Taking Mandela’s Life Into My Heart

“What counts in life is not the mere fact that we have lived. It is what difference we have made to the lives of others that will determine the significance of the life we lead.” — Nelson Mandela

Many words are being written about the life and the death of this great man. He lived a life of courage, living his convictions, and, in spite of overwhelming pain and suffering and obstacles, he did what was right. He focused on what was decent, and what was just, and moved others ahead, towards justice and compassion.

Each one of us can do the same. We may not be leaders of social movements, and we may not be able to speak to millions of people, become president of a country, or win the Nobel Prize. Yet, each of us, in our own ways, can lead lives of value, integrity, and advance those values and morals that we each hold dear.

I can do the right thing. Each one of us can. And, it starts with taking a step in that new, unfamiliar, often awkward direction.

Often, doing the right thing is profound, and astonishing to others. And, in that action, and in the act of others witnessing the doing of right, and the demonstration of living morally and righteously, changes their lives as well.

Nelson Mandela was all about change. And, he did that, one person at a time. His speeches, his writings, his one on one encounters, profoundly changed others, one person at a time.

His life was a way of giving all of us permission to encounter hatred and bigotry, and to be consciously active in not living with those values, and to work towards a higher good. He gave an example for us to follow. He let us see that we all have choices, and we can decide to live differently.

Living this is hard work, but also simple. Change your attitude, change your intention, and move in a different direction. Embrace love, and not hatred. Be intentional in what you do. Live your values.

The great people in history have done that, people who are able to show us simple truths, and to move the direction of their lives in accordance with those simple truths. The examples are powerful, and stun us with their sheer simplicity and beauty.

Yet, we make that choice hard, finding lots of excuses, and resisting moving out of our old habits, our old ways of thinking, and being seduced by the status quo, old ways of thinking, being caught up in the thought patterns of hatred, distrust, and fear.

I see people all around me being brave and courageous, just as Nelson Mandela lived, people dealing with hatred, prejudice, ignorance; people dealing with addictions, injustice, and fear. They face their challenges, they speak their values and morals out loud, and they move into action. They take life head on, and forge ahead, against the headwinds of social pressure and old ways of thinking and living, rejecting hatred and fear.

In the coming days, we will read and hear many wise words, and hear many stories about Nelson Mandela and his life. We will see the famous and powerful gather at his funeral and offer heartfelt eulogies. We will be inspired and we will honor his great contributions and how he helped bring change to his country, and how he provoked the world to follow his lead.

Yet, if we really want to honor his life, and to give meaning and celebration for the life that he lived, and how he helped to transform a culture of racism, intolerance and fear, into a society taking on bigotry and hatred, then each of us has to take his message and his life into our hearts. His message is about changing ourselves and our lives from within, to love ourselves and the world unconditionally.

How am I going to make a difference? How am I going to move forward, embracing and living unconditional love? How am I going to change myself and my community and move towards a healthy, peace-loving view of life? How do I respond to the hatred, bigotry and fear that I find inside of myself? Am I brave enough to move on and move away from what I don’t want to be?

Nelson Mandela called each of us to action. He wrote inspiring books, and gave motivating speeches. He practiced forgiveness and reconciliation. Yet, his intention was to call upon his readers and his listeners to look deep into their hearts, and to move into action, to live our values and our morals, to live lives filled with love and hope, with compassion and forgiveness.

Today, I will look deep inside of myself, calling out my morals and my ethics, calling out my true intentions for my life, and for this world. I will call out my fears and my biases, and put them out on the table for me, and the world, to see, in all that reality, warts and all. I will dig deep and I will take a wobbly step or two, and move ahead, towards my true intentions and my higher purpose.

—Neal Lemery, 12/6/2013

Living In the Midst of Courage

I live in the midst of courageous people. Oh, I laugh at the funny things about my little home town, the log trucks and milk trucks rumbling through downtown, taking up a lane and a half, the cow manure fountains spurting their stink, attracting seagulls and puzzling some of the tourists.

“What’s that green fountain in the field?” they ask, until they get too close.

Our high school teams are the Cheesemakers, and our big tourist attraction is the cheese factory, where people line up for ice cream cones, and carry out big bags of “squeaky cheese”, what my grandmother used to call cheese curds, and fed them to the hogs. At $5 a bag, I bet today she wouldn’t be thinking hog food.

