwhile. It’s not like I want to convince you to join the military… but can you agree that your life isn’t rolling in the right direction?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Sometimes when you’re moving in the wrong direction, you’ve got to take drastic action. You’ve got to get out, change your position, change your surroundings, do something dramatic. I don’t know, I don’t judge, I’m just trying to help. I’ve got my own set of problems. ¿Todos somos pobres hombres, no?" He smiled.

"You know," he said, "It’s not even my fault I’m here." And then the flood gates opened. This kid needed to talk, so I listened to the remarkable incident that landed him here. Normally we don’t ask the kids what they’ve done. We’re not supposed to get personal with them. Frankly, it’s irrelevant to me. I don’t care what they’ve done. They’re kids. Some of them are murders and drug dealers, others are drug users, thieves, petty crooks, they’ve assaulted someone, or whatever. We don’t ask, but if they want to tell us, we’ll listen. We’re trying to elevate them. We care about you. You have value. You are valued. You are loved. We love you.

"I was getting into it with my step-father, mi padrastro and he called the security guard who called the police. I was already on probation and he knew it. I jumped out the window and climbed up on top of the apartment roof. I jumped from one unit to the other and climbed down inside the parking area. I had his car keys with me, so I hopped into his car and left. I made it to Caguas before the police nabbed me for car theft. That’s why I’m here. I got a year for supposedly stealing his car. I didn’t do nothin’"

I was in shock. And to myself, I cursed the son-of-a-bitch. This guy’s wife’s sixteen year old son, runs off in his car and he sends ’em up for grand theft auto for a year. This kid did something wrong, certainly, but what kind of person does that? Did he rationalize it to himself as tough love. "You know mi amor your son needs this. He needs to get serious about his life and to learn that there are consequences. This is good for him."

But quietly, slyly he grins to himself and thinks it is good for me too.

Un Breakecito

June 17, 2005 / Jim

Normally I wouldn’t even think of posting such mundane drivel (but just what have you been doing anyway, James, hmmm?). Okay, guilty as charged. So here it is.

I’m gonna disconnect for a couple of days, go to the beach and hike in the rain forest, El Yunque. We all need a break, and this is the agenda that Cruise Director Laura came up with. Sun Block? Check. Swim trunks? Check. Kids? Check. And off we go.

For Immediate Release:

June 14, 2005 / Jim

O’Malley Gorbea Family Augments by One the Quantity of Auto-Toilet Using Members to its Ranks

In San Juan Puerto Rico, on the 7th of June, 2005, James Aloysius O’Malley V, successfully urinated into his toilet, exclaiming, "I did it! I did it!" His cries of success were followed by a tribal dance and much feasting and celebration.

At first, the O’Malley Gorbea family expected Jaimito’s sudden self-sufficiency to be marked by a period of "accidents" but a week later, it seems that Jaimito’s conversion was total, complete, and successful.

"It was just spectacular," said father, James Aloysius O’Malley IV, "My progeny, peeing and pooping by himself – I’m just so thrilled. We here at Familia O’Malley Gorbea, always knew it was possible, but this project exceeded our expectations by a long shot. I’d just like to thank all the project managers and team leaders for a job well done."

We have diminished by one, the quantity of members wearing diapers thereby increasing family productivity, use of resources, and net worth. Jaimito will furthermore dress in only Batman, Spider-Man, and Superman Underoos^TM.

Familia O’Malley Gorbea is a fully incorporated company dedicated to the creation of productive and dynamic world citizens.

– END –

Songs of my Youth

June 14, 2005 / Jim

Yesterday was a weird day to say the least, an odd confluence of events that left me feeling nostalgic.

I had been following the Michael Jackson trial with a combination of revulsion, sadness, and hope; revulsion because of how far he’s fallen, how weird and repulsive he has become, sadness for a broken man, broken lives, and an uncertain future, and hope that a beloved figure from my youth wouldn’t end up being a total lie.

