Most people would say that Thursdays aren't all that special. They would say that Thursdays are just the day before Friday, another work day, and maybe the night they catch their favorite TV shows. They would say that Thursdays mean nothing. I wholeheartedly disagree.
12 years ago, I turned 15. As most teenage boys in America, I was excited to start driving. I even had my first car lined up. It was a blue 1992 Oldsmobile Achieva, and it was awful. The car was handed down from my brother, who started driving the car 3 years prior when he first got his license. Before that, it was handed down from my cousin, who drove it from a rural town (and I mean really rural, with a population just in the double-digits), racking up plenty of rough miles on farm roads. Before that, a pair of twin girls in the same area drove it as their joint first car. I was the 5th first-time driver to use this car, but still I was excited to get behind the wheel.
I turned 15 in the middle of the school year, so it took some time to figure out scheduling driver's ed. Instead of signing up with a corporate driving school, coordinating yet another ride to and from an after-school activity, and potentially losing all of my excitement about driving, we chose another route. Dad researched homeschooling the driver's ed course, and realized it wasn't all that difficult. He signed me up, and we started the course.
Our driver's ed plan was simple. We sat down to go through the textbook every Thursday evening. We started at home, but when we needed to avoid the usual distractions (lessons learned the first couple of weeks), we relocated. Every Thursday, we drove to Daybreak Coffee Roasters to work through the course. I would drink a Cafe Mocha, he had black coffee, and we shared a slice of Black Russian Cake. If neither of us felt like cake, he would splurge and drink a Cafe Royale, a breve flavored with honey.
As you've probably guessed, this is where I first honed my love of coffee. After a couple months, I started to experiment with other drinks on the menu. There was the Caramel Machiato (the Starbucks type, not the traditional version), the Nutty Irishman (latte with hazelnut and irish creme), the Nirvana (cafe mocha with caramel), and the Mudslide (espresso shake - yes, it was made with real ice cream - with chocolate and hazelnut). It wasn't until college that I learned to enjoy black coffee, but my first love was Daybreak on Thursday nights.
The more chapters we finished, the more comfortable we became with our Thursday routine. Many weeks, we would finish the chapter early and burn some time at the coffee shop. We found the chess board on their shelf of board games, and Dad and I would play a couple of matches. Once I learned the game, we found that we were pretty evenly matched. We would sometimes stay long enough to play 2-out-of-3, and it was always a 2-to-1 finish, the title always bouncing back and forth between us.
Driver's ed only lasted about 4 months, even when we only covered a chapter a week. I don't remember ever discussing what we would do with our Thursdays when it was over, but Dad and I somehow made it back to Daybreak every Thursday. When the curriculum no longer dictated our plans, we got more use out of the chess board. We would sometimes make it up to 4 or 5 matches in an evening, and we still didn't have a clear winner.
While we played, we talked through our weeks. I heard some of his work stories, and he heard all about school, band, and Katie (who I had dated for almost 2 years at the time). There was never an evening that we didn't feel like talking, and there were never grudges between us (over chess or anything else) when we were at Daybreak.
As the months went on, we sometimes brought others into our little circle. Mom would occasionally come with us, and so would Katie. Daybreak felt so much like home to me that I started to go to Daybreak on my own time. Most often I would take Katie after school, and we would relax, catch up on homework, and do that disgusting kind of lovey-dovey talking that young couples do. By junior and senior year of high school, Daybreak had become the place to be for school projects, big research papers, and cram sessions before major exams. But as many people as I met at Daybreak, Thursday was always the night that Dad came with me.
After high school, I left my hometown for college. Schedules changed, visits to the coffee shop were replaced with phone calls, and we relied more and more on my weekend visits to catch up. A few years ago, Daybreak closed the location on our side of town and rebranded the remaining location. Years went on, and dad had trouble getting out of the house for coffee. Thursday nights weren't Thursday nights anymore, and Daybreak wasn't Daybreak.
But the great thing about Thursday nights at Daybreak was that their effects continued long after Thursdays and spread far beyond the walls of Daybreak. Thursday nights at Daybreak were the catalyst that started something great. After Thursday nights at Daybreak, Dad was no longer just a parent or an authority figure. After Thursday nights at Daybreak, Dad was my friend.
Earlier this week, I was let in on something Dad told Mom over and over during the last 12 years. He told her that teaching me driver's ed was one of the best decisions he's ever made, because it started Thursday nights at Daybreak. I wholeheartedly agree.
Always moving forward,
Tyler
Wednesday, August 7, 2013
Sunday, August 4, 2013
Catharsis
::EDIT::
This post was typed early Saturday while I stayed up to keep an eye on Dad. Just an hour or two after I finished, he passed on. I haven't edit the post except for the addition of this paragraph. It will be something I go back and read over and over during the coming years, but its personal nature may not be very interesting for my readers. I hope you all understand.
