The Goodbye Letter.

          We met one another my freshman year of college.  In the naiveté of youth, I thought that you were everything I had been looking for.  You made me feel like no one had before; more mature, a little dangerous, independent, yet still warm and comforted.  I was vulnerable and innocent, and you knew that, you saw that in me somehow and purposefully led me astray, making me believe all the lies you told me night after night.

          Every time I caught a glimpse of your true self, I would pull away, crushed by my own insecurities.  When I would finally move beyond your pull, you would return like a lover in the night, as though somehow, this one time, things would be different.  You would make me fall all over again, head over heels, for that sweet thing I first met under a July moon, with the small of summer heavy on the night air. 

          It makes me sad even now, how much love I have wasted on you and the memories we once shared, or more accurately I guess, the lack of memories.  I could say I wished I’d never met you, but it would taste like a lie.  The truth is, I’m glad we had our time together.  I think sometimes we need to go through hell, in order to appreciate heaven.  You taught me about pain, hurt, loneliness, and betrayal.  Because of those hard lessons, I now truly understand what it means to hope, to have faith, and to love.

          Please make no mistake, my gratitude ends abruptly there.  You are a temptress and a Jessabelle, and I have no time, energy, or patience left to pursue you further.

          This goodbye is not an exercise in simply delaying the inevitable.  It is a declaration of a new found will to live.  You are not welcome in this life I am building for myself and for my family.  You are not welcome in my thoughts, or in what I hold to be my fondest of memories.  You are not welcome as a guest in my dreams.

          If my experience has taught me anything over our years together, it’s that you will not take this well.  You never did like to be told no.  Inevitably, at some point sooner or later, you will extend an olive branch,, in hopes of once again being friendly, if only casually or for old times’ sake.  I accept this as it is your nature, and you have always held some power over me, that even now I do not fully understand.  You must realize my dear that this is a battle you will not win.  I am no longer that insecure boy who ran too you time and again, in hopes of finding comfort in your deceptive warm embrace.  I have been without you long enough that I no longer taste your harsh kiss or your sweet perfume.  If for whatever reason I should begin to remember, know that I am no longer alone.  I have friends, family and fellowship, more than ready to put you and your whispers back in the ground where they belong, dead to us. 

          And so, I leave you with words from that first dance years ago, “while the last goodbye is the hardest one to say, this IS where the cowboy rides away.”

      

Goodbye,

                   -J

Enjoy the Ride...

I don’t really expect anyone to read this post, but I feel like it is one that I needed to write, if only for myself.  Sometimes I need a reminder to live like I ain’t afraid to die.  To not be scared.  And most of all, to just enjoy this ride...

 

Maybe the greatest summer of my life, I was 17 years old.  Back then I had three good friends, Greg, Daniel, and Phil.  The four of us were inseparable, and had more fun those three months than anybody rightly should be able too.  It’s been nearly 20 years, and although the four of us all now live in different states across the country, they are still my only three friends, and I can’t tell you how much I miss them.  

There is a soundtrack to that summer that often plays through my mind; Garth is in there, and George Strait of course, but more than anything, Chris Ledoux plays on a loop through my memories.  For those who are not familiar, Chris was a Cowboy.  I don’t mean the one of the cowboys we have now that wear designer jeans and singing club songs with too much bass.  I mean he was a real cowboy.  In 1976 Chris was a World Champion Bareback Rider.  He got his music start selling tapes out the back of a car, songs he had written about his life on the rodeo circuit.  Although Chris has been gone now for a number of years, his music often feels new as I rediscover a lifetime worth of memories in those old songs.

Looking back, I attribute the fond memories of that summer to many thing; not least among these was the genuineness of it all.  We four were simply who we were and never tried to be anything else.  We worked our summer jobs hard.  We played our music through the night.  We had each other's backs.  And we chased our dreams without hesitation or confusion.  There was a simplicity to that summer that I miss now.

I am by no means complaining, but my life now is far more complicated than I could have imagined it being back then.  Aside from the continuing life lessons learned from being a husband and a father, by professional life is filled with decisions and responsibilities I cannot begin to describe.  Most people do not understand what it is I do for a living, and frankly, for that I am grateful.  Without going into detail, I will just say that my work carries a weight that can be difficult to bare.  

