We had a good time at my sister's for Thanksgiving. It was the first major holiday without Dad. It wasn't this deep melancholy thing; in fact, my brother, who is the executor of Dad's estate, brought some of the last of Dad's things to have us sort through, and take what we wanted. I took an old tie-tack of Dad's, that was a 'working' pair of square gears. It was very emblematic of Dad, and something an engineer like me can appreciate.
My sister is in the process of a divorce from her husband of 31 years (they were married the same summer as Jen and me). So, for her sake, it was probably good to have some company to fill her house for the holiday; and filling houses is something our family excels at. . .
Alas, the Lions lost, and the less said about that, the better, probably. . .
But my Spartans finished their second consecutive football season with double-digit wins, something that's never been done before in school history (although, to be perfectly fair, our best teams, back in the 50s and 60s, only played nine or ten games, so double-digit seasons were a little harder to come by. . .)
-------------------------
We got to spend some time with our grandchildren and their parents yesterday evening, and had a really warm, wonderful time together. Some really fine kids, being raised really well, there. . .
-------------------------
We've had a surplus of warm (albeit windy) Saturdays this November. So, the 30 miles I rode yesterday brought me to a total of 1388 for the year. If I can get in one ride in December (which I haven't done in fifteen years or so), I'll sneak past 1400 again. Wish me luck. . .
OK, then. . . on to the main event. . .
*************************
This next is a re-post of something I wrote back in 2006 (and re-posted again last year. Who knows? Maybe this will end up being a Tradition around here. . .)
At any rate, 'tis the season. . . And while I'm at it, I'll give a shout-out to my good friend Suldog, whose 'Thanksgiving Comes First' campaign against premature Christmas-y-ness partially inspired my dredging this up from the archives. . .
-------------------------
In our culture, the Friday after Thanksgiving marks the more-or-less 'official' beginning of the commercial season of 'Christmas', with the sales, the extended hours at the malls, special advertisements, etc., etc (although, honestly, the stores have been in 'Christmas mode' pretty much since they took down the Halloween stuff; maybe even before that). It's what much, if not most, of our culture thinks of when they think of 'Christmas', but less and less does it have any discernible connection with the actual content and meaning of Christmas.
One time I was visiting family in a large, midwestern city over Thanksgiving, and the following day, the local TV news had several reporters on site at various malls, doing interviews with shoppers. They asked one guy what the 'true meaning of Christmas' was, and he said, "We gotta get out here and spend money to keep the economy going strong." I am not making this up; he actually said that.
I sometimes wish that they would come up with a different name for the year-end consumerist feeding-frenzy. Just leave Christmas out of it. Or, maybe we should come up with another name for the celebration of Christ's Birth and Incarnation. Let 'em have 'Christmas' for the 'shopping season' - admit that we've lost it, and start over with a new name.
(*sigh*)
Anyway, today is the First Sunday of Advent - the beginning of the Christian season of spiritual preparation for Christmas. As I've gone along, I've come to really love Advent, imperfectly though I may observe it. In rough terms, Advent is to Christmas what Lent is to Easter, just with not quite the same 'penitential' emphasis. Rightly done, Advent is a time of contemplation, a time to step back from the normal frenzy of daily life, take a few deep breaths, and anticipate the coming joy of Christmas. Advent is pretty much the polar opposite of 'consumer Christmas'. Pausing for contemplation is not a thing Americans are terribly inclined to do (perhaps I should rather say it's a thing that we're inclined to do terribly).
In the larger American culture, the 'Christmas season' runs from the Friday after Thanksgiving until Christmas Day, but in traditional Christian circles, the Christmas season begins on Christmas Day and runs until Epiphany (January 6) - thus, the 'Twelve Days of Christmas'. So, when most of our neighbors are finished with Christmas, we're just getting started. It always perplexes me just a bit to see all the Christmas trees out on the curb on the 26th; when Jen was a kid, Catholics didn't even put their trees up until Christmas Eve. And, just as I'm getting pumped to sing 'Joy to the World' and 'O Come, All Ye Faithful', most of my neighbors are sick of hearing them.