I'm not very good at expressing my feelings. Wait, strike that. I'm not very good at talking about my feelings. Sure, I understand the purpose of those discussions, and I certainly know the importance of them, but when it comes down to it, I just can't get the words out.
Lately, this skill has been put to the test. With all the highly emotional stuff crossing my path in the last couple of years (infertility treatments, pursuing adoption, the loss of my grandfather, and the apparent impending loss of my father), I haven't had any short of important feelings to share. The problem isn't having these feelings, it's expressing them.
With infertility and adoption issues on the forefront of my priorities, I think a lot about the prospect of parenthood. I think of caring for a baby, I fill my head with ideas of what I will do for fun with my son or daughter, I try to plan those little teaching moments that make all the difference, and I picture what he or she might look like the day our baby is finally placed in our arms. I know guys aren't usually seen as the ones with 'baby fever,' but I'll admit to God and everyone that I'm infected. In fact, I'll tell you just how bad my symptoms are.
1) My wife accuses me of being a baby hog. You know, like ball hogs in basketball. I get to the baby first, and I hold him/her too long. More than once we've left a gathering, only for me to find out that Katie felt like she completely missed her opportunity of baby time. And it's all my fault, because I'm a big, fat, smelly baby hog who can't share the baby with my wife.
2) My family says I'm the favorite play buddy for all of my young nieces, nephews, and cousins. I don't know how true this is, but I see where they get it. I just love playing with them, whether it's the 3-month-olds or the 5-year-olds. They get so stinking excited when you do something stupid for their entertainment! And with the younger ones, you can do the exact thing time 40 times in a row before they get bored with it and stop laughing. I'm telling you, doing stupid stuff in front of kids is a huge opportunity for increased self-worth. If you're not doing it, you're missing out!
3) I cry about really dumb things. Seriously stupid, unimportant, virtually meaningless things. My cousin asked to say the mealtime prayer? Tears. A 4-year-old stranger reaches for his dad after he yawns or stubs his toe? Tears. My nephew asked me to read The Little Engine That Could, but when he got bored his older sister wanted to listen from across the room? Tears. Yes, this actually happened today when I got to the "I think I can..." part. She got the abridged version.
The last part is what gets me every time. Increasingly over the last 2 years, when I get emotional, I get choked up, and when I get choked up, I can't speak without my voice cracking, getting squeaky, and sounding generally as far from manly as you can get. It is a very real concern.
I've had the same problem more and more as I have to deal with sickness and death. I'm way too macho to succumb to my pitiful squeaky voice, so when the emotions hit, I tend to say nothing. Literally nothing. I try to communicate my thoughts through implicit yet subtle nods, smiles, eyebrow raises, and any other movement that has no concrete meaning.
I have yet to figure out how to fix my communication issues, but I have learned to find catharsis. When I can't express my emotions through the spoke word, I look for other ways.
The first method (and probably most obvious to this audience) is writing. I fell back into writing the day after my grandad passed away. I had seen him just a couple weeks before, and we didn't have anything left to communicate. But, I missed his last day then heard details from the family about the closure they felt from being with him. I wanted to find that closure, so I ended up writing about him. I didn't have a medium in mind, I just wanted to write. Since the Newtown school shooting had happened earlier in the week, there had been a comment that "those kids needed a grandad in heaven, so God sent them Bill." It stuck in my mind so strongly that the amorphous, unplanned piece of work came out in the form of an open letter to the victims of the shooting. I felt relief and peace, and the more I looked at the 'letter' the more I hoped it would reach one of these victims, that it might communicate directly to a parent of loss that my just sent a great guy to be a heavenly grandad to their recently deceased children. I didn't have a blog at the time, so I posted it on Facebook. I never heard whether it reached the intended audience, but the sheer volume of positive feedback pushed me back to writing. This blog is actually my only medium right now, but now it's like my couch sessions with a shrink.
The second is running. For a few years I've gone through seasons when my first response to stress is the need to go for a run. I'm sure it seems counter-intuitive that a form of exercise that produces a constant form of stress and exertion would actually relieve stress, but it really works. When I run, I get out of my head for a while. Or do I delve deeper into my head? It's hard to say which it is, but I think it's both. There's a strange combination of meditation and distraction that happens during a run. I occupy my conscious thought with the details of the run (how my legs feel, if I need water, how close I am to optimal training pace), but I'm left without the distractions of small talk and Facebook news. My mind is left free to run through the real, meaningful topics of the day. I start to salve problems relating to my personal relationships and internal struggles. Quite often I come back from a run with a new outlook on a complicated problem.