Our biggest celebration is the June Dairy Month Parade, led by our dairy princesses, and finished up with big hay trucks and the town’s biggest fire truck. At the county fair, the most popular events are the “Pig ‘N Ford” races (Model Ts and greased pigs), and the Saturday night demolition derby.

Yet, serious things go on here, people taking on serious, tough issues and moving ahead in their lives.

This week, the local paper features the lives of young women, rebuilding their troubled, addicted lives in a women’s rehabilitation house, finding a healthy routine, and real normalcy. The paper printed their pictures and their names, at the top of the front page, along with their stories of drugs, violence, child neglect, and jail. They are stepping forward, claiming their sobriety and their changes, and proud of their journey.

A mentally troubled lady buttonholes me in the library, venting her political views, and urging me to gather food for the coming apocalypse.. The librarian and I later compare notes, on how we both look after her, in our own ways, knowing that the resources for helping the mentally ill are stretched thin, and the best thing we can do is keep an eye out, and sometimes offer a kind ear for the demons in her head.

I chat with a contractor outside of a cafe. He’s up to speed on how our jails are our mental health clinics, that most folks in jail are addicts, and that this country has the highest per capita rate of prisoners. And, how that doesn’t work. He tells me how he hires guys getting out of jail, knowing that they need the work, and more than a little guidance and fathering from him. He says he’s changed some lives, and that he makes a difference.

“I take a chance on people, but folks need a break, a chance to be successful,” he grins. “Been there, myself, you know.”

A young man here in prison talks to me about his release in a few months, how he’s going to move back to his small town, back to where people know him for his crime and probably aren’t in a forgiving mood. He takes a deep breath and calls his journey “stepping out” into his future. He’s not looking back, and will find new friends, and negotiate a new way of living with his family.

He talks frankly with me about his sexual crime, and how that affected the victim. And, he talks about how he was abused, and beaten and how he was going down the dark road when he was a teen. Prison changed him, he says, and the treatment there was the best thing he’s doing for himself and for his future.

A grocery clerk takes a break outside, looking up at the sky. Her daughter’s back in jail—drugs, again. It’s a tough cycle, and there’s a tear in her eye that slides down her cheek, as she thinks about her daughter, and the granddaughter now back in her care, and what lies ahead. Yet, she’s here, working, and taking it on, again.

Courage. Courage to move ahead, the past be damned.

The local AA groups proudly fix up their meeting house, putting up a sign announcing their presence, and their mission in this town, where the bars nearly outnumber the churches.

“We are here, and we are working our plan, one step at a time.” Not that long ago, there was a whole lot of shame and denial in addiction and recovery, and the biggest voice about it was just a whisper. Now, that work is something people are proud of, even letting the local paper put their names and pictures on the front page, talking about their recovery, and the work they’re doing to stay clean and sober.

We can talk about domestic violence now, too. The local group that offers counseling, shelter, and a lot of support is out in the community, accepted as an important service and a vital presence in our lives.

Not that we are putting an end to domestic violence. It still rears its ugly head in so many ways. But, a lot of discussion goes on about domestic violence now, and we aren’t so afraid to talk about it, and the impact it has on people’s lives, and how complicated it is to help someone who is dealing with it in their lives. There’s some turning points, and people’s thinking is changing. And, people who are dealing with it are being admired, admired for being courageous.

I take an evening class at the community college, During my break, I saw a woman writing on a tablet in the student commons. She writes slowly, thoughtfully, her pen poised above the paper, as she carefully chooses her words. She opens a book, a text on communications, and reads a paragraph, her brow furrowed in concentration, and picks up her pen, and starts to write again. She’s still wearing her uniform from work, and her face tells me it’s been a long day. But she’s here, working away, making progress in her life, getting an education.

My teacher is working hard, too, spending time with each of his students, making sure everyone is challenged, and everyone is learning something useful, something to make them better guitar players, better musicians, and, most of all, better people.

He’s building a house, from the ground up, learning as he goes. Today, he put in a window, something he’s never done before. Not that that would stop him. He loves a challenge, he loves building his future, one board, one sheet of plywood, one window at a time.

At night, the college parking lot is full. Every classroom is busy, people listening, talking, working hard on learning, on moving ahead in their lives.

People moving ahead, working on what needs to be taken care of, people living their courage.

Neal Lemery 10/30/2013

Lost and Found

I can be so lost and alone, in a crowd of people.

I plug into my electronic devices, suddenly accessing the immediacy of “news”, social commentary, so many thoughts of others. Yet, I can be, at the same time, in a dark cave of despair, my isolation and sense of unworthiness becoming the ghosts in the dark.