Maybe I should blame it on the Magi - they started the whole giving-gifts-at-Christmas thing. I doubt they had any clue how far it would get out-of-hand, though.
When it comes right down to it, though, I suppose I've got to admit that my spiritual preparation for Christmas is my own responsibility. It's not up to American culture to get me spiritually prepared. It might be nice if the culture were more supportive (or even just less disruptive) of what I'm trying to accomplish, but it is what it is.
So, our family is setting out on Advent. If, over the next few weeks, I seem a little reticent and low-key about Christmas, you'll understand, won't you? And then, if I'm getting all Christmas-y just when you're getting tired of it all, you'd be very kind to indulge me. In the meantime, I'll be over here, singing 'O Come, O Come Emmanuel', in a minor key. . .
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Grief. . . And Gratitude
It's nearly three months since my dad died. And introspective fellow that I am, it hasn't hit me like the ton of bricks I thought it would. I was prepared for huge, crushing grief, an utter earthquake in my life. Dad was one of the very few constants in my life; mothers have come and gone for me (strange as that is to say, and I really don't mean it in the least bit pejoratively toward any of them). We've changed houses and cities; friends have come and gone, but since the day he adopted me (before my memories of anything earlier had kicked in in earnest), Dad was always there for me. So I was prepared for some pretty significant emotional churning (and recalling what I experienced when I met my birth-mother, that wasn't an unreasonable thought).
But it hasn't been that way at all. I miss him. Oh, without a doubt, I miss him terribly. Ever since Mom went to the nursing home, I'd had a pattern of calling Dad roughly weekly. The calls weren't always terribly stimulating; often as not, he'd just keep me up-to-date on his current medical status. Sometimes we'd talk about recent progress on the family genealogy (and in the last year before he died, he made a really significant breakthrough, tracking our surname-family back across the ocean, into 1600s Germany), or just what my packet of his grandkids (the 'production side' of the family tree) were up to. It wasn't terribly burdensome - I'd usually call him on my cell phone driving home from work (my daily commute covers many miles of lightly-traveled freeway, so it wasn't a big deal) - and it was always good just to hear his voice. I miss those calls.
On one level, I've been mentally preparing myself for his passing for the last 20 years; his brothers were 47 and 58 when they died, and my grandpa didn't see 70, either. So once Dad hit 70, I figured he could be leaving any time. So maybe that's helped; I don't know. . .
Mostly, I've just felt a sadness. Not a big, up-front, dominating-my-consciousness sadness, but just a background sadness that's just kinda. . . there. And doesn't go away (at least, it hasn't yet). I'm not depressed; I still enjoy my life. I take joy from my marriage, and my kids (all of them), and my network of good friends. I'm enjoying the challenges of my job. I just miss my dad, that's all.
They tell me that, in time, it will mostly go away. That the sense of sadness and loss will soften and heal. And I believe them. But just at the moment, I miss him. Ever since I moved out of my parents' house, I've often, when I found myself wrestling with some conundrum of life, asked myself what Dad would do about it. I rarely ever called and asked him directly, but it was always comforting to know that I could. And now I can't anymore. But I can still draw on the internal resources that his own strong character provided for me; only now, I have to pull it from my memory of him. And I suppose that that's comforting in its own way. . .
-------------------------
Thanksgiving is coming soon, and this Thanksgiving promises to be as significant as any we've had in quite a few years. Perhaps most obviously, this is the momentous First Holiday since Dad died; the first time our family will be gathering for the holidays without our parents. And who knows how that will be? But I am gratified that we are all inclined to keep our family connections alive (and given the Yours-Mine-and-Ours nature of our family, perhaps all the moreso).
So, it being Thanksgiving, I am grateful for my family. And I am especially grateful for 55 years of life with my Dad in it. I am grateful for his strong character, his sense of duty, and the strong example he gave me. I can't even begin to say how my life has been better for him having been my dad. . .