The third is just plain and simple distraction. It doesn't work well, and it's easily the least effective and least healthy on this list. When I don't have the motivation to do anything else, I simply turn on the TV or turn to Youtube. That's right, i turn to brain rot. It doesn't help me solve my problems or express my emotions, but at least it lets my mind rest for a while. I mean, who couldn't use a little bit of (literally) mind-numbing entertainment from time to time?
Maybe someday I'll master the art of talking through tears, but for today I think I'll just keep writing, running, and rotting.
Always moving forward(ish),
Tyler
Friday, August 2, 2013
Perfect in Weakness
Right now I'm sitting next to a hospital bed in my parents' living room, my feet propped on the bed next to my dad's. I keep looking over at my dad to check on him, reaching over to squeeze his hand or feel his pulse. The hard truth is that he is on his last leg.
For the last 6 months, our family has been dealing with this difficult progression. With each visit and each conversation, we delve deeper into the very real facts and emotions involved. We talk through the pain, and we reminisce over great memories that will never be erased.
I keep remembering little things, like the way dad wrestled with us as kids or his food preferences. We've laughed about his favorite movie (The Princess Bride) and re-told his favorite joke (Duck Food, see footnotes). All kinds of anecdotes were revisited, and we relished the looks on the faces of friends and family who were hearing the stories for the first time.
There was the time he brought the wrong lunch to work. My dad, the least picky eater in the world, was always happy to bring leftovers to work for lunch to save a buck. He never complained about reheated meat loaf or spaghetti, but one day he accidentally grabbed a tupperware full of his least favorite food: lima beans. Rather than making the drive home to trade them in for a real meal, or even eating out for once, he suffered through an entire lunch of lima beans. Lima bean jokes followed him for years, pointing out his sheer commitment to frugality.
We recalled the planning session for my brother's wedding, which was to involve some level of fireworks. We found sparklers and verified their legality within city limits, but a few artillery shells during their walk out of the church would've really made it special. We made calls to the Fire Marshall's office to find out what we needed to do or who we needed to involve to make this happen, but the Fire Marshall wouldn't have it. We sat down, a little dejected, to decide what to do. My dad, the quintessential rule follower, gave the first response: "Let's do it anyway! We can just run away really fast after we shoot them off." This briefly debunked his goody-goody status and earned him the nickname "sparky," and yes, we did shoot off the fireworks in the middle of town (and yes, the Fire Marshall caught us).
There were plenty of funny quips to go around, but the real stories weren't funny at all. While some people weren't in on the inside jokes, we all have clear memories of the great character my dad has displayed.
Everyone talked about his strength during the last few months while his condition deteriorated. We were all impressed that, whether his weak legs forced him into a walker or his pain bound him to the hospital bed, he always tried to make his visitors at home. He would let others choose the TV channel, minimize his own pain to avoid awkward feelings, and keep himself awake to keep conversation going. His constant selflessness was like a shining beacon, and it repeatedly convinced others to pay it forward.
But what I noticed wasn't his selflessness during the last few months. Instead, I thought of the time he spent with our family after a long day's work or a long week of school projects, and I thought of the constant positive energy he gave us no matter how tired he was. I remembered all the times he pursued my interests instead of his own, just because he knew it would bring us closer together. I cherished every time he told me he was proud of me, but more specifically the finish line of my marathon, when he stood by a rail between hundreds of spectators, watched for me to run past, and waited almost 30 minutes in the cold rain just so he could yell "YOU'RE MY HERO!!!" at me as I made my final sprint to the finish line. After 27 years of knowing him, I knew these memories were nothing more or less than the outflow of his selfless character and his drive to be a great father.
Everyone talked about his godly pursuits during the last few months. We heard of discussions over Romans 8, when my dad expressed his desire to find joy in suffering through his symptoms, yet we all saw this joy in his eyes every time his disease progressed. We were told about my dad's laments that, once he was house bound, he might not be able to reach out to people in meaningful ways anymore, yet the fruits of his spiritual labor were never so prevalent as they were during his house bound months.
But what I noticed wasn't his godliness during the last few months. Instead, I remembered the countless mornings I came to the breakfast table to see dad during his morning Bible study, taking notes for his next study group. I pictured the missionaries he supported (by friendship, not only finances), who became lifelong friends in Brazil, and who became such strong friends that they made international calls just to let my dad hear their voice during what seem to be his last days. I felt the ever-steady drive of his faith and morals, never bending to fads or compromising to meet his own desires. I looked back on the 27 years of godly life that I have been blessed to witness, and I knew they were nothing more or less than the outflow of his faith.