I was driving home from work last week, after a particularly hard day, when low and behold, old Chris came on the radio and sang me a song that in that moment I needed to hear.  The song starts with a young boy going to a county fair and riding a pony for the first time.  The old man with the ponies, gives the boy a rhyme when he sees that he is scared.  This rhyme is carried through life until the boy becomes an old man.  The song ends like this:

Well, I know someday, farther down the road, I'll come to the edge of the great unknown

There'll stand a black horse riderless, And I wonder if I'm ready for this?

So I'll saddle him up and he'll switch his tail, And I'll tip my hat and bid farewell

And lift my song into the air, That I learned at that dusty fair...

“Sit tall in the saddle, hold your head up high

Keep your eyes fixed where the trail meets the sky

And live like you ain't afraid to die

And don't be scared, just enjoy your ride.”

 

    It is difficult at times, most times if I’m being honest, to remember to enjoy this ride that I am on.  I look back on my 17 year old self, and find that I am jealous of the good times that seemed to come so effortlessly for him.  I find that I am jealous that he gets to spend his days and nights with his best friends, his only friends, when it is has been a couple of years since I have seen mine.

Greg lives out in L.A. and I see him occasionally, but it's usually on television, on some random show that he had been cast in.  Phil lives in Nashville, and if you haven’t been fortunate enough to hear his music, I guarantee you will.   Do yourself a favor and give this a listen, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6NPBVnHB_LE.  And then there is Daniel.  He works a ranch back home in Prescott, and is the only other in our group who has had the good sense to find a woman who can keep him in line, and has settled down.

I am going to go home tonight, kiss my wife, hug my son, give my friends a call, and maybe go for a ride.  Thank you Chris for the reminder.  

A Man of Conviction

Over the last few months/years, there has been an ever growing controversy surrounding law enforcement.  There are populations across the United States that believe they are continually persecuted by law enforcement, which has been responded to by protests, and have led to further division and violence.  All anyone has to do to witness evidence of this division and resulting violence first hand, is to turn on the TV.  What must the rest of the world think when they look to the United States?  I don’t want to write about this violence and contribute to the ongoing division of beliefs that are plaguing our people.  Instead, I would like to tell you about a law enforcement officer, that I respect, who hopefully a lesson or two can be learned from.  For the sake of anonymity, for the time being, I will leave out names and locations.

This man is one of conviction, with a steadfast belief in the law, that I believe in his mind exists without question.  I won’t say that he is a good officer, as that is a whole other conversation, but he is without doubt good at his job.  He is given a task, and he does it efficiently, and without question, as would a dedicated soldier.  What's more, he likes his work.

Within his jurisdiction, there is a great deal of unrest.  Tensions are always running well above what most would consider to be safe for law officers and the citizens served alike.  Conflict occurs nearly every day.  As a result, this man has become hardened over time.  He exists in a world of black and white, right and wrong, and those that break the code of conduct set forth are persecuted to the full extent of the law.  

Admittedly, there is a level of violence associated with his work, and given his experience and training, violence now comes easy.  Anyone who has studied or been around combat, knows that on some level you end up almost liking violence as you become more experienced in using it.  There is a sense of power that is addictive.  This officer likes violence and he is good at it.  Anybody who stands up to him quickly regrets it, as he is able to put them down quickly and without much fuss.  The law is his religion, and he is an avid devote.  He is so good at his work and inflicting violence against law breakers, he has been chosen for a special unit that hunts down specific populations; individuals and groups alike.

There are those that would call what he does unethical at times.  The persons he is charged with pursuing, do after all belong to specific groups.  He doesn’t seem to mind though, or frankly even care, as he knows what he is doing is for the benefit of his home and State, as these individuals refuse to assimilate and do in fact break the law on a regular basis.  Regardless of their ethnicity, they are criminals and the law is very specific on the natural consequences of breaking it.  He believes in the law, and so he believes in the threat these individuals pose to it, to his very way of life, and he has no qualms about targeting the responsible parties to make sure the threat is taken care of.

