Pavement Ends 500 Feet

Friday I worked with a 20 something surgical tech. Hers is the position that assists a doc in surgery by managing all the instruments and helping with retractors and such. It's a really important job and doing it well makes all the difference in the world when it comes to getting the case done safely and efficiently.

At some point during the day I asked her if she liked her job. Her answer caught me by surprise as she answered in the negative. In fact, she was emphatic: "I hate it." Her reasons were reasonable enough but surprised me nonetheless because she is quite capable in her work. I guess that just goes to show ya: Just because you hate your job doesn't mean you can't do it well.

The poor girl soon had me and several of the other staff telling her how one cannot afford to waste their life doing something they hate. While she couldn't disagree she could offer no idea of what she would like to be doing instead. In fact she couldn't even describe what she liked to do in her spare time. "Lots of things" she answered but then could only come up with one.

I am beginning to think her dilemma is widespread here in the US. Furthermore, I think it's becoming easy to understand from where I live. It seems to me that we are seeing an entire generation enter adulthood that has never had to think about how they would spend their lives. Here, in the manufacturing region of the US, many of this generation grew up in the model of the their parent's and grandparent's households: Go to school, get a job with the promise of middle class benefits, fall in love, get married, have kids, retire and watch the sun go down. Problem is, the jobs with middle class promise have shrunk or departed. Marriage doesn't seem like such a good idea with divorce statistics what they are. And no one really thought to prepare this generation for anything different. So there they are: Caution, pavement ends after crossing the stage to receive your high school diploma.

It seems we've spent the last 50 years thinking about just how good we have it. We've developed ever greater recreations and distractions but not much to stimulate younger generations to think about what comes after 18. At the same time we have been automating jobs and exporting jobs leaving many of these young workers with few solid options outside of low paying service work. And, for many of those who come from backgrounds where college is not an expectation, the sidewalk ends and the trail disappears. I'm left to wonder: Have we slipped into the great American intellectual depression at the same time we've disemployed the middle class?

World's Most Powerful People

I saw a the cover of Forbes Magazine this morning. It featured the face of Bill Gates under the headline : The World's Most Powerful People. The top five included the leaders of the US, Russia, China, Germany, and Bill Gates in that order. Subtitle: The 70 Who Matter.

At a glance it is pretty awe-inspiring to think of these people who sit in control of resources and policies that impact virtually every person on earth. Incredible power with fleets and armies of staff at their beck and call. In my lifetime I have come to know several of the most powerful people in the world. I guess I'm just lucky that way, you know, move in the right circles. Call me a name dropper but I just have to share just a few.

The first that comes to mind is Mrs. Mcllvaine, my 4th grade teacher at Warner Avenue School. More than anyone else she had the power to make me love going to school for the sake of learning. I don't think there was one child in that class who did not have the same experience. Without a doubt that powerful woman launched hundreds of academic careers. Her influence has enabled me to grow into a professional who helps improve the lives of others on an almost daily basis. Mrs. Mcllvaine was powerful.

Dr. Freeman is one of the most powerful people I've ever known. He was a GP. That's short for general practitioner, a breed of physician that no longer exists. He touched hundreds of lives in his medical practices on both the eastside and the westside of LA back in the day. His caring and compassion for patients provided me with an example that was extremely influential in directing me down the path to a medical career.

Likewise my Dad. He was a living breathing monument to care, concern, and tolerance. He taught me the value of love and respect. He taught me the value of doing for others. His example has helped me navigate my life and career which is a constant parade of people from every walk of life. The caring and tolerance he taught has proved to be an invaluable resource in understanding the many demands and concerns of others.

My brother Dan is one of the most powerful people in the world. He took care of me for many years, providing me with my earliest exposure to life's many pleasures: Bikes, trains, basketball, books, culture, and a sense of the joy to be had in childhood; a joy I continue to cherish to this day and one that serves me well when life's demands become too intrusive.

Finally, there is you. The absurdity of listing the 70 most powerful people in the world is that it directs our attention away from the most powerful person in the world: You. You have the power to create joy regardless of who might be the president of this country or any other. You have the power to inspire. You have the power to bring peace to the lives of others regardless of politics or circumstance. You have the power to advise, instruct, and help others. You have the power to transform someone's crappy day into a pleasure.

That magazine cover should have been a mirror: The good each of us does is the mortar that builds the present and future for all of us. And that is real power.

The Den

The den. Or the family room. I have had the good fortune of having grown up in homes with a den. Most of my homes have had dens. In my parents' home it was almost always "the family room." In my mind "the den" was an L.A. term. West side.