Everyone talked about the last few months, and I heard over and over that they were extraordinary. I knew there was more to the story, but they were right. The last 6 months, even the last 4 years of my dad's life have radiated a good, godly, strong, faithful, and loving man, moreso than any other man I've known. He has shown faith in fear, hope in despair, and love in pain. I have been amazed at what I've seen, so I wondered what changed in recent months.
But then I remembered the last 27 years. While the last few months have been extraordinary, they are no more extraordinary than every other month of his life. He has always been faithful in fear, even when his fears involved the future of his kids. He has always been hopeful in despair, even when the future reeked of suffering and loss. He has always loved in the midst of pain, whether the pain of rejection or the pain of his disease. Even more amazingly, he has always been humble, never letting attention to be drawn to his own good works.
Looking back at his amazing life, I want to say that he didn't deserve his disease. I want to say that he didn't deserve the atrophy in his legs, the weakness in his hands and shoulders, or the pain throughout his body. I want to say that the world would be better if great men like him didn't suffer, but I've learned better in the last 24 hours.
Through the suffering of his disease, my dad has been given the opportunity to display the fullest extent of faith, hope, and love. Through his suffering, my dad has shown the light of the Lord. It is truly brighter than he could ever reach by his own strength, more than any flawed person could attain. This light is more brilliant than anything man-made; it is the light of perfect love, made perfect in human weakness.
As I contemplate the life of this great man, I delight in his suffering and the things he would call weakness, because he would tell you that these are the next-to-greatest gifts he has been given. The greatest being the gift of pure love, killed on a cross to cover the cost of our imperfection.
Always moving forward,
Tyler
*Duck Food:
A duck walks into a bar. He asks the bartender "got any duck food?" The bartender says "no, of course we don't have any duck food!" The duck leaves, but returns the next day asking "got any duck food?" The bartender says "I told you we don't have any duck food! Get out of here!" The duck leaves again, but returns again the next day asking "got any duck food?" The bartender says "That's it. This is a bar, not a pet shop. If you ask for duck food again, I'm going to nail your feet to the wall!" The duck leaves. He returns yet again the next day, approaches the bar, and asks "got any nails?" The bartender is confused and says "no, we don't have any nails." The duck nods, then asks "got any duck food?"
For the last 6 months, our family has been dealing with this difficult progression. With each visit and each conversation, we delve deeper into the very real facts and emotions involved. We talk through the pain, and we reminisce over great memories that will never be erased.
I keep remembering little things, like the way dad wrestled with us as kids or his food preferences. We've laughed about his favorite movie (The Princess Bride) and re-told his favorite joke (Duck Food, see footnotes). All kinds of anecdotes were revisited, and we relished the looks on the faces of friends and family who were hearing the stories for the first time.
There was the time he brought the wrong lunch to work. My dad, the least picky eater in the world, was always happy to bring leftovers to work for lunch to save a buck. He never complained about reheated meat loaf or spaghetti, but one day he accidentally grabbed a tupperware full of his least favorite food: lima beans. Rather than making the drive home to trade them in for a real meal, or even eating out for once, he suffered through an entire lunch of lima beans. Lima bean jokes followed him for years, pointing out his sheer commitment to frugality.
We recalled the planning session for my brother's wedding, which was to involve some level of fireworks. We found sparklers and verified their legality within city limits, but a few artillery shells during their walk out of the church would've really made it special. We made calls to the Fire Marshall's office to find out what we needed to do or who we needed to involve to make this happen, but the Fire Marshall wouldn't have it. We sat down, a little dejected, to decide what to do. My dad, the quintessential rule follower, gave the first response: "Let's do it anyway! We can just run away really fast after we shoot them off." This briefly debunked his goody-goody status and earned him the nickname "sparky," and yes, we did shoot off the fireworks in the middle of town (and yes, the Fire Marshall caught us).
There were plenty of funny quips to go around, but the real stories weren't funny at all. While some people weren't in on the inside jokes, we all have clear memories of the great character my dad has displayed.
Everyone talked about his strength during the last few months while his condition deteriorated. We were all impressed that, whether his weak legs forced him into a walker or his pain bound him to the hospital bed, he always tried to make his visitors at home. He would let others choose the TV channel, minimize his own pain to avoid awkward feelings, and keep himself awake to keep conversation going. His constant selflessness was like a shining beacon, and it repeatedly convinced others to pay it forward.