Friends are searching for their own meaning in life, their purpose, their place in this hectic, yes frantic world of immediate deadlines and obligations.

We heed the call of the Mad Hatter in Alice in Wonderland, “hurry, hurry.”

But, we can be lost, easily pushed to the side of the freeway, as the world goes rushing on by.

What we have sensed that we have lost is being connected with each other. We used to tell stories around the fire at night, and during the day, work together, laughing and singing, always connected. We shared the good and the bad.

We were close to the land, and the stars, the birds, and, through our hands, we were connected to the earth. Our work was something we could see, touch, hold onto.

How we lived our day impacted our village. If we didn’t hunt, or plant, or work together, we did not eat. We truly connected with each other, and with the universe. Spirituality was not abstract, it was real. And, we had accountability around the fire at night, and around the shared meal.

Social media is popular, as we are back around the fire, telling stories, catching up, sharing our lives. It has its drawbacks, and we can easily be alone in a crowd, ignoring the person next to us. But, social media life is a form of village life, of community.

Today, friends write about the power of Alcoholics Anonymous, the Friends of Bill W. Why does that message, that simple act of gathering together and sharing, why does that work for so many people? Why does that change lives?

AA works because it is communal, it brings spirituality to the forefront of our lives, it has a belief that our spirituality and our uniqueness as a person is truly valuable, and we benefit from the spiritual energy of others.

All religions, all prophets have the core message: be connected, love one another, find peace and meaning in being in communion with each other and with the universe. Avoid separateness, don’t be alone. We are all one brotherhood and sisterhood. The person next to us matters to us, simple because they are our brother, our sister.

Yesterday, I reconnected. The sun was out, it was a perfect day, almost hot, and still, with the colors of Autumn around me. I had plants to plant in my yard, and it felt good to my soul to push a shovel into the rich, dark soil, and make a new home for shrubs, trees, and daffodils.

In sixty or seventy years, the trees I planted will reach their prime, and will send their seeds throughout the valley, and stand tall and proud, objects of beauty for those who come after me. I will be long gone, but what my feet, back and hands did for those trees yesterday will be remembered by the trees, on the day they moved here and took up residence.

It felt good to feel the dirt under my feet, and between my fingers. I held the plants, and their roots, tenderly settling them into the ground, settling the dirt next to their roots, and watering them in. One tree needed staking, to hold it up in the coming winter storms. Yet, all too soon, it will be growing tall and sturdy, its roots firmly reaching downward, connecting with and becoming part of this land.

Being the tree planter connected me with the earth, and with the universe. I am part of this place, as is the tree, and the hawk that circled above me, and the wind that blew in off the ocean, bringing the smell of last night’s rain.

Today, I am far away, meeting one of my buddies, making more connections with him, as he is planting his own trees, and setting down his own roots. He, too, will grow straight and tall, his soul firmly planted in good soil, taking in the water and sunlight of knowledge and stability, making his life rich and productive.

I’ve been teaching him about tree planting, and farming his soul. He’s a good student, and what I’ve been saying about what we do in the village, how we are part of our tribe, is stuff he’s taken into his heart.

“What are you doing today?” people ask.

Making connections, planting trees, tending my soul, taking care of the brothers and sisters in this world. That’s what I’m doing.

10/7/2013

Giving Back

“Why are you still volunteering and helping out those kids? You’re retired now, and, they aren’t your kids. They shouldn’t be your worry.”

Someone asked me that the other day, their words strong, edgy with bitterness. They were wondering why I was helping others out in the community, giving of my time, helping other make something of their life. It wasn’t my job, right?

I was taken aback. After all, being involved in my community is something I’ve always done.

As a kid, I’d help with chores, or run an errand or mow the neighbor’s lawn when they were gone, or feed their pets. I’d help out on my grandparents’ farm, and get involved in some project. At dinner, there’d sometimes be an extra kid, and a little more love flying around the kitchen table. When there was a need, you just did what was needed. No questions asked.

That idea of helping in the community has always just been part of my life. It never occurred to me to me to wonder why, or think that being helpful wasn’t just part of living in a small town, or even the world.

Other people helped me, without me asking, too. It is just what we do. When I was a kid, a lot of people gave me the support I needed to apply myself, set goals, and work hard. And, when it is my turn to be the cheerleader, that voice of encouragement, I speak up, and I take action.

This summer, I’ve spent some time helping a young man focus on getting ready to start his junior year at a university. He’s worked hard the last few years, taking on line classes, and doing well, making time to study and write his papers in between all the other demands of his busy life.