But it hasn't been that way at all. I miss him. Oh, without a doubt, I miss him terribly. Ever since Mom went to the nursing home, I'd had a pattern of calling Dad roughly weekly. The calls weren't always terribly stimulating; often as not, he'd just keep me up-to-date on his current medical status. Sometimes we'd talk about recent progress on the family genealogy (and in the last year before he died, he made a really significant breakthrough, tracking our surname-family back across the ocean, into 1600s Germany), or just what my packet of his grandkids (the 'production side' of the family tree) were up to. It wasn't terribly burdensome - I'd usually call him on my cell phone driving home from work (my daily commute covers many miles of lightly-traveled freeway, so it wasn't a big deal) - and it was always good just to hear his voice. I miss those calls.
On one level, I've been mentally preparing myself for his passing for the last 20 years; his brothers were 47 and 58 when they died, and my grandpa didn't see 70, either. So once Dad hit 70, I figured he could be leaving any time. So maybe that's helped; I don't know. . .
Mostly, I've just felt a sadness. Not a big, up-front, dominating-my-consciousness sadness, but just a background sadness that's just kinda. . . there. And doesn't go away (at least, it hasn't yet). I'm not depressed; I still enjoy my life. I take joy from my marriage, and my kids (all of them), and my network of good friends. I'm enjoying the challenges of my job. I just miss my dad, that's all.
They tell me that, in time, it will mostly go away. That the sense of sadness and loss will soften and heal. And I believe them. But just at the moment, I miss him. Ever since I moved out of my parents' house, I've often, when I found myself wrestling with some conundrum of life, asked myself what Dad would do about it. I rarely ever called and asked him directly, but it was always comforting to know that I could. And now I can't anymore. But I can still draw on the internal resources that his own strong character provided for me; only now, I have to pull it from my memory of him. And I suppose that that's comforting in its own way. . .
-------------------------
Thanksgiving is coming soon, and this Thanksgiving promises to be as significant as any we've had in quite a few years. Perhaps most obviously, this is the momentous First Holiday since Dad died; the first time our family will be gathering for the holidays without our parents. And who knows how that will be? But I am gratified that we are all inclined to keep our family connections alive (and given the Yours-Mine-and-Ours nature of our family, perhaps all the moreso).
So, it being Thanksgiving, I am grateful for my family. And I am especially grateful for 55 years of life with my Dad in it. I am grateful for his strong character, his sense of duty, and the strong example he gave me. I can't even begin to say how my life has been better for him having been my dad. . .
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Sick to My Stomach, Again. . .
I really don't want to say anything about the whole mess that's going on at Penn State right now, but on another level, I really don't want to let it pass without comment, either. It's just nauseating, sickening, and sad, depending on which angle you're viewing it from. And I have multiple perspectives that probably don't add up to a single coherent set of thoughts, but as I've listened to the sports-talk shows (I have a long commute), there's been a distinct shortage of rational commentary, and even what passes for reasonable, isn't always. (*sigh*) Fools rush in; Lord, have mercy. . .
For those of you who may not have read the sports pages (or heck, the front pages) over the past week, the situation started coming to light with the arrest over the weekend of Jerry Sandusky, who, back in the 70s-90s, had been the defensive co-ordinator of Penn State's football team, on charges of sexually molestating young boys. Which was a fairly big deal, and not quite your garden-variety sexual-abuse story. Penn State is a pretty prominent football program, and their head coach, Joe Paterno, is one of the most beloved figures in all of college athletics; Jerry Sandusky was Paterno's right-hand man for decades, and widely expected to be his successor when (if) he ever retired. Until he (Sandusky) suddenly and unexpectedly retired himself in 1999 - he had started a foundation to help 'at-risk' kids, and he wanted to devote more of his time and energy to the foundation.