This officer's story presents a contradiction of values, or at a minimum a moral quagmire which I would like to discuss.  Many who are not police officers will read about this individual and will begin to, or have begun to, form opinions about this person's intentions. For some, this man represents a very serious problem facing this County, in which law enforcement is perceived as being aggressive to specific groups of people simply because of the color of their skin.  Others will recognize that in some very specific areas, a majority of crime is caused by specific groups, and so statistically it is nearly impossible for their not to be racial differences in arrests.  

There are very likely individuals who are reading this, that have either stopped by this point, or have continued simply because this man’s story has made them so angry, that they want to finish so they know exactly how to respond when they later comment.  Either way, I would like to take a moment to thank those still reading.

Social Disorganization Theory of Criminology, suggests that the “where” is more important than the “who”.  For example, youths from disadvantaged neighborhoods might participate in a subculture which approves of delinquency, and so these young individuals will acquire traits consistent with becoming criminal, and will exist successfully within those social and cultural settings.

Because neighborhoods are traditionally made up of ethnic groups, these areas have a disproportionate number of criminals who fall into that category.  This does not make a cop racist.  It only means that the officer is doing his or her job.  This is evident in the fact that this phenomenon is by no means specific to a single ethnic population;  Western Baltimore, South-Central Los Angeles, South Boston, Western Phoenix, South Manhattan, and countless other neighborhoods all have various concentrations of ethnicities, and all have above average violent crime rates.  A cop in any of these neighborhoods could be looked upon as being racist, simply because of where he or she is assigned to patrol, regardless if they are actually racist or not.

All that being said, there are absolutely cops out there who are dangerous, racist, drunk with power, and should without hesitation be relieved of duty.  The same can be said for teachers, counselors, doctors, accountants, or any other profession.  This is because people are inherently flawed, and as Social Disorganization Theory shows, where and how a person grows up and is taught, easily leads to socially accepted behavior, within specific contexts, that for many of us is completely unethical, and frankly scary.  The man from the beginning of this piece of writing, is one of those scary individuals.

By the end of his career in law enforcement, this officer was more enforcer than he was law.  As described, he was good at his job and did it with a cold efficiency that was scarily fierce.  He crossed the line from being a man driven by the ideals of justice and service, to a man driven by a lust for violence and persecution.  

So who was he?

You might be surprised to learn that you very likely know who this person is, if not by name, then certainly by his Acts.  His given name is Sha'ul ha-Tarsi‎.  He was Turkish born and as a law enforcement officer, he persecuted and jailed a population of people because of their beliefs and his intense hatred of them.  A near terrorist  to some of his time, and certainly by modern standards.  

Most today simply remember him by the name he took on after he quite miraculously had a change of heart, and began advocating for those he had once been sent to harm, defending their faith as fiercely as he had before tried to destroy it.  The name you might recognize, is Paul, and he wrote at least seven, perhaps as many as fourteen, of the twenty-seven books of the New Testament.  

Paul’s letter to the Roman’s, is among my favorites.

Three Chords and You

For years I tried to write my song, to have the notes come out just right,

All the nights that I spent playing, the countless days I just couldn’t write,

 

After drinking away every last goodbye, or raising a glass to the first hello.

Spent so much time seeking answers, to questions I just didn’t know.

 

And then one day in winter's warmth, beneath the Texas sun I knew,

Why my song it never worked, I can’t write me without you.

 

G to D for just two bars, an E Minor to help see it through

That all I’d need to write our song, these three chords, and you.

 

Our  joyous song that's sometimes sad, and never quite the same,

Never changing yet always new, seldom repeated in each refrain

 

That song, it’s with me all the time, been stuck in my head all day,

Can’t help humming another chorus, and I can’t wait to play,

 

G to D for just two bars, then an E Minor to see it through

This simple tune is all I’ll need, just these three chords and you.

 

 

To Make a Violin...