Now, he’s able to actually be on campus, sit in a class and be involved in college life. He’s making that transition from the technology and isolation of a computer, to the excitement and interaction of a busy university campus. And, I’ve made the time to be supportive, to sit down with him and his advisors, watch him plan his schedule, and attend to the countless details that are needed to be a successful college student. It’s tough doing that on your own, and when you’re the first one in your family going to college, it’s also lonely and scary.

He’s not my kid, but then, again, he is, an important part of my family. He’s lived in my village, he’s part of my community, and his brains and ambition are part of the real treasure we have in our young people. He’s everyone’s kid. When he gets smarter, the village gets smarter, and we all benefit.

He’s already a leader and a problem solver. He’s got the ambition and moxie to move ahead in his life, and to realize his dreams. I want that energy building our village, and our country. I want that kind of problem solving and leadership out in the world, taking on the tough problems, and thinking outside of the box.

The little I do, some words of encouragement, a trip to the campus, a visit to the bookstore, and a steady hand on his shoulder when the path gets a little rocky, is about the best investment I can make in the future. And, not just his future. His future successes and smart ideas, and focused leadership is also going to improve my life, and make my village a better place to live.

I’ve received, and I’ve given back. I’ve come full circle in the helping one’s neighbor view of the world. I’ve seen the planting, and the harvest, season after season. That kind of farm work, the raising up of others to achieve their dreams, and to reach for the stars, is what we are here for.

And, in the end of all that care and compassion for our fellow humankind, we might even end up with a better world for everyone.

Neal Lemery, 10/1/2013

Being the Candle and the Mirror

“There are two ways of spreading light: to be the candle or the mirror that receives it.” —Edith Wharton

I am both the candle and the mirror.

Every morning when I awake, when I pause for a cup of coffee, or to watch a bird in the garden, in every moment in life, I have a choice on how I live my life. It is for me to shape my intention, to go forth with my mind set on what it is I want to do, who it is I want to be, where it is I want to go, how I will live, and grow, and how I will spread light and love.

What am I doing now to reflect that Love and Light I find in the world, so that I can share that with others, thereby changing the world?

And, what am I doing to create Love and Light, and, likewise, give that away to the world?

Once you find the words to ask the question, then, and only then, will the answer come.

I have so many of the tools I need inside of me. And, if a tool is lacking, then it is up to me to ask of the Universe for the tool that works.

It is up to me to find my own story. That story has been gathering within me since I was born, and it is ever-changing, ever growing into an even more beautiful story.

It is up to me to draw upon the resources I need in order to live with purpose, and with meaning. I just need to ask, and, then, I need to be willing to receive. I need to be open, and to receive the gifts of the Light, and to be loved.

When I connect with the world around me and when I am in sync with the energies and rhythms of the universe, then I am aware of the light within me, and of the power of intention in my life. And, then, I must be open to receiving those gifts, those tools so that I can be a better lover, a better candle and mirror of the Light. Indeed, it is easier to give than to receive. I need to be humble, and open, and accepting of these eternal gifts.

I am a human being, and not a human doing. I can lose myself in endless tasks and projects, and I need to continually ask myself, what is my intention? Am I creating Light and Love in what I am doing here? Or, is my doing getting in the way of my Be-ing, am I living life with intention, congruent with the true reasons for why we are all here today.

I need to be able to ask the question, and also be open to listen to the answer, hearing it with my heart and soul.

I need to tend to my candle, and I need to polish my mirror.

Neal Lemery, July 22, 2013.

Stepping Back

I get pretty involved in the lives of the people I mentor. I worry about their grades in school, how they are managing their lives, if they are taking care of themselves, and making good choices.

We talk a lot about all that, especially the “good choices” part. Their lives haven’t been marked by a lot of good choices, though if I was to lay blame for that, most of the blame would fall elsewhere. If you don’t have good role models, and you don’t have some solid, compassionate people at your side, life gets harder to navigate through.

And, sometimes I give advice. I like to think it is just commentary, or, to be polite, “direction and concern”. But, really, it is advice.

When I do that, it is always a good idea to be asked. Micromanaging someone else’s life, or being the co-dependent fatherly type isn’t my style. I don’t have the energy for that, and, besides, I’m pretty busy just trying to manage my own life. I don’t do “rescue” very well, and the big lessons in life are best learned by experiencing the consequences of one’s own decisions.