So far, so good, right? Except that it turns out that, from at least 1994, until at least 2009, Mr. Sandusky sexually abused at least 9, and possibly 20 or more, boys who he'd met through his foundation. In 2002, he was seen 'in the act' by a graduate assistant, who, after much anguished soul-searching, told Coach Paterno the next day what he'd seen (though perhaps not in very specific detail). Paterno told his 'boss', the university's Athletic Director, about it, and the AD told his boss. And the upshot of it was. . . basically nothing. Sandusky was told not to bring boys onto university property anymore. No-one called the police; no-one even bothered to find out the name of the victim. And Sandusky got to abuse kids for seven more years. Unbelievable. . .
Now that the situation has come to light, it winds up being utterly devastating - an all-consuming fire that ends up with one of the great coaches of all time, who is, by all accounts, and in all sorts of ways, a good man, and a decent human being, being summarily fired from his job of 46 years, the Athletic Director and at least one other high-ranking university poo-bah fired, and the president of the university resigning under a cloud. And it's all so sad. Except when it's sickening.
Of course, it all starts with Jerry Sandusky, who was obviously something very, very different than he appeared to be. But the responses of those who might have done something about it were unbelievably, unfathomably lame.
-------------------------
And the thing is, I understand it. I understand, which is not to say that I excuse it, or that the behavior in question is remotely defensible. It's not. But I understand. Sinful human being that I am, I understand.
I played football, and my sons have played football. Football coaches are a pretty unique breed of human being. The most successful ones (I stop short of saying 'the best ones') are usually pretty monomaniacally focused - all they do is football, all they know is football, all they care about is football (one famous coach, when he finally got the coaching job of his dreams, told his wife, "just go ahead and file for divorce, 'cuz this is the last you're ever gonna see of me." What a prince, eh?). Football coaches are not, as a general rule, great intellects (except where football is concerned), or moral philosophers. They're football coaches, and that's what they do. And so, I can understand Joe Paterno taking the report from the grad-assistant and passing it on to his boss, and going back to the business of coaching football. And hoping that it goes away, so it doesn't distract anyone from football stuff. And never having it bubble to the top of his consciousness that, Holy Shit, a kid was molested by one of my coaches, right here in the football building showers.
The young graduate assistant, who in the meantime has become an assistant coach, has come in for a ton of criticism, and justly so. Most of it has been on the order of, "You accidentally come upon a 60-year-old football coach raping a 10-year-old boy in the showers, so. . . you go home and ask your dad what you should do? How the hell do you walk away, and leave the kid to keep getting raped?? And yet, on another level, I can understand. Let me explain. . .
Years ago, in our Christian community, we had a very strong, very charismatic leader. The kind of guy who walks into a room, and everybody turns to notice. The kind of guy that other guys - even really strong guys in their own right - wanted to follow. The kind of guy whose approval other men (and, let's be candid - women) craved. In the fullness of time, his feet of clay became all too evident, but by that time, we were all trained to think that he was 'special', and the normal ways of doing things didn't quite apply to him. The evidence was right in front of our faces, but we didn't see it; we didn't want to see it. And I can easily imagine that Jerry Sandusky had carved out a similar niche for himself at Penn State. I mean, he was the guy who coached the linebackers at 'Linebacker U'. I can easily imagine a grad-assistant having some serious soul-searching with himself, just because of the cognitive dissonance between what he'd seen, and what he'd always known of Jerry Sandusky. . . And then wondering who the hell would believe his word against Jerry Sandusky's, anyway. . .
Another story from my own life. When our older kids were single-digits young, Jen and I became friends with another couple, who lived down the street from us, and had kids the same age as ours. They even joined our community, and we spent quite a bit of time together, for a while. Then, after we'd known them for a year or two, suddenly the husband was arrested and charged with child molestation - his daughter had a little friend over, and he 'helpfully' offered to give the girls a bath (no, the 'little friend' was not our daughter; as far as we were ever able to discern, our girls were never his victims). And the thing is, I was absolutely certain that the charges were ridiculous. I knew this guy. He was a family man's family man, devoted to his wife and kids. And yet. . . Big life lesson there for my young self.