You see, I didn’t want Michael Jackson to be guilty. I didn’t want that man who made such great songs throughout his life to be something so horrible as to make his entire life a lie. I didn’t want my youth to be trashed. He’s gotten weirder and weirder throughout his career, but it’s been in discrete steps. I can deal with that. Okay, between "Off the Wall" and "Thriller" he got a nose job. That’s okay, I guess. Between "Thriller" and "Bad" he became white. Okay, nose job, white, maybe something else. It’s weird, but okay. And it went from there, little by little the man that was Michael Jackson became someone else… but slowly.

I still liked his music. That was the one thing that remained constant. It was always great stuff.

The accusations of pedophilia had been mounting throughout the 90’s, and I remember many a conversation with fellow Jackson fan and friend, John, "Do you think it’s true?"

"Nah, you see it’s – " And on we would go, justifying Michael’s behavior, weirdness, and a media and populace eager to tear down stars, thirsty for bloodsport only too common in our society of idol worship.

It reminded me of conversations that I had with friends in the latter half of the 70’s and on into the 80’s throughout the unrolling of George Lucas’s Star Wars.

"Do you think Darth Vader is Luke’s father?" We would ask each other.

"Naw, man, no way. Darth Vader is evil." And our eyes would go wide at the possibilities. We would debate it for hours. It consumed us as we waited what seemed an eternity for Return of the Jedi. Three years is an eternity to a 10 year old.

I guess in some ways yesterday was too bizarre for words. I silently cheered that Michael Jackson was declared Not Guilty. My heart beat in fear before the verdict was read, not for Michael Jackson, but for my youth, my ten year old self, for pureness, passion, and love. If Michael was just another sick twisted bastard, what can a child believe in? Are we all to become jaded, cynical, and empty at such a young age? Is there any place for a child to find refuge in the pure and the clean? Does everything always have to soiled with the muck and sludge of our failures, our inadequacies? Is there anything pure and noble left for which to strive?

Laura, Olaia and I watched Return of the Jedi last night. Laura and I had finally gone to see Revenge of the Sith and afterward had undertaken the trek through the first three movies. It was weird watching them again, blasts from the past. Olaia watched them with us, full of questions about who was bad, why they were bad, who was good, why that guy was trying to kill that guy etc.

So we were watching Return of the Jedi last night and Yoda was on his deathbed. I looked over at Olaia and she was crying. Tears were welling up in her eyes as Yoda lay dying. "Daddy, why does Yoda have to die?"

"Because he is old, Olaia. It’s okay, Yoda is going to be Luke’s guardian angel." She focused on that and seemed to be take heart.

When the movie was over, she came to me and gave me a hug. "Daddy, I loved that we watched that movie together. I really liked it."

"You are the sweetest little girl in the whole world. I’m glad too."

And I basked in the warmth and glow of my daughter’s innocence, her pureness, her faith.

I sit here reflecting on my own. Maybe, just maybe I have retained a portion of my youth today, or if not real, at least I have plausible deniability, and I’m gonna go with that.

Warrior Dogs of the Locke

June 9, 2005 / Jim

Today Jessie decided to roll around in the chalk drawings the kids were making on our back patio. It was blue, very blue, and Jessie decided she would look fetching in blue. I didn’t get a picture in time, but it was hilarious, our little warrior dog with a blue head and shoulders, ready to charge into battle sounding her fury at the occupying forces.

"Who… me?" She seemed to ask. "I just had an itch."

The Kiss

June 7, 2005 / Jim

"Daddy?"

"Yes Jaimito?"

"’member in da Spider-Man? When Mary Jane was kissing Spider-Man dat was really Peter Parker?" He asked carefully, measuring his words.

"Yeah, Mary Jane kissed Spider-Man. That was funny, huh?"

"Yeah, it was yucky."

"Why was it yucky, Jaimito?"

He explained. "’cause it was rainin’." And he turned up his palms in a isn’t-it-obvious-to-you shrug, then he asked, "Daddy, why did Mary Jane kiss Spider-Man?"

"Hmm," Oh please dear God, why must it start so early. I thought quickly. "Jaimito, she kissed him because she liked him. People kiss each other when they like each other."

"On, da lips?" he asked incredulously.

"On the lips, yes Jaimito."

"Why?"