But what I noticed wasn't his selflessness during the last few months. Instead, I thought of the time he spent with our family after a long day's work or a long week of school projects, and I thought of the constant positive energy he gave us no matter how tired he was. I remembered all the times he pursued my interests instead of his own, just because he knew it would bring us closer together. I cherished every time he told me he was proud of me, but more specifically the finish line of my marathon, when he stood by a rail between hundreds of spectators, watched for me to run past, and waited almost 30 minutes in the cold rain just so he could yell "YOU'RE MY HERO!!!" at me as I made my final sprint to the finish line. After 27 years of knowing him, I knew these memories were nothing more or less than the outflow of his selfless character and his drive to be a great father.
Everyone talked about his godly pursuits during the last few months. We heard of discussions over Romans 8, when my dad expressed his desire to find joy in suffering through his symptoms, yet we all saw this joy in his eyes every time his disease progressed. We were told about my dad's laments that, once he was house bound, he might not be able to reach out to people in meaningful ways anymore, yet the fruits of his spiritual labor were never so prevalent as they were during his house bound months.
But what I noticed wasn't his godliness during the last few months. Instead, I remembered the countless mornings I came to the breakfast table to see dad during his morning Bible study, taking notes for his next study group. I pictured the missionaries he supported (by friendship, not only finances), who became lifelong friends in Brazil, and who became such strong friends that they made international calls just to let my dad hear their voice during what seem to be his last days. I felt the ever-steady drive of his faith and morals, never bending to fads or compromising to meet his own desires. I looked back on the 27 years of godly life that I have been blessed to witness, and I knew they were nothing more or less than the outflow of his faith.
Everyone talked about the last few months, and I heard over and over that they were extraordinary. I knew there was more to the story, but they were right. The last 6 months, even the last 4 years of my dad's life have radiated a good, godly, strong, faithful, and loving man, moreso than any other man I've known. He has shown faith in fear, hope in despair, and love in pain. I have been amazed at what I've seen, so I wondered what changed in recent months.
But then I remembered the last 27 years. While the last few months have been extraordinary, they are no more extraordinary than every other month of his life. He has always been faithful in fear, even when his fears involved the future of his kids. He has always been hopeful in despair, even when the future reeked of suffering and loss. He has always loved in the midst of pain, whether the pain of rejection or the pain of his disease. Even more amazingly, he has always been humble, never letting attention to be drawn to his own good works.
Looking back at his amazing life, I want to say that he didn't deserve his disease. I want to say that he didn't deserve the atrophy in his legs, the weakness in his hands and shoulders, or the pain throughout his body. I want to say that the world would be better if great men like him didn't suffer, but I've learned better in the last 24 hours.
Through the suffering of his disease, my dad has been given the opportunity to display the fullest extent of faith, hope, and love. Through his suffering, my dad has shown the light of the Lord. It is truly brighter than he could ever reach by his own strength, more than any flawed person could attain. This light is more brilliant than anything man-made; it is the light of perfect love, made perfect in human weakness.
As I contemplate the life of this great man, I delight in his suffering and the things he would call weakness, because he would tell you that these are the next-to-greatest gifts he has been given. The greatest being the gift of pure love, killed on a cross to cover the cost of our imperfection.
II Corinthians 12:9 (NIV)But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.
Always moving forward,
Tyler
*Duck Food:
A duck walks into a bar. He asks the bartender "got any duck food?" The bartender says "no, of course we don't have any duck food!" The duck leaves, but returns the next day asking "got any duck food?" The bartender says "I told you we don't have any duck food! Get out of here!" The duck leaves again, but returns again the next day asking "got any duck food?" The bartender says "That's it. This is a bar, not a pet shop. If you ask for duck food again, I'm going to nail your feet to the wall!" The duck leaves. He returns yet again the next day, approaches the bar, and asks "got any nails?" The bartender is confused and says "no, we don't have any nails." The duck nods, then asks "got any duck food?"
Monday, July 15, 2013
What the Jury Didn't Say about Trayvon Martin
This weekend, the US media has been flooded with news and opinions about the Trayvon Martin v. George Zimmerman trial. Let's recap the story.
February 2012, Zimmerman was monitoring his gated neighborhood as part of the neighborhood watch. One evening, Zimmerman saw Martin near the gate of the neighborhood and believed his actions were suspicious. After calling police, Zimmerman approached Martin, who became nervous about Zimmerman's approach. In some way, the two clashed, and Treyvon was killed by a gunshot wound from Zimmerman's gun.
Unfortunately, there is no solid record of how the two clashed. Zimmerman claims Treyvon led with an assault, but Treyvon's advocates indicate that Zimmerman's choice to pursue Treyvon in the dark was enough to justify defensive actions against Zimmerman. Each side would have you believe that they were acting in self defense, and neither had solid evidence to support their claims.
At the conclusion of the trial, Zimmerman was found Not Guilty for the murder of Treyvon Martin.
