Hey, Mr. Postman!!

I sent off a couple letters today. It was an amazing cool and sunny morning here; a perfect day for the 30 minute walk to the post office and back.  I don't have much reason to send letters these days-- most everyone is text or Twitter savvy and those "tools" fully preclude any need to wait for someone to look at their email. Although, if one really needs to expound on a topic, one could use email. I guess.

But, with that said, consider this: I sent off two letters today. The first to an 80 year old photographer friend in Denver-- a retired attorney who values his fountain pens and stationery more than his computer. The letter to him was short and sweet and written in responser to the arrival of his latest card and photograph. He says he has email but he doesn't correspond with real people that way.

The other letter I sent off was to my son at camp, and that was also short and sweet.  Email is available to parents to send along to be delivered to the lucky camper by their counselors. But I choose to write on paper, to include a relevant photo, sign it "Love, Dad," seal it in a thick paper envelope, put a stamp on it, and drop it in a mailbox. All that work for such a short message. But, in the case of this letter to camp, I hope it arrives like a present. Not simply a communication but a little packet that shows care, concern, and the hope that what was sent was worth cherishing.

Most of us don't send letters anymore. I realize that's a function of convenience to a large extent, but I also have to wonder if it doesn't somehow reflect on our values and the value we place on communication. A business update? A quick update for the family? Do it in an email.

And when I think of Twitter I think of a heartfelt need and hope to be seen as relevant. A commentator. It's not so much an opportunity to be truly thoughtful or intellectual, certainly not an opportunity to provide depth or substance-- even if our own Mr. President does succeed rather spectacularly in using Twitter to become truly memorable, if not despicable. Tweets are like a wadded up note, tossed at its recipient's head, bouncing off and landing on their desk-- "fish sticks and mac and cheese today!" #yummy.

With perhaps an exception to that last reference to our Commander in Chief, I have no beef with tweeting, texting, and email. It's where we live. But if you have something worth saying, something you want someone to hold in their hand, to be able to tuck in a drawer to be pulled out and held and read again the next day, the next month, year, or decade, maybe once in a while you should commit your thoughts to paper. At least while your kid's at camp.

What If...

When I was a kid my mom used to take every opportunity to hang our laundry outside on a clothesline. Out back, strung across our volleyball/basketball court would be our sheets, our towels, jeans, shirts, and underwear. She loved the smell of laundry hung out to dry even if that meant jeans as stiff as boards and towels as rough as burlap. My mom thought it was a waste of energy to use a dryer when weather permitted clothes to hang outdoors.

I'm thinking of this on a Sunday morning while I sit here drinking my coffee and listening to the dryer tumbling away in the adjacent laundry room. I think of this after sitting here and watching a post to Facebook of a Youtube video of a young girl addressing the United Nations at the Rio Earth Summit in 1992. Somehow I'd never seen this before and I was surprised after watching to learn this address was made in 1992, a quarter of a century ago. And it got me to thinking, what if?

What if every family in the world lived like me, like us, here in the United States? What if every family on earth lived in a house, a house with electricity, hot and cold running water, heated in the winter and cooled in the summer? What if every house on earth was a house like ours with at least one toilet, a house where boxes of tissues were gone through every week, rolls of toilet paper every few days, paper towels, plastic bags, sandwich bags. A house where every newborn is kept in disposal diapers for the first 12 months. What if every house on earth had a stove, a microwave, a refrigerator, a computer, and at least one television? What if every one of those houses around the world had a garage with at least one car, if not a couple? And what if at least half of those households could match an American's appetite for beef, pork, chicken, and fish? What if every one of those houses could use stuff and dispose of stuff, consume and waste, at the same rate as do we here in the U.S.? Without knowing for certain, I'd have to guess it would be damn near impossible to achieve and certainly unsustainable.

So, what if somehow we committed to just ensuring that no one in the world goes without adequate food and an adequate supply of clean water?  I know: too broad, too big, unrealistic.

So, what if somehow we committed to achieving that here in the United States? What if we decided we would work to ensure no man, woman or child within the United States goes without adequate food and water? Could we somehow make that happen? We don't even have to commit ourselves to providing shelter-- just food and water.  Could we do that? Could we do it just in Los Angeles or Detroit?  Denver or Billings or Tulsa or even little bitty Owosso, Michigan? Just food and water. No other commitment.

I think that successful living is as addictive and, quite possibly, as dangerous as our much touted opioid epidemic. Successful living is successful biology. And biology trumps sociology every time. As clever, caring, and sophisticated as we might like to think we are, we are still pretty much slaves to a genetic fabric that drives us to reproduce and thrive. And thriving is not sharing.

We may succeed at changing the world, feeding the hungry, providing water and shelter to those in need, but it will require that we learn to live with less in order that others may have more. It will require a true belief in the oneness of all humankind.  We have to recognize poverty as the most dangerous threat we face. And we must recognize the elimination of hunger and poverty as our most potent defense in ensuring world peace and a sustainable inhabitation of this planet.

A quick look around the globe today would indicate we have a long damn way to go. I applaud youth like Severn Cullis-Suzuki but I can pretty much guarantee: It's not gonna happen until it's the 50, 60, 70, and 80 year olds around the world standing together and embracing the challenge-- and we all have our laundry hanging on the clothesline.

Hopes and Dreams and.......thoughts on this Father's Day

I'm fortunate-- and I mean that in the most literal use of the phrase-- I'm fortunate to have two healthy children, one an adult, and one a child. Funny thing is, in this day and age, there's not much in the way of children anymore. They come into this world all bundled and tiny and delicate and, 10 years later they're "kiddults." Still kids but, with phone in hand, very much savvy in this hell hole of a world. And of course, needless to say, still in need of a steady source of parental income.

The photo above is of my son in his "office." Somehow I thought it a good idea to pick up a 1958  MGA a few weeks ago. While it sat in the garage waiting to be hauled over to a shop that actually knows how to work on such mechanical antiques, Evan found that the driver's seat suited him just fine. So he would sit there for a half hour or so and play Minecraft  on his phone.  Every chance he had he would retreat to, what he called, "his office" parked there in the garage.

As a parent I look at this photo, this image of a handsome boy of ten, sitting behind the wheel of a classic antique British sports car and all I can think is: Where is he headed? We all have these questions, any of us who are conscientious caring parents, concerned fathers. What lies on the road ahead? Will he drive or will he be simply a passenger? Will he race carelessly or will he enjoy the ride and respect the road?

As fathers, as parents, we don't get to make such decisions; we don't get to pick. Much like our children who also didn't get to pick. We decide to bring them to life, to bring them into this crazy world. And then, all we can do is love them, nourish them in every way, and plop them down in the driver's seat. And then-- hope to God we've filled the tank with gas. Hope they know to fasten their seatbelt. And, most importantly, hope they're pointed in the right direction. That's what we do; what we hope for, what we dream about as that tiny babe comes into this world.

Happy Father's Day.