"Because they like each other." Okay, who’s going to back down first, I can go circular logic on your butt all day, little man. But I guess that satisfied him sufficiently. "You know what, Jaimito. When mommy comes home, I’m going to give her a big kiss on the lips."

"Like when you got married?"

"Yes, like when we got married."

Baptism Ewww

June 6, 2005 / Jim

I was wandering as I usually do. I don’t mean to, it’s just that after such stressful weeks, going to church on Sunday is an opportunity to sit quietly with my family. I’m not answering phone calls, programming, submitting proposals, configuring equipment, not having the TV on, toys, scrambling everything up into a mish mash. No, I just get to be quiet and there’s no escape. It’s nice.

As is usual with my church time, I am somewhat disconnected from the experiences of my fellow parishioners. I know what it is to think differently, to be different, but I still enjoy the perspective and insights that such a burden provides.

So I wander. I wander into the minds of others, poking around, taking snapshots. I was a mental tourist today in church. The theme of today’s excursion?

Baptism.

My first stop on the mad dash trip was into the minds of those that are not now and have never
been Church-goers, some of whom sprout a full plumage of disdain at
the mere mention of religion.

"Ewww. I don’t believe in organized
religion. I think you’re all full of it, and you’re ruining America."

"Haha," I chuckled with my guest, "that is a distinct possibility." We passed the time most enjoyably and when it was done and we had said our goodbyes and thank-you’s, I was reluctant to take my leave. They are a good sort, a tad inflexible, but I don’t hold it against them.

My next stop was a little closer to home. Familiarity breeds contempt, I said to myself, so let’s take a new look through fresh eyes. I peered into the scene unfolding right in front of me. There it was, the ritual, the pouring of the water, the snapshots, the frilly little outfit, everybody in their Sunday best, the priest anointing with oil, saying prayers, the parishioners mumbling their acclamations self-consciousnessly.

And there was the baby, oblivious to it all.

What is this magic that is being performed over me, the baby seemed to ask? Is Baptism magic, divine magic brought to bear upon a young-ling in order that he may be good, that he may have salvation?

Once the act was complete, the sigh of relief was almost palpable. It was a sigh that this child is now protected with his aura of Christly force, that he is now brought into the fold, into the arms of God that the devil may not snatch him up and to do evil.

This is how many people see Baptism, a magic incantation and pouring and anointing. But its true purpose has been forgotten. I closed my eyes to remember, to journey back, to look with new eyes on an old scene. My mind flashed over my own children. I paused to remember how I held them when they were so tiny, how Laura and I (but mostly Laura) rushed to them when they would cry. You are not alone in this world. Just thought you should know.

You see, we have forgotten. We’ve buried Baptism so deeply in abstractions that we’ve forgotten its true spirit, its true meaning. We’ve abstracted God to such a degree that we think he does stuff for us, that by chanting prayers and rubbing oil, we’ll all be saved or we’ll have something more than what we have now.

What do you need anyway?

In my continuing philosophy of "things are no more than what they appear", I tell you this: the rubbing of the oil is the touch, the gathered people are the presence, and the prayers are the solace of a soothing voice. Tu estás acompañado, you are not alone, you are accompanied on your journey through your life.

Have you ever heard stories of little babies of Christian families that have died soon after being born? Priests and ministers are on call to Baptize these little souls so that they may take quick flight to a heavenly place without the stain of original sin. Have you heard that? Doesn’t that sound silly?

It’s a lot of words that mask the true purpose of such an act, and it is this: little child, you are not alone in your death. We love you, your people love you, you will not die alone in the cold. We will be there until the end for we are a people with great empathy. We love you.

Have you head of people in car crashes or other traumatic accidents where death is a mere step away. There are some that have not lived a life in Christ, and in the last moments call for a Baptism or magic ritual. Our response should not be magic. Our response to such a person in need is nothing more and nothing less than to hold his hand so that he may know that he is not alone. He may have been alone throughout his life, living selfishly, thinking little of others, but at the hour of his death, he is a child of creation, loved and lovable – as he has always been.