Granted, if I see you head towards the cliff and your foot is on the gas, I will be moved to open my mouth and speak my mind. I might even grab the wheel for a bit, until you are headed away from the pending apocalypse. Still, I prefer the diplomatic approach, and I use “suggest”, or “what are some other options you’ve thought about”.

But, tact and being politically correct aren’t always my guiding forces, and I tend to speak my mind, especially when I see someone I care about heading for the cliff.

And, I might even step back, and let them come close to their cliff, and get their feet muddy in the quagmire of their actions. Good lessons are often taught when you are up your ass in alligators, deep in the swamp.

Not that I want my buddy to get chomped on by the alligator, but that swamp offers some good, solid lessons. It has for me.

Stepping back. Maybe it is the time of year for that. After all, people are taking a summer break, and various organizations, and schools, have shut down for the summer. The usual frenzy of meetings and activities has slowed quite a bit, and I find the calendar to be blissfully empty of a lot of the usual activities. People are taking care of themselves, going on vacation, taking a breath. They are letting go, and letting the world go on a bit without them at the helm.

And, as the young men I worry about start stepping out into the world, flapping their wings a bit, and testing the winds of the adult world, I need to let them go, let them fly out near the abyss on their solo flight. They will be stronger for taking that flight on their own, stronger, and a bit wiser. Haven’t we been working on that, getting them ready to fly?

Isn’t that the goal of all this, to build strong men, able to fly on their own, to bear the consequences of their own decisions?

Not that I don’t get to worry, and fret, just like the mama eagle frets when that fledgling steps out of the nest and catches the air, to fly free.

Neal Lemery, July 19, 2013

I Watch the Son, Sleeping

Like the others before him, this son sleeps deep, snoring, heavy into his night thoughts, his weekend away. He comes here tired, worn out from life. We feed his belly, he finds the hot tub and the beach, even the stars at night, a cat to pet and love. All the food and time in our quiet starts unwinding his shoulders, lifting worry from his eyes.

We talk at dinner, or on the deck, or on the road to the beach, catching up on his life, and his adventures. I listen, and rarely advise, though this journey of his is a familiar story, told by the sons who have come before, and the sons who will come later.

I practice patience, waiting for a pause, or a question.

“I might be lost.”

“What should I do?”

I do not know, but I can offer praise, and understanding, and tell my own story a bit.

“You are not the first on this path,” I try to say, knowing that he must take his own steps, and find his own road.

“You have the tools you need. Just look inside of you,” I offer, sometimes out loud.

And, he must fall and skin his knee sometimes, that bit of blood marking his own journey. I can offer the bandage, but I cannot always prevent the fall.

I look down on his sleeping face, seeing how he has grown, knowing, deep inside of me, that he has all he needs inside of him to be the man he wants to be. I can only help him find his patience, and his stamina, and his courage, and then he will walk his path with strong legs and a loving heart.

I can only be behind him, offering a few words of encouragement, and unlimited love, knowing that will be enough, and he will blossom and come into his own.

Our time now at an end, we have one last meal, he, again, eating as if we’ve starved him all weekend long. Bottomless, in many ways, he thinks he might, finally, be full.

I drop him off at work, his week just beginning. We hug, one final time, and he whispers “thanks”.

Any more words and we would have both cried.

Shoulders back, the old smile again, he is on his way again, renewed.

Neal Lemery, July 8, 2013

Freedom Day

I call it Freedom Day. One of my friends, who experienced it from the prisoner-getting-out viewpoint calls it the best day, but the hardest day of his life.

After six or seven years, being locked up since you were sixteen, you are free. There’s so much going on in your head, you can’t even cry. Oh, we shout, and I honk the horn as we drive away, but the young men fall quiet, and just look at the road ahead, the countryside, as we drive away.

Part of me wants the Mormon Tabernacle Choir here, singing the Hallelujah Chorus, as we march out to a parade of confetti and balloons. But, usually, it is just a staff member or two, and a cartful of their worldly possessions, their parole papers clutched in their sweaty hands, their faces stony with a mixture of fear, joy, and anticipation.

Everything they’ve known for the last seven years is back there, behind the fence, behind the locked door. The trunk has a duffle bag, a day pack, and a few garbage sacks of all they have in this world.

They even dawdle a bit, hugging buddies goodbye, everyone a bit teary, even though they are getting out, they are free now.