There's a part of me that wonders about Mrs. Sandusky - certainly, it's not unprecedented for a husband to be engaged in behavior of which his life-partner is clueless, but I wonder what, if any, clues she might have had. . .
-------------------------
When I scrape all these thoughts into a pile, I don't know what conclusion, exactly, they lead me to. I hasten to reiterate that, by saying 'I understand', I am in no way excusing anyone's behavior, or making light of the heinous-ness of the crime. In part, I am invoking The Log and The Speck - I am not certain that, in the same circumstances, I would do significantly better. Part of what I find grating in much of the public commentary is the sanctimoniousness, the affected moral superiority of so many of the commentators, as if THEY could never do anything so DISGUSTING as that (and good for them, if they couldn't, eh?). I just hope that I know myself, and my own potential for sinful bahavior, a little bit better than that.
On another level, everything coming out of Penn State in recent days is just more data to confirm what GK Chesterton once said, to the effect that, of all the teachings of Christianity, none was more empirically obvious than the fallen-ness of human nature. Feet of clay all over the place in State College, PA these days. And therein lies the bulk of the sadness. It wouldn't have taken very many people to be very 'heroic' at all, to make a much better (though still sickening and sad) situation of this, but nobody, not even the formerly-sainted JoePa, found it within themselves to do so. The guy who is at the center of it all, who was once a Respected Leader and Former of Young Men, is now a poster-boy for 'We Had No Idea'. . . And somewhere out there are 20 or so young men and boys who got dragged through experiences that no-one, much less children, should ever have to endure, at the hands of a trusted mentor (I will admit that there is a part of me that isn't beyond observing ruefully that Catholic priests don't have the pedophilia market cornered; but there is absolutely no joy to be taken from that observation. . .)
Things are only just getting underway in earnest, and by the time you read this, even more facts may have come to light. It is entirely likely that things will get worse before they get better.
Lord, Have Mercy. . .
*************************
(add November 13)
In reading through the indictment, it appears that there was an incident in 1998 which seems to have led to Sandusky being told by Joe Paterno that he would never become the head coach at Penn State, which in turn seems to have precipitated Sandusky's out-of-the-blue retirement after the '99 season. In that case, the police were involved, but the District Attorney decided not to bring charges against Sandusky. It is never stated why the DA decided that, and the DA seems to have dropped off the face of the earth, but if anything, that situation seems even more egregious than what happened in 2002, and reeks of the DA 'protecting' a prominent person. Although, again, the DA isn't around to give his story. . .
So, if Joe Paterno knew enough to tell Jerry Sandusky he wouldn't be getting head coaching job in 1999. . .
Man, much as I might wish otherwise, this just keeps getting worse and worse. . .
*************************
(November 14)
And here is an op-ed (from the NY Times, of all places) that makes a similar point to the one I started out making. . .
For those of you who may not have read the sports pages (or heck, the front pages) over the past week, the situation started coming to light with the arrest over the weekend of Jerry Sandusky, who, back in the 70s-90s, had been the defensive co-ordinator of Penn State's football team, on charges of sexually molestating young boys. Which was a fairly big deal, and not quite your garden-variety sexual-abuse story. Penn State is a pretty prominent football program, and their head coach, Joe Paterno, is one of the most beloved figures in all of college athletics; Jerry Sandusky was Paterno's right-hand man for decades, and widely expected to be his successor when (if) he ever retired. Until he (Sandusky) suddenly and unexpectedly retired himself in 1999 - he had started a foundation to help 'at-risk' kids, and he wanted to devote more of his time and energy to the foundation.
So far, so good, right? Except that it turns out that, from at least 1994, until at least 2009, Mr. Sandusky sexually abused at least 9, and possibly 20 or more, boys who he'd met through his foundation. In 2002, he was seen 'in the act' by a graduate assistant, who, after much anguished soul-searching, told Coach Paterno the next day what he'd seen (though perhaps not in very specific detail). Paterno told his 'boss', the university's Athletic Director, about it, and the AD told his boss. And the upshot of it was. . . basically nothing. Sandusky was told not to bring boys onto university property anymore. No-one called the police; no-one even bothered to find out the name of the victim. And Sandusky got to abuse kids for seven more years. Unbelievable. . .