          I was swapping stories this morning with a doctor friend, whom I have worked with off and on for the last year or so.  Quite randomly, he casually mentioned that he has been making violins.  As a former fiddle player and lover of all things music, I was suddenly fascinated to be speaking with someone who possessed the time, talent, and patience, to make something so very beautiful.  I enjoy woodworking myself, but I typically go forth without any real plan in place.  I just like to build stuff.  What he does however is truly art, and I was captivated by it.

         The good doctor explained to me that a good and proficient violin maker can produce a violin in roughly 250 hours.  Through every step of the process, the smallest of mistakes can ruin the project and all you are left with is a pretty piece of firewood.  I found myself wondering what it would be like to go through the extraordinary and procise tedium of making a violin, only to make a single small mistake near the end, and have it all be for not.  With a violin, actions are absolute.  There is no fixing them or hiding what you have done.  It’s either right or it’s not.  Period.

         I know a lot of people that think this way, and it always amazes me how they never see the ridiculousness of it all.  These people, I find, tend to exist on either the far left, or the far right of the spectrum, and refuse to entertain the idea that there might be a mutually beneficial middle ground.  I had a teacher once tell me that being an Independent, really just means that you can not hack it in either party, be it republican or democrat.  I remember being told as a child, for a spelling test as I recall, that the last three letters of Republican spell “can”, while the last three letters of democrat spell “rat”.  I think I was about ten years old at the time.  The indoctrination of personal beliefs is best achieved in one's youth after all.

        The fact of the matter is, when we fall victim to this “All or Nothing” brand of thinking, we all become casualties of a broken system.  The repeal of Obamacare is a wonderfully failed example of this.  On one side of the isle - let's call this side the left - representation praises the Affordable Healthcare Act as a necessary step in providing for the wellbeing of this nation's citizens.  On the other side of the isle - the right - representation equates the Affordable Healthcare Act to a socialist idea meant to bring about the fall of the free economy.  It’s a terrible realization that they are both right.

          With this example, we have representatives of both parties squaring off against the opposition, and the result is a majority of the American people being left in a state of purgatory, just waiting for a decision to be made, a decision that will never come.

Obamacare does not work as advertised.  The efforts to repeal and replace Obamacare will not work as advertised either.  The reason for this, is that both sides hold so tightly to the idea that they are absolutely correct, they can’t begin to recognize how wrong they are.  And unlike the process of building a violin, rather than recognizing that a mistake was made and starting over to make sure it is done correctly, the legislature just keeps on carving away at the problem.  

If an artist such as my friend the good doctor did this with a violin, the result would be a poorly constructed piece of garbage, with no hope of ever making beautiful music.  I guess that is where we are at with the Affordable Care Act.  At least a failed violin has the potential to keep a few people warm for a moment or two.

On Foreign Shores

I was in the army, away on some foreign shore.

Fighting in some great battle, in a hell that we call war.

 

I hoped you were back home, patiently awaiting my return,

Praying that I don’t join the others, that in death have found their turn.

 

I then got a letter, that you had sealed with a kiss,

Saying you wish you could be here, so you wouldn’t have to end it like this.

 

A strange feeling came over me, as I realized what this letter was about,

You were no longer going to give your love, instead you simply wanted out.

 

You said you had found someone else, who would never make you cry,

Because you’d never stay up late at night, and wonder when he’d die.

 

I felt that I could right then, die as you had professed.

And God must have read that letter too, for a stray bullet landed in my chest.

 

And as I fell to the ground, my heaven lost by what you had said,

I woke up from my nightmare, and I was laying in my bed.

 

I then got an even stranger feeling, as discovered irony’s devilish charms,

For not even in my dreams, could I hold you in my arms.

 

Blessings of Liberty

Recently, I have heard many people spouting off opinions about standing or kneeling during our National Anthem, and it caused me to wonder, how often have you looked at or actually read through the Constitution of the United States? (Other than when you were forced to memorize the Preamble in the 8th grade).  It really is a brilliant piece of writing, and despite our best efforts to the contrary, remains absolute in its simplicity to outline what it means to be a citizen of the United States.  For those who have long forgotten or intentionally blocked out the civics classes of their youth, here is a quick reminder.