They slip into the front seat, put on their seatbelt. It’s their first ride in a vehicle in seven years without wearing a jumpsuit, their hands cuffed, and chained to their ankles. There’s a deep silence now, as that bit of their new reality sets in. No handcuffs. Just going for a ride down the road. Just like the rest of the world.

Two of the guys I’ve driven away from their life behind bars have clutched their Bibles, hands sweaty as we turn onto the road, and head away. One guy grabs the wood carving he’s making, a Raven mask, symbol of his tribe, his heritage, and the long, courageous road he’s already traveled in his young life.

I took a couple of them to the beach, a place they’ve been close to for a third of their lives, but have never walked on, never felt the bit of spray from the waves, or smelled the salty, fresh air in their lungs. They both hesitated, as we got out of the car, the early morning salt air cold against their faces.

“Aren’t you coming?” they each asked.

No. This is your time. Go. Walk. Run. Talk to God. Yell. Put your feet in the water, and feel it. Experience it. Be the wild boy you need to be. This is your day, this is your time.

You haven’t been alone for all these years, except in your mind, on your bunk in a dorm of twenty five, late at night. It is time to walk your beach, to be free, to be on your own. If anyone deserves to talk on their own, on the beach at dawn, it is you, my fledgling eagle.

Go fly a bit. Stretch those wings.

For two men, on their Freedom Day, they both looked back, to make sure I was still there, and then they moved forward, purposefully, manfully heading to the water. The waves crashed, the breeze freshened a bit, and the gulls mewed, as these brave young men gaze out to sea, so many thoughts racing through their minds. I stood there, in silent witness, a tear of joy, of exultation running down my cheek.

I say a silent prayer, a prayer of thanksgiving, and guardianship, wanting them to be protected, wanting them to blossom into strong, healthy men, men who embrace and cherish freedom and living a good, loving life. May this be their last day ever in prison.

Yes, I would wait for them, I would stand guard for them, these brave young men, taking flight, testing their wings and singing their songs, beginning a new life.

For one man, we celebrate Freedom Day and his birthday with a big breakfast. And candles, cake, and ice cream for dessert, on our best china, toasting to his freedom with sparkling cider and crystal goblets. It’s his second birthday cake in seven years, and the first time he’s had candles on a cake since he was ten. I broke out my mother’s silver, and cloth napkins. Time for a little spoiling, I think. After all, it is Freedom Day.

“More, please,” our young Pippen asks, and I pass him the platter of his special ordered sausage, bacon and biscuits. He fills his plate, mentioning that the knife and fork in his hand are metal. He’s only used plastic for six years.

“I guess I’ll have to get used to this,” he chuckles.

We sing “Happy Birthday extra sweetly for this man-child today, our hearts finally feeling what this day means. He blows out the candles, making a wish, as a tear slides down his face.

“Mom would never let us have cake for breakfast,” he says. “But, I guess we can break the rules today.”

Oh, yeah. We laugh when he asks for seconds on dessert.

One man comes to my house to shower, after his run on the beach. He’s in the bathroom quite a while, and comes out wondering what to do with his towel. He giggles a bit.

“First time I’ve had a shower all by myself in a bathroom in seven years. I had to just enjoy it.”

The rest of those Freedom Days become whirls of activities, of challenges, and adventures. We drive through the forest, far away from walls, and inmate counts, and lining up for a meal, or to go to a class, or any of the other institutional rituals in his day. We stop when we need to pee, or have a meal, or when we spot a herd of elk beside the road.

The closer we get to their new home, and their new challenges, their new life, the meaning of it all hits hard. They fall silent, their whirling minds even reaching me, tensing me up with their anxiety.

I’ve traveled these roads a lot, but on those Freedom Days, I, too, am feeling the freedom, sensing the beauty and peace of the forest, and fields, and little towns, the sun bright in a blue sky, unmarked by a fence, or a wall, or the numbing tedium of prison life. The routine of this trip isn’t ordinary today, and I start to appreciate the simple things, the ability to make some choices. Near the end of the trip, I take another road, just because I can.

We hit the variety store, picking up some necessities, getting a cell phone, one of today’s essentials. And, the mayhem, the crowds, the frenzies of others, normal to me, wash over my young men, overwhelming them with sensations. All their treatment work, all their counseling work on how to live now, out in society, as normal, healthy men, hasn’t prepared them for this, the chaos, the cacophony of our daily world. All this isn’t book learning, or “the future”, now. It’s reality, and it’s hard. And, it doesn’t stop. This class doesn’t end.