Now that the situation has come to light, it winds up being utterly devastating - an all-consuming fire that ends up with one of the great coaches of all time, who is, by all accounts, and in all sorts of ways, a good man, and a decent human being, being summarily fired from his job of 46 years, the Athletic Director and at least one other high-ranking university poo-bah fired, and the president of the university resigning under a cloud. And it's all so sad. Except when it's sickening.
Of course, it all starts with Jerry Sandusky, who was obviously something very, very different than he appeared to be. But the responses of those who might have done something about it were unbelievably, unfathomably lame.
-------------------------
And the thing is, I understand it. I understand, which is not to say that I excuse it, or that the behavior in question is remotely defensible. It's not. But I understand. Sinful human being that I am, I understand.
I played football, and my sons have played football. Football coaches are a pretty unique breed of human being. The most successful ones (I stop short of saying 'the best ones') are usually pretty monomaniacally focused - all they do is football, all they know is football, all they care about is football (one famous coach, when he finally got the coaching job of his dreams, told his wife, "just go ahead and file for divorce, 'cuz this is the last you're ever gonna see of me." What a prince, eh?). Football coaches are not, as a general rule, great intellects (except where football is concerned), or moral philosophers. They're football coaches, and that's what they do. And so, I can understand Joe Paterno taking the report from the grad-assistant and passing it on to his boss, and going back to the business of coaching football. And hoping that it goes away, so it doesn't distract anyone from football stuff. And never having it bubble to the top of his consciousness that, Holy Shit, a kid was molested by one of my coaches, right here in the football building showers.
The young graduate assistant, who in the meantime has become an assistant coach, has come in for a ton of criticism, and justly so. Most of it has been on the order of, "You accidentally come upon a 60-year-old football coach raping a 10-year-old boy in the showers, so. . . you go home and ask your dad what you should do? How the hell do you walk away, and leave the kid to keep getting raped?? And yet, on another level, I can understand. Let me explain. . .
Years ago, in our Christian community, we had a very strong, very charismatic leader. The kind of guy who walks into a room, and everybody turns to notice. The kind of guy that other guys - even really strong guys in their own right - wanted to follow. The kind of guy whose approval other men (and, let's be candid - women) craved. In the fullness of time, his feet of clay became all too evident, but by that time, we were all trained to think that he was 'special', and the normal ways of doing things didn't quite apply to him. The evidence was right in front of our faces, but we didn't see it; we didn't want to see it. And I can easily imagine that Jerry Sandusky had carved out a similar niche for himself at Penn State. I mean, he was the guy who coached the linebackers at 'Linebacker U'. I can easily imagine a grad-assistant having some serious soul-searching with himself, just because of the cognitive dissonance between what he'd seen, and what he'd always known of Jerry Sandusky. . . And then wondering who the hell would believe his word against Jerry Sandusky's, anyway. . .
Another story from my own life. When our older kids were single-digits young, Jen and I became friends with another couple, who lived down the street from us, and had kids the same age as ours. They even joined our community, and we spent quite a bit of time together, for a while. Then, after we'd known them for a year or two, suddenly the husband was arrested and charged with child molestation - his daughter had a little friend over, and he 'helpfully' offered to give the girls a bath (no, the 'little friend' was not our daughter; as far as we were ever able to discern, our girls were never his victims). And the thing is, I was absolutely certain that the charges were ridiculous. I knew this guy. He was a family man's family man, devoted to his wife and kids. And yet. . . Big life lesson there for my young self.
There's a part of me that wonders about Mrs. Sandusky - certainly, it's not unprecedented for a husband to be engaged in behavior of which his life-partner is clueless, but I wonder what, if any, clues she might have had. . .
