Take off the hat!

Is it really that difficult? Is it really too hard and too much of your energy to take off your hat at a sporting event during the national anthem? I want to understand why people refuse to take off their hats during the time that we are honoring our great country. It really pisses me off. Some people think it’s their way of protest… I think that’s garbage. Honor the country that has given so much to you.

Recently, a friend told me that he is enlisting in the Air Force. First of all, I would like to take the opportunity to thank him again for what he is doing, and I really respect him. If you encounter someone who is doing this, you should do the same.

Thank you for fighting for me, my family, my friends, and all Americans. Also, tell your brother the same. You guys are great Americans and great people to volunteer to go into the military and fight for us. Good luck, you both will do a great job in the Air Force and the Marines. God Bless.

After talking to him, I thought even more about this topic. I told him that it really pisses me off when people do this. He brought up a good point. Our military fights for their right to not take off their hats during the national anthem. They fight for our freedoms, and this is one of them. The one thing that is great about this country allows people to take advantage of it, and take everything that they have for granted. It is sad, but it is true.

I guess that at least they aren’t sending hate mail and death threats to our military, like that moron in Syracuse, who I will not mention because I do not want him getting any more publicity. This guy is a loser who should get the hell out of the USA, but unfortunately, we cannot do that.

That’s all I have to say for now, so I will end my rant there.

Carl’s Garden

Good story that my Mom sent me in an e-mail, read it.

Carl was a quiet man. He didn’t talk much. He would always greet you with a big smile and a firm handshake. Even after living in our neighborhood for over 50 years, no one could really say they knew him very well.

Before his retirement, he took the bus to work each morning. The lone sight of him walking down the street often worried us. He had a slight limp from a bullet wound received in WWII. Watching him, we worried that although he had survived WWII, he may not make it through our changing uptown neighborhood with its ever-increasing random violence, gangs, and drug activity.

When he saw the flyer at our local church asking for volunteers for caring for the gardens behind the minister’s residence, he responded in his characteristically unassuming manner. Without fanfare, he just signed up.

He was well into his 87th year when the very thing we had always feared finally happened.

He was just finishing his watering for the day when three gang members approached him. Ignoring their attempt to intimidate him, he simply asked, “Would you like a drink from the hose?” The tallest and toughest-looking of the three said, “Yeah, sure,” with a malevolent little smile. As Carl offered the hose to him, the other two grabbed Carl’s arm, throwing him down. As the hose snaked crazily over the ground, dousing everything in its way, Carl’s assailants stole his retirement watch and his wallet, and then fled.

Carl tried to get himself up, but he had been thrown down on his bad leg. He lay here trying to gather himself as the minister came running to help him. Although the minister had witnessed the attack from his window, he couldn’t get there fast enough to stop it. “Carl, are you okay? Are you hurt?” the minister kept asking as he helped Carl to his feet. Carl just passed a hand over his brow and sighed, shaking his head. “Just some punk kids. I hope they’ll wise-up someday.” His wet clothes clung to his slight frame as he bent to pick up the hose. He adjusted the nozzle again and started to water.

Confused and a little concerned, the minister asked, “Carl, what are you doing?” “I’ve got to finish my watering. It’s been very dry lately,” came the calm reply.

Satisfying himself that Carl really was all right, the minister could only marvel. Carl was a man from a different time and place. A few weeks later the three returned. Just as before their threat was unchallenged. Carl again offered them a drink from his hose.

This time they didn’t rob him. They wrenched the hose from his hand and drenched him head to foot in the icy water. When they had finished their humiliation of him, they sauntered off down the street, throwing catcalls and curses, falling over one another laughing at the hilarity of what they had just done.

Carl just watched them. Then he turned toward the warmth giving sun, picked up his hose, and went on with his watering.

The summer was quickly fading into fall… Carl was doing some tilling when he was startled by the sudden approach of someone behind him. He stumbled and fell into some evergreen branches. As he struggled to regain his footing, he turned to see the tall leader of his summer tormentors reaching down for him. He braced himself for the expected attack. “Don’t worry old man, I’m not gonna hurt you this time.” The young man spoke softly, still offering the tattooed and scarred hand to Carl. As he helped Carl get up, the man pulled a crumpled bag from his pocket and handed it to Carl.

“What’s this?” Carl asked.

“It’s your stuff,” the man explained. “It’s your stuff back. Even the money in your wallet.”

“I don’t understand,” Carl said. “Why would you help me now?” The man shifted his feet, seeming embarrassed and ill at ease. “I learned something from you,” he said. “I ran with that gang and hurt people like you. We picked you because you were old and we knew we could do it. But every time we came and did something to you, instead of yelling and fighting back, you tried to give us a drink. You didn’t hate us for hating you. You kept showing love against our hate.” He stopped for a moment.

“I couldn’t sleep after we stole your stuff, so here it is back.” He paused for another awkward moment, not knowing what more there was to say.