Baptism isn’t a religious exercise, folks. Baptism is a communal gathering of souls who hold up an individual, weak and fragile, to let them know that they are supported by the hands of their fellows, that they are not alone, and that they will always be and have always been, supported by love.

Tell someone today, you are not alone, you will never be alone, and you have never been alone.

Okay now that I’ve straightened out the rhetoric, we just have to do it. Okay?

OS Agnosticism

May 30, 2005 / Jim

I’ve come to the conclusion that the Operating System is irrelevant, that the base that allows a computer to be useful no longer can or will be a primary focus. I arrived at this conclusion after having Laura’s computer completely die. Lately, she’s been using her old Windows 98 machine while I figure out what I’m going to do.

Yesterday I set up X windows for her under Cygwin on Windows 98 so she would have access to her Linux desktop on the terminal server.

X -query 192.168.1.3

and voilá there’s her desktop as if she’d never left it. I thought it was cool, but I started wondering, why would she need that? She’s got her OpenOffice under Windows 98, she’s got her jabber instant messenger client. She uses Firefox which doesn’t care what it runs on. She doesn’t use Gimp very often, but it’s there too. I can even install Inkscape if she should desire it. In short, I can’t think of, and neither can she, a single reason to use her Linux desktop. All the infrastructure stuff runs on the Linux server: the webserver, database server, filesharing server, access controls, filters, and whatnot. The email is accessed via IMAP so you can use webmail, or Outlook, or Thunderbird, or Outlook Express, or Evolution, or Kmail. Anything you can dream up and it’s all synchronized. It all works seamlessly with Windows or Linux or Macintosh. All her documents and images are completely divorced from whatever lies beneath, normally ready to strike and swallow up your precious data. Call it a reinforced hull so you don’t end up being fish food.

For myself, I am happy with my Linux environment. I do not like Windows XP or any of its ilk. It’s a personal choice, not an indictment on which is inherently better. You may like XP. I may like Linux. Both seem to run Free Software just fine, and make the issue mostly about personal taste or comfort. For example, I like the way my apps behave in Linux. I like my kpovmodeler front-end to Povray. I like Quanta for some webwork. I like vim for programming and webwork. I like GIMP for graphics work. I like xmms as my music player. I use K3B as my dvd/cd burner (I love it). I use Scribus for desktop publishing. But I guess for me the ONLY killer app is the bash shell… which once again is available as part of Cygwin, so I guess it’s a non-issue.

You see? It doesn’t matter anymore and I like it that way.

Don’t be Afraid, Dude

May 25, 2005 / Jim

The most costly of all follies is to believe passionately in the palpably not true. It is the chief occupation of mankind.
— H.L. Mencken

Jesus said, "Dude, relax. It’s not about all this, even though
it is. Look, it’s hard to explain, but you gotta lose yourself to
find yourself. You’ve gotta give up your salvation to get
it. But you know that it shouldn’t be your aim, and believe me I
can tell. I’ve got this omniscience thing going on. Do you
run up and help the homeless guy because he’s ‘Jesus’? I get that
a lot, and I’m all like, ‘Dude, you’ve got eyes, right? He’s not
me.’ No, I’m right here. He is a child of mine, though, and
I’d appreciate it if you’d help him out but not for me, though.
No no. It’d be great if you could help him out for him.
Know what I’m sayin’? It’s kinda like that for most things.
I’m not all into this mysticism thing. Dad put the universe
together to be internally consistent. It doesn’t violate any
rules. Stuff doesn’t just magically happen. There’s a
process. Dad’s big on process. In fact, he got a little carried
away with process, and that’s why he sent me. Had to get back in
touch with humanity.

Anyway, where was I? Oh, yeah,
Fear. Fear is probably the toughest thing I’ve ever had to deal
with, both what I experienced, and what I observed in all of you.
Fear is just the worst. It binds up your hearts in ways that you
couldn’t imagine. You see, I don’t want you to live like
that. Fear really just makes me sad. It’s really hard for
me to see people wanting so bad to save themselves that they forget to
love, forget to put themselves out there for others. All they
want to do is connect to me, worship me, all the while hitting each
other with that book. I’ve got mixed feelings about that book,
btw. It’s not like I don’t get into it, but I understand the
limitation that people have trying to describe life-changing events,
changes in direction that come with a profound, transforming,
life-altering, some say mystical revelation. I understand that
it’s tough to put it down on paper, so I empathize. But some of
it is just so wrong. All that stuff about retribution and fire
and brimstone – water to wine (I mean, geez, it was there all along,
but they had to do the whole, Oh look Jesus turned water to wine.
It was really embarrassing. Yikes).