Here's where the opinions started. Everyone, from national news networks to Facebook users, started to weigh in. Some were glad that Zimmerman got his day in court, his chance to put his facts to record. Others believed that Zimmerman got out on a technicality, that he should have been found guilty and punished to the fullest extent of the law. Still many others believe that this is an affront to civil rights, that the jury made it OK for blacks to be stereotyped, and those stereotypes to be pursued to the point of murder.
Of course, this all leads to my opinions.
First, I am glad Zimmerman had the chance to defend himself. Without this right, our country's justice system would be chaos. But that doesn't mean that I fully agree with the verdict.
Second, I do wish Trayvon could have seen justice done as a result of his death. I don't mean that he deserved revenge or that Zimmerman should be severely punished, but Trayvon deserves for the world to know that he was wronged. Luckily, that ship hasn't sailed, and it bring me to my main point.
Third, this doesn't have to be an affront to civil rights, primarily because this trial wasn't about whether or not Trayvon was stereotyped. The trial was only about whether Zimmerman beyond a reasonable doubt had no right to defend himself. Because there are no hard facts about how the altercation played out, there was way too much doubt in the courtroom, so Zimmerman was not truly proven guilty of murder. Does this mean that Zimmerman is 100% innocent? To that, I give a big, hairy, resounding NO!
Last week's trial was a criminal one. The trial was the law enforcement system making the case that Zimmerman's actions arose to the point of cold blooded murder. But Zimmerman has not stood trial for civil rights violations against Trayvon.
What does this mean to the American community? It means that racism has not been upheld by the court. It means that Civil Liberties are still defensible by law. It means that we have not taken a step backward in the fight for racial equality, and it means that we have the opportunity to turn this into a giant step forward.
After all of these opinions being aired, and with all of this potential conflict like static hanging in the air waiting to ignite, we are left with one question: How will we respond?
We can choose arguments and violence, fighting fire with fire, hoping that one of them will be extinguished by the blaze. We can point fingers to decide who deserves the worst punishment, hoping that revenge will make our point meaningful. Or we can choose to love, showing the world that we can unite in our differences instead of exploiting each other because of them. By choosing love, we can leave behind the perspectives of judgment and blame to show others that they are people who deserve the same dignity and respect as the rest of us.
How will you respond?
Always moving forward,
Tyler
PS: I hate to make one person the butt of the issue. Zimmerman has the same rights we do, including his innate right to dignity and respect. I hope the best for him as he works to move past what has happened. I hope he can eventually find forgiveness, both for the people who approach him with torches and pitchforks in the name of revenge, and for himself because of whatever happened that night.
February 2012, Zimmerman was monitoring his gated neighborhood as part of the neighborhood watch. One evening, Zimmerman saw Martin near the gate of the neighborhood and believed his actions were suspicious. After calling police, Zimmerman approached Martin, who became nervous about Zimmerman's approach. In some way, the two clashed, and Treyvon was killed by a gunshot wound from Zimmerman's gun.
Unfortunately, there is no solid record of how the two clashed. Zimmerman claims Treyvon led with an assault, but Treyvon's advocates indicate that Zimmerman's choice to pursue Treyvon in the dark was enough to justify defensive actions against Zimmerman. Each side would have you believe that they were acting in self defense, and neither had solid evidence to support their claims.
At the conclusion of the trial, Zimmerman was found Not Guilty for the murder of Treyvon Martin.
Here's where the opinions started. Everyone, from national news networks to Facebook users, started to weigh in. Some were glad that Zimmerman got his day in court, his chance to put his facts to record. Others believed that Zimmerman got out on a technicality, that he should have been found guilty and punished to the fullest extent of the law. Still many others believe that this is an affront to civil rights, that the jury made it OK for blacks to be stereotyped, and those stereotypes to be pursued to the point of murder.
Of course, this all leads to my opinions.
First, I am glad Zimmerman had the chance to defend himself. Without this right, our country's justice system would be chaos. But that doesn't mean that I fully agree with the verdict.
Second, I do wish Trayvon could have seen justice done as a result of his death. I don't mean that he deserved revenge or that Zimmerman should be severely punished, but Trayvon deserves for the world to know that he was wronged. Luckily, that ship hasn't sailed, and it bring me to my main point.
Third, this doesn't have to be an affront to civil rights, primarily because this trial wasn't about whether or not Trayvon was stereotyped. The trial was only about whether Zimmerman beyond a reasonable doubt had no right to defend himself. Because there are no hard facts about how the altercation played out, there was way too much doubt in the courtroom, so Zimmerman was not truly proven guilty of murder. Does this mean that Zimmerman is 100% innocent? To that, I give a big, hairy, resounding NO!