Following the Preamble (see below), the Constitution is broken down into 7 Articles.  The first three outline the three branches of government; Article 4 lays out States’ relations to one another; and the last three deal mostly with procedure.  Following the articles are the Amendments, which articulately discuss the rights of the people.  The End.

There is a single word that appears 18 times through the whole of the Constitution, and notably not once in any of the Amendments.  That word is Should.  It is a word of suggestion, and in no way conveys the absolute resolution of individual rights that our founding fathers intended.  It is also the word I hear the most when people talk about other people’s actions, projecting one's own values and experience onto strangers, telling them what they should or shouldn’t do as an American.

The First Amendment states that “Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.”  That is the whole of the First Amendment, and it is not overly complicated.  

While the Constitution is simple in its language, it is by no means easy.  Everything I value and hold dear screams at me to stand in respect to our flag.  Hell, I stand during the Anthem when I am alone because I believe we all should.  Do I wish people would stand for the National Anthem? Absolutely.  I am proud to live in a county that allows me freedom, that by the grace of God I was born into.  And that is what makes our advanced citizenship hard: As an individual, I have a deep belief in an ideal, that I think others should also value.  

Aaron Sorkin, who wrote such films as A Few Good Men, Charlie Wilson’s War, and the West Wing, wrote in The American President, “America isn't easy. America is advanced citizenship. You've gotta want it bad, 'cause it's gonna put up a fight. It's gonna say, "You want free speech? Let's see you acknowledge a man whose words make your blood boil, who's standing center stage and advocating at the top of his lungs that which you would spend a lifetime opposing at the top of yours." You want to claim this land as the land of the free? Then the symbol of your country cannot just be a flag. The symbol also has to be one of its citizens exercising his right to burn that flag in protest. Now show me that, defend that, celebrate that in your classrooms.  Then you can stand up and sing about the land of the free.”

That speech has stuck with me for a number of years now.  I don’t know if it is because I found the words to be so direct, or because they continually make me question so much of what I see daily all across this County?  The rights set forth in the Constitution pertain to the individual, and for the most part, individuals are rational and are able to understand the concept of free speech.  However, when a group gets together, a peaceful assembly has a tendency to act with its own intentions, void of the individual, and becomes something else entirely.  The message is lost, and the result is chaos and division.  

Our founding fathers clearly state what the intentions were in writing the Constitution of the United States:  “We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defence, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America.”

Did you notice which words they intentionally chose to capitalize? Union, Justice, Tranquility, Welfare, Blessings of Liberty, and Posterity.  Now tell me, when we as citizens choose division, are we United?  When we take to violence, can that really be called justice?  When rioters flood the streets, are we Tranquil?  Who among us is truly advocating for the welfare of others?  Where are our blessings of liberty?  Where is our posterity?

I do not pretend to have the answers to these hard asked question, and I apologize if you the reader feels like I am saying that you should be doing something.  It just seems to me that simple written words that have stood for nearly two and and a half centuries, have become complicated by those fancying themselves experts in constitutional law.  Having a keyboard does not give you a voice, and anonymity does not make you an expert.  Before spouting off some regurgitated rhetoric from something you read on Facebook, please just take a moment to consider what it is you are actually doing and what your intentions are.  Are your words meant to unite people, to inspire justice and challenge active thought responsibly?  Or are you just angry and looking for someone to blame?

Prescott to Cheyenne

He’ll be heading out on the 4th, Prescott to Cheyenne

Eight hundred and sixty eight, miles of open land.

His trip won't be that fast however, as there ain't no easy ride
He’ll be holding tight with a leather fist, fighting through both pain and pride.

 

Praying he’ll make that next go round, no guarantees in this game

He’d give his life to get there, for just 8 seconds worth of fame.

He may never really know, the countless tears his mamma will cry

With the knowing deep in her heart, that her baby boy could die.

And each ride his dad will hold his breath, until he hears that buzzer sound,

Secretly a little jealous, of the freedom that his son has found.

Ghosts and memories go with him now, of all those who came before

Over a hundred years of cowboys - all riding for that perfect score.