“That bag’s my way of saying thanks for straightening me out, I guess.” And with that, he walked off down the street.

Carl looked down at the sack in his hands and gingerly opened it. He took out his retirement watch and put it back on his wrist. Opening his wallet, he checked for his wedding photo. He gazed for a moment at the young bride that still smiled back at him from all those years ago.

He died one cold day after Christmas that winter. Many people attended his funeral in spite of the weather. In particular the minister noticed a tall young man that he didn’t know sitting quietly in a distant corner of the church. The minister spoke of Carl’s garden as a lesson in life. In a voice made thick with unshed tears, he said, “Do your best and make your garden as beautiful as you can. We will never forget Carl and his garden.”

The following spring another flyer went up… It read: “Person needed to care for Carl’s garden.” The flyer went unnoticed by the busy parishioners until one day when a knock was heard at the minister’s office door.

Opening the door, the minister saw a pair of scarred and tattooed hands holding the flyer. “I believe this is my job, if you’ll have me,” the young man said.

The minister recognized him as the same young man who had returned the stolen watch and wallet to Carl. He knew that Carl’s kindness had turned this man’s life around. As the minister handed him the keys to the garden shed, he said, “Yes, go take care of Carl’s garden and honor him.”

The man went to work and, over the next several years, he tended the flowers and vegetables just as Carl had done. In that time, he went to college, got married, and became a prominent member of the community. But he never forgot his promise to Carl’s memory and kept the garden as beautiful as he thought Carl would have kept it.

One day he approached the new minister and told him that he couldn’t care for the garden any longer. He explained with a shy and happy smile, “My wife just had a baby boy last night, and she’s bringing him home on Saturday.”

“Well, congratulations!” said the minister, as he was handed the garden shed keys. “That’s wonderful! What’s the baby’s name?”

“Carl,” he replied.

Close to Home

Thought this was a funny comic.

Fear

Fear is a pretty strange thing. Everyone has it. Some people think that certain people just don’t have fear, but I think that idea is wrong. I think everyone has fear about something or other, mainly because as human beings, we don’t know everything. Sometimes we like to think we do, but frankly, we don’t know much at all.

I have fear. There’s a lot of things that scare me. Some things may be common, like somewhat of a fear of heights ever since I fell off something and sustained an injury. But then there are other types of fears that we have, and these are mostly small things, but the fact that we don’t know what to expect makes us scared of it. If you already know what’s going to happen, why be scared. You may say, “well, what if I know I am going to die, I shouldn’t be scared?” Yes, you should be scared. You should be scared because you have no idea what it feels like to die. This is just an example, a very extreme one, but even so, just an example.

Fear can really take control of our minds, and it’s not fun. When we are scared of something, we tend to think of it more, and to think of the horrible outcomes it could possibly result in. It seems as though we never tend to think of the good that it may bring to us, because we aren’t worried about something that will benefit us, or make us happy. We are worried about the other part, the part that doesn’t make us happy.

We talked a little bit about this on Friday, so I figured I would write about it. I also think about things that scare me a lot, I don’t know why, I just do. I get worried very easily, and this is probably the reason that I continue to think about things that frighten me, because I just do not want them to happen. I’m sure almost everyone feels the same way, but I do not enjoy being frightened, so I try to understand everything that I can, so that I will not be frightened. But there are things that we will never understand, so there will always be fear in the minds of human beings. I thought this was an interesting topic to write about, since I haven’t really updated this blog lately. If there are any comments you would like to leave, feel free to leave them in the comment section.

About time I updated…

Well, the end of break is getting pretty close. It’s been a good break. I haven’t really updated this in a while, so I figured it’s about time that I actually got around to it. Only have about 3 days left, which sucks because I really don’t want to start next semester’s work load, but I’ll be glad to get back to school to hang out and see everyone.

Christmas was good, and New Year’s was good too. Saw the Giants beat the Raiders to get into the playoffs on New Year’s Eve, so it was a great way to start off the New Year. They finally made the playoffs, took them long enough…

Giants lost to the Panthers in the playoffs though, 23-0. They were destroyed, and didn’t seem to show up for the game. I’ll have to post my opinion on what they should do this offseason.

Break has been good, it’s been nice to just hang out and relax without any work for a while. Work can get really old, and it’s just a pain because I seem to have to work so hard to do well while some people can just get great grades without doing as much, but oh well, that’s just me, I guess.

I’ll be going back to Syracuse on Martin Luther King Day, which thankfully, we have off. We never get days off at Syracuse when it seems everyone else does, like Columbus Day, and all of those holidays. And we never will have a snow day; the school hasn’t cancelled classes because of snow in over 30 years. We’re used to it though; the snow can be pretty heavy in the city that accumulates the most in the state…

Haven’t worked more on the story really, will have to when I get some time when I go back. Finished part III, will have to post it.

Listen to a song called Cold (But I’m Still Here) by Evans Blue, it’s pretty good. You can hear it on my MySpace, or on theirs.