One Freedom Day, we head to a family lunch, in a busy restaurant, and I get to see some of the old family dynamics unfold, my buddy trying to deal with that, and how to order food, and how to deal with the chaos and drama at the tables around us. He finds words to say to his brother, a guy he hasn’t talked to in seven years. I see them ease up a little, sharing a joke.

He asks me what to order.

“Anything you want,” I grin.

And, we laugh, on every level.

I catch his eye and grin, giving him a wink. He lets out a chestful of air, and grins back. Yes, this is your new reality. You can do this. We are doing this. And, it will be all right.

A Graduation Speech to Knock Your Socks Off

Graduation Speech

Trask River High School

Tillamook, Oregon

Stephen Kaplan, Valedictorian

June 8, 2013

Well, here we are. Graduation. It has always been bizarre to me why we make it such a big event. All we had to do was show up to class, turn in some homework and pass a few tests. I actually felt that way until I was asked to write a speech on the subject. It wasn’t until I sat down and thought about what really went into graduating that I realized that it is a big event.

Having worked so hard to pass those tests, attending those classes, at becoming the man that could stand in front of you and speak on such a subject, I found that it is a great occasion. I found that, especially for these sixteen graduates who are up here today, three things make it memorable:

The opportunities that got us here.
The work we did to get here.
What it can tell us about our futures, ourselves, and our lives.

The opportunities that we were given were unlikely. Most of us came from places that we would never have had the chance to accomplish such a thing. Some from bad neighborhoods, others from dysfunctional families, wherever it was, school was not much of a priority.

Then we got locked up. In a place equated with loss of our lives as we knew them, freedom, and most, a little sanity.

Though some doors may have been locked behind us, many have opened in front of us. We were given the opportunities to be here today.

The biggest thing that makes this such an important occasion are the sixteen men in front of you. They took such an unlikely opportunity and ran. They saw that door and walked through it, each facing their own struggles in doing so. And whether it was the alphabet in math, where the comma goes in writing, or for myself, two long terms in fiber arts, we all overcame them in order to be graduating today.

As for the future, well, it’s what we make it. I feel that I can speak for all of us when I say that these opportunities were a second chance in showing ourselves and others that it’s not time to give up yet; that we still have things to accomplish no matter how small or great. And more than anything it shows us that we all have the ability to achieve what seemed so unlikely.

I want to finish with a quote that really sums up the importance of this event and what it means to each of us. By my fellow graduate, Kenneth J.

He says, “A seed that wishes to thrive will blossom through concrete.”

And that is exactly what we did.

—–

(I’m sharing this with Oregon Governor John Kitzhaber, the directors of the Oregon Youth Authority and the Oregon Dept. of Corrections, as well as my state senator and state representative.) This young man is now taking college classes, and just got an A in his second term of an on line calculus class. His academic goal is to earn an MBA.

Finding The Right Fathers’ Day Card

I walk past the large display of Fathers’ Day cards in the store, not even stopping to browse, to find the perfect card to send to a father. A twinge of sadness stings my gut, bringing back that old feeling, a mixture of grief, loss, and an emptiness that can’t be filled.

The greeting card companies and the TV ads tell me I’m supposed to make Fathers’ Day a special day for my dad.. But, they’re missing the point, and they sure don’t understand my life and how I think about Fathers’ Day.

Dad has been gone for most of my life. And even when he was around and I got him a card, he’d just nod, barely saying the “thank you” I’d been craving. My step dad has been gone a long time, too. I knew he liked my cards. He’d smile and give me a hearty handshake. We knew where we stood with each other.We just didn’t say them. Talking about love and fathering wasn’t part of our conversations. But, we knew. And, that was enough for me.

My father in law liked my cards, too. He’s chuckle and laugh, and there’d be a twinkle in his eye. He got a lot of attention on Fathers’ Day, and he knew he was loved. He gave it back, too. In spades.

This is the second year without him, and the emptiness inside of me as I look at all the choices on the card rack gets a bit deeper with me.

I’m on the other side of the coin now. I have a bunch of sons. My step son and I are close, even though he’s about six hundred miles away. We can share our love easily, with just a smile, a joke, or something funny we e-mail to each other. We still joke with each other, still playing pranks on each other with a silly plastic lobster. A few weeks ago, I found Mr. Lobster, again, and he starred in my movie, the one I made on my iPad, and sent to my 42 year old son.

A few hours later, my son sends me an e-mail. He’s in hysterics over my three minute movie, and invites me to share it with the rest of the family. I’m not sure he thought I would, but I did, showing him I, too, can make my way around You Tube, and make some jokes again, with Mr. Lobster.