Last week's trial was a criminal one. The trial was the law enforcement system making the case that Zimmerman's actions arose to the point of cold blooded murder. But Zimmerman has not stood trial for civil rights violations against Trayvon.
What does this mean to the American community? It means that racism has not been upheld by the court. It means that Civil Liberties are still defensible by law. It means that we have not taken a step backward in the fight for racial equality, and it means that we have the opportunity to turn this into a giant step forward.
After all of these opinions being aired, and with all of this potential conflict like static hanging in the air waiting to ignite, we are left with one question: How will we respond?
We can choose arguments and violence, fighting fire with fire, hoping that one of them will be extinguished by the blaze. We can point fingers to decide who deserves the worst punishment, hoping that revenge will make our point meaningful. Or we can choose to love, showing the world that we can unite in our differences instead of exploiting each other because of them. By choosing love, we can leave behind the perspectives of judgment and blame to show others that they are people who deserve the same dignity and respect as the rest of us.
How will you respond?
Always moving forward,
Tyler
PS: I hate to make one person the butt of the issue. Zimmerman has the same rights we do, including his innate right to dignity and respect. I hope the best for him as he works to move past what has happened. I hope he can eventually find forgiveness, both for the people who approach him with torches and pitchforks in the name of revenge, and for himself because of whatever happened that night.
Thursday, May 2, 2013
A Faithful Discussion About the Death Penalty
I was recently invited to an event discussing the death penalty, with the same title as this post. There would be a screening of a film, a panel discussion, and some free form discussion on the topic. I was urged strongly to come by my friend Jeff, who was moderating the event.
This isn't a topic I've thought much about until recently. As you may have read, my recent post entitled A New Command I Give You discussed the implications of the death penalty and revenge against criminals as a whole. I also recounted my experience as a juror in this post, which is my still my most influencing experience with the justice system.
Going into the event, I considered myself quite clearly against the death penalty for no other reason than I thought it wrong. I vaguely recognized that the death penalty put blood on our hands ('our' being the jurors, the judge and attorneys, the legislature, and the citizens of the state whom these people all represent), and I didn't like this. I knew that I supported forgiveness over retribution (in principal, at least, if not in practice). But these ideas were unformed and generic.
I was intrigued to hear these ideas fleshed out, as well as new ideas that hadn't come to me before this event.
1. The death penalty is expensive
The standard statistic is that a death row inmate costs 3 times what a life prisoner does. The statistics are slightly more significant in Texas, although each state varies.
Does this convict me to oppose the death penalty? Not really, but it's an important issue to discuss when considering a change in law.
2. The death penalty doesn't work
To punish a killer by killing is irrational. To teach the community that killing is wrong by killing the killer is backwards. There may be an argument that the death penalty keeps the killer from killing again, but life in prison accomplishes the same goal without the destruction.
This is a little more convincing. I believe punishment should have a heart of discipline, which produces change instead of resentment. We can't help a person overcome their shortcomings to reach a better life if we just kill them off. I would much rather see them learn, grow, be healed, and mature during the course of their life.
3. Family of victims who are avenged by the death penalty rarely move on
This is a soft statistic, but it's demonstrated in the film screened at the event. Victims (or families of victims) deserve to move on from their tragedy. If they don't move on, they become trapped in a life of resentment and bitterness, tainting the entire world around them through the lense of their tragedy. Those who forgive the criminal to the point where they don't seek revenge seem to move on to a more productive, happy life much easier than those who seek revenge through the death penalty.
Now we're getting somewhere. I know most people don't care much about the criminal, since "he made his choice," but now we're talking about the benefit of the victims. There's still some trouble with this argument, though, since many people don't put much stock in intangible ideas like forgiving and "moving on." But I think common sense supports the far and wide benefit of a joyful life over a resentful one.
4. An eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind
A point was raised by a panelist about the original "eye-for-an-eye" laws found in the early chapters of the Bible. He said that this principal isn't in line with our gut instincts. That our gut instincts would say "he took my eye, so I'll take both of his eyes, steal his wife, and burn his house down." So to tell an early culture that you should just take what they took from you was revolutionary! It demonstrated control and consideration, rather than raw vengeance. Today, we even consider "eye-for-an-eye" to be barbaric because of how we've learned the principal of control and consideration in our culture.
This blows me away, partly because I learned something new about one of the oldest 'rules' in the world. But mostly, it starts to put a voice to what I believe. We may think we've moved miles past the olden days of "eye-for-an-eye," but the death penalty shows that our animalistic tendencies still push us toward flagrant revenge. Once we recognize this, we can see the death penalty for what it is: murder by the state. Whether just or unjust, it is, most basically, revenge for what they did to us.