By whatever name you choose for that room it's place remains the same: The den is the room where we can play. The den is the room where it doesn't matter. The den is the room where we can talk about it. The den is the room where we can not talk about it just as well. The den is the room where you can scream at the TV. The den is the room where you can spread out your blocks, build your city, and drive your Matchbox cars from wall to wall--  as long as you pick it all up before All in the Family at 8. The den is the room that is always inbounds for family--  and out of bounds for strangers. And if a visitor found himself visiting in the den he could know he was family, was welcome to search the fridge, wouldn't need to ask the way to the bathroom.

The joy, the heartbreak, the laughter, the sorrow; the private face of the family takes its seat on a comfortable chair in the den. I don't know if a lot of houses these days are still built with a den as I haven't lived in new construction in over 30 years. But this old mid-century ranch has a den. A well used den that is filled with all the noisy baggage of this family and the friends who come to call. Come on over, have a seat, just keep and eye out not to step on a stray toy or two.

The Boxer

NPR recently covered women's boxing on their morning show. It's a subject where I sometimes think I'm in the minority but I really hate the sport. And let me add, lest someone thinks I'm discriminating, I hate the sport whether involving women or men. While we're at it you might as well throw in cage fighting and all manner of mixed marshall art fighting. And let me add, lest someone thinks I'm discriminating, I hate these types of combative sports regardless of species: I have equal disregard for dog and cock fighting.

I'm not sure if I object from a purely scientific/medical perspective or simply from a moral/social perspective. I guess there's something about a competition in which the objective is to inflict a substantial brain injury on your opponent that, well, just leaves me cold. But that is the objective, create a substantial enough concussion to make the entire system shut down. Maybe it's because I grew up in a household where my Father had a severe aversion to physical confrontation. Boxing, wrestling, and all forms of fighting were intolerable to him.  Then again, perhaps it's because I tend to be a social liberal and think encouraging combat in any form is demeaning. Or maybe it's just that I find it somewhat predatory that most of the participants are recruited from disadvantaged backgrounds.

I don't buy the argument that it channels people's violence into acceptable avenues of release. The argument fails on the fact that there is still a substantial injury inflicted on another. Such "channeling" of violence still leaves another person bloodied and unconscious. Instead, such contact sports promote and elevate violence from the evolutionary recesses of human development. These "sports" generate billions of dollars by appealing to the desire to watch two people hurt each other. Elevating that behavior to sport, and promoting that behavior as entertainment is pure exploitation. I would argue both the participant and the observer are the victims.

Arguing that violent sports allows escape from the behavioral boundaries society places on us also falls short in my book: What it is we're escaping from when participating in violent sport is our responsibility to view life as precious and our responsibility to promote and nurture a sense of respect and caring among people.  Just like in raising a child:  It's much easier to simply smack a kid for misbehavior then it is to stay engaged, teach, modify, and correct.  Poor naive me, I still think hitting another person demeans one's humanity-- regardless of whether it's done in the name of discipline or whether in the name of recreation. Regardless of what you get paid to do it or how many want to watch, beating someone up as entertainment is obscene human behavior.

Today's essay question: Why do we tolerate publicly televising the beating of another person to a bloody pulp while at the same time find it intolerable to televise sex?

The Fortunate Son

One of my colleagues and his wife had a baby yesterday. He called the office by late morning to report their little boy had arrived safe and sound and both mother and son were doing well. The office staff broke into applause.

Afterward I was left to think about how intensely personal that moment is, bringing a child into the world. Mother involved with a physical and emotional intensity half the population will never know. The father waiting and anxious, concerned with mother's well-being, baby's health, and realizing his world has forever changed.  It doesn't get more personal than that moment when those two become three.

Then again, it doesn't get more public than that moment either. Suddenly the world has another mouth to feed, another body to shelter and clothe. Suddenly there is another mind to educate, another soul in search of a useful life, another heart in search of love and companionship.

We parents bring these children into the world as "ours." The world, in turn, receives them as "theirs." It's hard enough for many parents today to acknowledge and accept their responsibility to raise a child to be well fed and cared for, let alone educated and responsible. Unfortunately even that's not enough. A parent must also have some perspective that they are bringing a citizen into the world, an individual who will have to assume some role in society. And there can be no mistaking: Every child will assume some role in society, for better or for worse.

Economics, gender, ethnicity, and education all play a part in shaping the child into a citizen. The secret ingredient, however, is love. Love that gives comfort. Love that gives self confidence. Love that demonstrates compassion. Love is the nutrient that enables the child to grow from the selfish dependent infant into the engaged citizen with the understanding they are responsible-- not just for themselves but as a thread in the quality and fabric of the society.