One of my foster sons flies his paraglider way up in the air, sending me videos once in a while, looking down at the far away ground, or a jet liner flying under him. He knows I’m scared of heights, and I worry about him jumping off cliffs and flying high in the air, turning summersaults and making loops. I know he’s laughing every time he sends me his latest aerial adventures. It’s his way of saying he loves me, that he’s doing just fine.

I have other sons now, too, the young guys I mentor in prison, and some of the other guys there, too. The young man who makes the coffee drinks at the prison canteen on visiting days knows my usual order, and gets it started the moment I walk in the door. Other guys show me their art work, or tell me about doing well on a test, or moving ahead in their treatment. I get a lot of “Hi, Neal”s when I show up on their special days, or sit in on one of their activities, being a dad in their lives.

Their own dads don’t show up much, if at all. So, I like to give them a smile and a handshake, just to say hi, just to say that they are important.

I don’t find the “sons” section in the Fathers’ Day cards. There are the golfing joke ones, the religious ones, the silly ones, even the stepdad ones now. But, there aren’t any cards that say what I want to say, “Good job, son. Thanks for being the son. Without the son, there’d be no Fathers’ Day.”

“I’m proud of who you are, what you’ve become.”

That’s what this day is really about, sons and daughters. The dad takes on the job of helping to raise the child, to teach, to listen, to wipe snotty noses and change dirty diapers, and help them with their homework. And, to listen and counsel, and show them, by example, how it is to be a man, to move along in the world, being healthy, and wise.

I don’t have daughters, but I know they’re watching their dads, too.
“How are you at this man stuff? How do I live with you? What kind of man do I want in my life? And, while you are at it, teach me about trust.”

It is the biggest job I’ve ever had. A lot of teaching of respect, and capability, and a lot of unconditional love.

We’re supposed to show them what love is all about. And, respect. And, compassion and learning about this crazy world.

Being a dad is really learning how to be a good example, to be watched, and judged.

“How ARE you doing as a man?”

“Show me. But, I expect you to do it right.”

No pressure there!

And, by the way, the manual on all this stuff is out of print, and I can’t find an old copy on Amazon.

We’re the guys that wait by the door at night, making sure they get home safe from that party, or that big date. We’re there to listen, to nod, to simply be there, keeping the porch light burning, to be the guy who cares that they do have a home to come back to, after a day of being a teenager in a harsh, often indifferent, cruel world.

We give the hugs, wipe the tears, and look them in the eye, quietly telling them we believe in them. All things are possible. And, they are loved.

Such simple things we do. But, when that simple stuff gets neglected, or no guy is behind the front door when they do come home late at night, then all hell can break loose, and their fragile ships at sea too often crash onto the reefs and sink in the storms.

And, we’re the guys that haul the laundry sack to the laundry room, when they come home for the weekend. And, we fire up the barbecue, and cook their favorite foods, letting them hang out with their old friends. We often take a back seat then, letting them visit and laugh with their friends, as we flip the burgers, and get more potato salad out of the frig.

There will come the time when they’ll sit down with us on the couch, after the party, and after a long day at the beach with their friends. Then, they’ll talk, a bit shy at first, then going deep, talking about the serious questions of life that a young man has, once they get out in the world, and have to deal with all of life’s adult problems and worries.
Then, we listen, and we listen hard. Sometimes, they ask for advice, but mainly, they just want to talk, to show you they are doing OK, that they learned a lot from you about life, that they are doing pretty good at it.

And, we let them know, right back at them, that they’re doing a good job, and they we believe in them, and take pride in who they are becoming.
It’s pretty easy to sit there and listen, and to nod, to say a few words of encouragement.

You see, fatherhood is a whole bunch of just showing up, just being present in someone’s life.

You don’t need to give them your DNA, but you do need to give them your time, and your love. That’s fatherhood. That’s being a real man.
The good work comes in just answering the phone, or texting something sweet back, in the middle of the night, letting them know you are around, that you care.

I get my thanks, then, for being the dad. I get that when they don’t call for a couple of weeks at a time. I know they are fine, they are making their way, needing their independence, flexing their big boy muscles and making their way through life.

Someday, Hallmark might figure it out, and start selling “I love my kids” cards for Fathers’ Day. But, until they do, I’ll just keep on doing what I do best, loving all my kids with all my heart, and telling them, every chance I get, that I love them.

–Neal Lemery
June 11, 2013