5. We are all human, and we are all broken
This sums up the entire issue for me. It also cuts to the heart of racism, homophobia, nationalism, and many other major issues in our world. When we see people as people, it becomes much harder to mistreat them.
But that's just it. We don't see all people as people. Black people have been identified as sub-human, undeserving of the rights white people claim. Foreigners have been dubbed barbarians, their lifestyle fit to be destroyed. Gay people have been called mentally unbalanced, making it ok to treat their identity like a disease that should be eradicated through drugs. And people who have made mistakes different from our own have been called criminals, allowing us to treat them as scum rather than trying to help them work through their wounds that took them so far off track in the first place.
I'll leave your conclusions to you, but my decision is to oppose the death penalty. I would be interested to hear any opposing arguments if you would like to share them.
Always moving forward,
Tyler
This isn't a topic I've thought much about until recently. As you may have read, my recent post entitled A New Command I Give You discussed the implications of the death penalty and revenge against criminals as a whole. I also recounted my experience as a juror in this post, which is my still my most influencing experience with the justice system.
Going into the event, I considered myself quite clearly against the death penalty for no other reason than I thought it wrong. I vaguely recognized that the death penalty put blood on our hands ('our' being the jurors, the judge and attorneys, the legislature, and the citizens of the state whom these people all represent), and I didn't like this. I knew that I supported forgiveness over retribution (in principal, at least, if not in practice). But these ideas were unformed and generic.
I was intrigued to hear these ideas fleshed out, as well as new ideas that hadn't come to me before this event.
1. The death penalty is expensive
The standard statistic is that a death row inmate costs 3 times what a life prisoner does. The statistics are slightly more significant in Texas, although each state varies.
Does this convict me to oppose the death penalty? Not really, but it's an important issue to discuss when considering a change in law.
2. The death penalty doesn't work
To punish a killer by killing is irrational. To teach the community that killing is wrong by killing the killer is backwards. There may be an argument that the death penalty keeps the killer from killing again, but life in prison accomplishes the same goal without the destruction.
This is a little more convincing. I believe punishment should have a heart of discipline, which produces change instead of resentment. We can't help a person overcome their shortcomings to reach a better life if we just kill them off. I would much rather see them learn, grow, be healed, and mature during the course of their life.
3. Family of victims who are avenged by the death penalty rarely move on
This is a soft statistic, but it's demonstrated in the film screened at the event. Victims (or families of victims) deserve to move on from their tragedy. If they don't move on, they become trapped in a life of resentment and bitterness, tainting the entire world around them through the lense of their tragedy. Those who forgive the criminal to the point where they don't seek revenge seem to move on to a more productive, happy life much easier than those who seek revenge through the death penalty.
Now we're getting somewhere. I know most people don't care much about the criminal, since "he made his choice," but now we're talking about the benefit of the victims. There's still some trouble with this argument, though, since many people don't put much stock in intangible ideas like forgiving and "moving on." But I think common sense supports the far and wide benefit of a joyful life over a resentful one.
4. An eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind
A point was raised by a panelist about the original "eye-for-an-eye" laws found in the early chapters of the Bible. He said that this principal isn't in line with our gut instincts. That our gut instincts would say "he took my eye, so I'll take both of his eyes, steal his wife, and burn his house down." So to tell an early culture that you should just take what they took from you was revolutionary! It demonstrated control and consideration, rather than raw vengeance. Today, we even consider "eye-for-an-eye" to be barbaric because of how we've learned the principal of control and consideration in our culture.
This blows me away, partly because I learned something new about one of the oldest 'rules' in the world. But mostly, it starts to put a voice to what I believe. We may think we've moved miles past the olden days of "eye-for-an-eye," but the death penalty shows that our animalistic tendencies still push us toward flagrant revenge. Once we recognize this, we can see the death penalty for what it is: murder by the state. Whether just or unjust, it is, most basically, revenge for what they did to us.
5. We are all human, and we are all broken
This sums up the entire issue for me. It also cuts to the heart of racism, homophobia, nationalism, and many other major issues in our world. When we see people as people, it becomes much harder to mistreat them.
But that's just it. We don't see all people as people. Black people have been identified as sub-human, undeserving of the rights white people claim. Foreigners have been dubbed barbarians, their lifestyle fit to be destroyed. Gay people have been called mentally unbalanced, making it ok to treat their identity like a disease that should be eradicated through drugs. And people who have made mistakes different from our own have been called criminals, allowing us to treat them as scum rather than trying to help them work through their wounds that took them so far off track in the first place.
I'll leave your conclusions to you, but my decision is to oppose the death penalty. I would be interested to hear any opposing arguments if you would like to share them.
Always moving forward,
Tyler
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