Anyway, so you’ve got these
people who are fearful hitting each other with this book like that’s
going to solve something. Then you’ve got these other people who
are afraid to speak my name for fear of being labeled ‘one of
them.’ I empathize with that too. Humans like to bottle up
these magnificent soaring attributes of faith, love, devotion, and
service into valuable commodities that they can own and keep
away from others, thereby increasing their perceived value (I picked
that up in a business class I took a while back). So you hoard
your little trinkets hoping upon hope that they will appreciate and
then you’ll have something of value that your neighbor might not
have. Of course the root of all this is that you’re afraid that
your future isn’t secure, that your faith might not be the right one,
that you’re on the wrong path. By increasing the quantity of
like-minded individuals in your little "group" you increase your
value. I like to call it Amway Christianity.

Sigh, Dad and I got a good laugh out of that one, but I digress.

So
we pre-package up all this magnificent stuff into these little
bundles. Let’s call them words and symbols… or better yet,
let’s call them gangs. Yeah, I like that. So you’ve got
this quasi-believer, somebody who’d fallen away from the faith.
Let’s call him an agnostic. He just feels uncomfortable about all
these gang symbols. He’s doesn’t want to get gunned down in enemy
territory, so he uses safe words like "mojo" or my personal fav "may
good thoughts be with you." Jesus! (can I say that?) just say
I’ll pray for you, it’s not gonna kill you, and anyway that’s what good
thoughts are. Sigh, no really it’s all good.

I
don’t care what color you wear, or what you call prayer, good thoughts,
or mojo. I know what you intend, and what’s more important, I
hear ya, dude. Don’t matter what you call yourself, whether you
don’t like Jesus freaks (actually that’s our team name for a little
basketball league we put together up here… really does a number on
the opposition) ’cause you’re afraid or whether you don’t like gays and
hippies because you’re afraid, because they are subverting society and
the sanctity of marriage. I know, and it’s okay. But I’ve
got to say it just one more time in the hopes that it will sink
in. I made you all (look, if it makes you feel better that you
just sprang into existence, that is perfectly okay with me as long as
you’re not afraid). Better a courageous agnostic than a craven
Christian, I always say. But you know I’m always rooting for that
craven soul, that lost, fearful, small little mustard seed. I
keep saying, grow little seed, grow. Encompass the world.
Show me what you can do. When you screw up – and you will – I
don’t go all retribution like. I keep hoping upon hope that
you’ll put it together and make the shot.

And finally, I
don’t fear that you’ll fail. You will. I know that each
life lived is an opportunity. It’s your chance to grow that
mustard seed of a spirit you have. Whatever you do with it is
your choice, but I’d like to see you really come alive out there.

Hey, this has gone on longer than I intended. Sorry about
that. What do we do, you ask? Okay, here it is,
but don’t tell anyone you got this from me. We’re big on the
whole "figuring it out yourself thing" around here. Chalk it up
to Dad’s whole "process is important" thing. Whatever.

Whatever
light you have that you use on yourself is wasted. Whatever gift
you have that you don’t share with others to help them out is
wasted. There’s this cool little story that I heard a bit
back. In hell (which doesn’t actually exist, but after hearing
this, we’re thinking about putting one in just to see if this would
actually happen), inhabitants stand with their hands tied to a six foot
spoon over a pit of food. The inhabitants are in a perpetual
state of hunger because they can’t feed themselves. In heaven
(and this is the part I love) it’s the same deal, except no one goes
hungry. Everybody feeds each other with their spoons. I
don’t know if it’s because they’re less dumb or less selfish. I
suspect the latter. That’s it. That’s all there
is.

Peace out."

El Gringoqueño