Chris is sitting shotgun, singing through the summer rain,

And in the Frost of winter, he’ll keep warm with the memory of Lane

And back in ‘89, ‘neath that Cheyenne sun, every cowboy bore witness,

When Lane himself rode the 8, then died Taking Care of Business.

Yeah Beau laid his father there, making it hallowed ground,

Ol’ Chris performs in heaven now, singing for a sold out crowd.

Frontier days is in his blood, he grew up in a rodeo town

The world's oldest, there in Prescott, a legacy to which he’s bound

Now looking down that barrel and road, he’ll point to another town far away,

Cuz the world's biggest, it can wait, Cheyenne will be there for another day.

Countless highways he will travel, countless bars he’ll buy a drink.

Countless cold nights he’ll lay awake, countless times to tired to think.

Waking up in no name motels, in towns he’ll never really know

with buckle bunnies, who love buckle winners, and live for that next show.

So she’ll wave goodbye at first light, and hope to see him his next pass through,

Knowing all the while he’s going to leave, no matter what it is she’d do,

To keep him there, to keep him safe, to realize her own dreams come true,

His are north, up a winding road, beneath that big ol sky so blue.

Cheyenne pulls to Prescott's son, Eight hundred sixty eight miles in all

He’ll ride each one and many more, For every cowboy hears that call.

What are you willing to die for?

On July 14th, 1861, Maj. Sullivan Ballou wrote a letter addressed to his wife Sarah. Maj. Ballou was killed in battle a week later. A portion of this letter reads:
“I have no misgivings about, or lack of confidence in the cause in which I am engaged, and my courage does not halt or falter. I know how strongly American Civilization now leans on the triumph of the Government and how great a debt we owe to those who went before us through the blood and sufferings of the Revolution. And I am willing — perfectly willing — to lay down all my joys in this life, to help maintain this Government, and to pay that debt …”
I share this in order to better ask a question. What are you willing to die for? Reading the news, it seems people in general have developed an inaccurate and unhealthy perspective of history. In Charlottesville, people have now died over a statue. Let us ask ourselves a serious question, what is the importance of keeping monuments of the Confederacy? What is it that they are commemorating? A statue of General Lee, should be recognize as a lifeless peace of stone depicting a man who long ago surrendered his army in defeat. Monuments to the Confederacy and Union alike do not stand to inspire new generations to take up arms against one another. Monuments to the American Civil war stand to remind us of the 620,000 Americans who lost their lives in battle on American soil. To aid in perspective, consider that 644,000 American Soldiers have died in every other war fought by the United States, combined.
On November 19th, 1863, President Lincoln stood before a crowd in Gettysburg, PA, to dedicate a National Cemetery; where less than 6 month prior, 50,000 casualties occurred during a battle that lasted just 3 days. President Lincoln said, “we cannot dedicate -- we cannot consecrate -- we cannot hallow -- this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us -- that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion -- that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain.”
I do not believe that these men died in vain. I have however begun to question what they would think of our current state of affairs if they had the opportunity to witness what it is we have become. For that matter, what would my grandfather’s think about the events of the recent past? I have seen people drawing swastikas and hanging Nazi flags, proudly displaying the salute of Nazi Germany. These symbols are in no conceivable way displayed in remembrance of a time brave Americans fought and died for this County; men and women who gave their lives in the name of preservation and protection of the ideals that make the American experiment great. No, these symbols are those of cowards who spit at the very freedoms that protect their right to display those symbols of hate in the first place. We as a nation should be ashamed to call these people American.
I believe whole heartedly in the Constitution of the United States, and like so many others, have sworn an oath to protect it against all enemy’s, both foreign and domestic. Make no mistake, those that would stand in defense of hatred and division, are a direct threat to the Constitution of the United States. We must protect our heritage, remember where we came from, and protect our homes, cities, states, and country, against all those who would cause us harm.
Please understand that I am not advocating violence. I am advocating thought. Once again, I ask you to consider what it is you are willing to die for? Maybe then you might better understand what it is that you truly value. What we as a nation valued in the past, is what provided us independence; is what provided for the preservation of the Union; is what provided victory through world war. What do you value now? Whatever it is will dictate where we go from here.