-------------------------
When I scrape all these thoughts into a pile, I don't know what conclusion, exactly, they lead me to. I hasten to reiterate that, by saying 'I understand', I am in no way excusing anyone's behavior, or making light of the heinous-ness of the crime. In part, I am invoking The Log and The Speck - I am not certain that, in the same circumstances, I would do significantly better. Part of what I find grating in much of the public commentary is the sanctimoniousness, the affected moral superiority of so many of the commentators, as if THEY could never do anything so DISGUSTING as that (and good for them, if they couldn't, eh?). I just hope that I know myself, and my own potential for sinful bahavior, a little bit better than that.
On another level, everything coming out of Penn State in recent days is just more data to confirm what GK Chesterton once said, to the effect that, of all the teachings of Christianity, none was more empirically obvious than the fallen-ness of human nature. Feet of clay all over the place in State College, PA these days. And therein lies the bulk of the sadness. It wouldn't have taken very many people to be very 'heroic' at all, to make a much better (though still sickening and sad) situation of this, but nobody, not even the formerly-sainted JoePa, found it within themselves to do so. The guy who is at the center of it all, who was once a Respected Leader and Former of Young Men, is now a poster-boy for 'We Had No Idea'. . . And somewhere out there are 20 or so young men and boys who got dragged through experiences that no-one, much less children, should ever have to endure, at the hands of a trusted mentor (I will admit that there is a part of me that isn't beyond observing ruefully that Catholic priests don't have the pedophilia market cornered; but there is absolutely no joy to be taken from that observation. . .)
Things are only just getting underway in earnest, and by the time you read this, even more facts may have come to light. It is entirely likely that things will get worse before they get better.
Lord, Have Mercy. . .
*************************
(add November 13)
In reading through the indictment, it appears that there was an incident in 1998 which seems to have led to Sandusky being told by Joe Paterno that he would never become the head coach at Penn State, which in turn seems to have precipitated Sandusky's out-of-the-blue retirement after the '99 season. In that case, the police were involved, but the District Attorney decided not to bring charges against Sandusky. It is never stated why the DA decided that, and the DA seems to have dropped off the face of the earth, but if anything, that situation seems even more egregious than what happened in 2002, and reeks of the DA 'protecting' a prominent person. Although, again, the DA isn't around to give his story. . .
So, if Joe Paterno knew enough to tell Jerry Sandusky he wouldn't be getting head coaching job in 1999. . .
Man, much as I might wish otherwise, this just keeps getting worse and worse. . .
*************************
(November 14)
And here is an op-ed (from the NY Times, of all places) that makes a similar point to the one I started out making. . .
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Life Is Like That, Sometimes. . .
Recently, I was cleaning out my desk, and I came across a file of some of my favorite old cartoons. Now, I don't have any plans to turn this humble blog into a Xavier-style clearing-house of visual humor, but perhaps some of you will appreciate a few of my favorites (quite aside from the insight they might provide into the bizarre twists and turns of my psyche) (and of course, my ego must be simply titanic for me to think that any of you might even want such insight. . .)
Anyway, in honor of All Saints' Day - this one hit me where I was living, a few years back. . .
Anyway, in honor of All Saints' Day - this one hit me where I was living, a few years back. . .
*************************
I rode another 33 miles this past weekend, which gives me a total of 1238 miles for the riding season, through October (which is down a bit from my usual mileage, because of my dad's death, and a couple bouts of unplanned illness) (but hey - who plans their illness?). In past years, I've had three or four good riding weekends in November (recent years haven't afforded me any rides in December, but if the weather is agreeable enough, I'll go out any time), although my miles will start to decrease with the temperatures (once it gets below 40F or so, it becomes an issue of keeping my toes warm, and that limits my rides to around 20 miles; below 32F, I stay indoors). So, I've got maybe another 100 miles or so before the season ends. . .
-------------------------
Also this past weekend, Jen engaged in her annual ritual of Providence and Resourcefulness, aka The Canning of the Applesauce. I don't know how many bushels of apples she started with, but by the time she finished, we had 75 quarts of applesauce in the pantry.
Mmmmm. . . home-canned applesauce. . .
I love my wife. . .
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