My friend is fortunate in having a healthy baby boy. He is fortunate in having a healthy wife and mother to that boy. We are all fortunate that baby boy is going home to parents that can provide well for him. We are all fortunate that baby boy is going home to a household filled with intelligence, humor, curiosity, and, best of all, love.

Organic 1

My daughter has her first organic chemistry exam today. Her friends refer to the class as "orgo" but I assure her the abbreviation is entirely inappropriate. Orgo sounds more closely related to sexual function than the chemistry of carbon. Why confuse one of life's best experiences with one of life's worst? It's "organic" and leave it at that.

Otherwise, Kels is way ahead of me aside from having the shorthand title of the course screwed up. My organic professor was a peculiar man and an enthusiastic, caring and fair instructor. Nonetheless I spent the better part of the 24 hours immediately preceding my first organic exam parked in the bathroom.  And, if I recall with any clarity, the second exam required somewhat less than a hour in the bathroom. By the third I had fully regained all bodily functions--  aside from heart rate, blood pressure, and perspiration which remained problematic throughout the year.

Organic chemistry was, and still is, big stuff because it is pretty much designed to be (and has little function other than being) the biggest stumbling block on the path to obtaining a medical education.  It was the most renowned of several classes the student simply had to do, and do well, if one wanted to go on to medical school.

I just finished reviewing a large study put together by the Macy Foundation looking at medical, and graduate medical, education. In a time of looming physician shortage there is much to be considered in terms of streamlining and fortifying the process of educating doctors. And if the intended outcome is for the US to produce more and better doctors there is probably a whole lot about the pre-medical education that needs to be examined as well; not the least of which is considering the value of the basic sciences like organic.

Be that as it may, organic chemistry remains a pre-requisite and Kels still has her first organic exam today. Looking at my daughter I realize just how much better prepared she is in life than I was at her age and station. Where I was confused and scared and stressed she is clear and calm and relatively matter of fact. Concerned, but matter of fact. Seeing her navigate her college career, living and succeeding at a major university, keeping a good head on her shoulders and a positive outlook in life gives me great pride and pleasure: So far she's got me beat in spades from where my head was at 36 years ago.  I hope I can somehow can take a little credit for that, even if not by example!

Cherish the Days

After playing one of his new releases, I heard a DJ on the radio talk about Paul McCartney. She commented on how he continues to just get better with time, even as he nears the end of his 7th decade. I had to think about that boy and all the amazing times and events he's had since his 20th birthday. And then, at the same time, I had to wonder: how long does it take before a person starts paying attention to all those good days? Are there days and events that he cherishes from 23? 29? 40? Are those memories tucked safely away?

In my life of nothing approaching celebrity, I have nonetheless had my share of great times and great days. As I get older I try to do a better job of paying attention. Good days are not uncommon but I'm learning not to take them for granted. Fortunately, there are a lot of wonderful days and events and times in the last 50 years that I do remember. There are even more, however, that I can't bring into focus.

Sunday was a perfect day. They don't come along all that often and I am so happy when I have the wherewithal to pay attention and watch the thing unfold. Ev and I got up early, made coffee and cinnamon rolls, and it started to snow.  Mom helped and Ev got a lesson in hammer and nails as we (finally) started to put things together to make him a real train layout in the basement. Within 2 hours we had a full blown snow day in progress. We bundled up and went outside, We shoveled snow and we went sledding in the snow. We came inside and got warmed up and finally we sledded some more. By dinner time friends had joined us and we ended up grilling steaks and having a good time by the fire. Nothing planned: The weather, the sledding, the impromptu dinner party, the toasty fire.

After the guests had left, Ev came out to the den where the fire was still burning. He sat in his pajamas on the hearth and then came the ending that made a great day perfect: Ev asked me if I'd like to sit by him next to the fire where it was nice and warm. One of the best invitations I've ever received. And in the next moment Mom joined us and it was Tam, Evan, and me sitting on that hearth in front of the fire, recalling what a great day it had been. And when Ev finally put his head down on my lap it was time for him to go to bed.

Certainly there are lots and lots of good days in a person's lifetime. There are lots of great days as well. But the perfect days are usually only given out by the handful. One can only hope you live long enough, and well enough, to pay attention and tuck each one carefully away in memory. Many come too soon in life and they fade into the blue-gray blur of youth. Just keep in mind: It's never too early or too late to start your collection. Good days, great days, and, of course, the perfect days; collect them all. And pay attention! Sometimes it arrives in just a moment at the end of the day but it's all that's needed to go from good to great and from great to perfect.