Our History, Right or Wrong

I originally wrote this post about Critical Race Theory over the summer, but then I thought it was just too trendy. Another nothing issue for people to vent over before it disappears into the night. I should have known better. We are now a country where almost anything, no matter how flimsy, can be whipped into a political issue, and then then flogged to death by fanatics. After reading an article about a Wisconsin school board recall effort, and the centrality of this issue in the Virginia Governor’s race, I decided to revisit the topic.

My guess is that I am not the only one who had never heard of Critical Race Theory until this past spring. In fact, my guess is that most of us still could not say what it is, where it came from, who is propounding this theory, or what it teaches. And yet, it has become a rallying cry. A line in the sand that supposedly separates wholesome historical thought with Anti-American propaganda designed to destroy love for this country. Whatever it is, we cannot let it infiltrate our schools to pollute the minds of our youngest citizens.

You would think that CRT is a newly developed idea that was concocted by bitter, out of touch academics over the last couple of years. In fact, according to Wikipedia (the font of all knowledge) CRT originated in the mid-1970s in the writings of several American legal scholars. The core insight of CRT is that disparate racial outcomes are the result of complex, changing and often subtle social and institutional dynamics rather than explicit and intentional prejudices on the part of individuals (how’s that for an academic mouthful). In other words, merely making laws colorblind may not be enough to insure that application of those laws is colorblind as well. Of course, CRT is much more nuanced than that, but that’s the gist. 

Considering the prevalence of race as a driving force in the history of this country, CRT would seem essential to an understanding of the United States. At a minimum, we need to think critically to counteract two of the great historical lies of the 20th Century. First, that the Civil War was not about slavery, but instead about states’ rights, and its corresponding fantasy that Reconstruction was an utter failure which proved that Black Americans were unfit for full participation in American political life. 

The second great lie is that race was a Southern problem, and not one in the North. Discrimination in areas such as employment and education obliterate this false dichotomy. In fact, a strong argument can be made that CRT is more important in analyzing what was done in the North than in the South. Southern politicians were clear and unapologetic about the Jim Crow laws and their purpose. Northern politicians were more subtle, but the racial impact of laws in Northern states was just as profound.       

Enforcement of drug laws over the last 50 years could be exhibit number 1 for the need for CRT. The laws themselves are race neutral, yet enforcement has impacted the black community to a much larger extent, despite the fact that study after study shows there is little disparity between illegal drug use by Afro-Americans and other races. The disparity is in enforcement. Who is targeted. Who is prosecuted. 

The failure of a change in laws remedying the effects of long term discrimination is most evident in housing. The Fair Housing Act of 1968 prohibits discrimination in housing, yet it is battling against Federal, State and Local policies that specifically sought to segregate on the basis of race. The Fair Housing Act could not simply wipe that history clean, nor could it fully change ingrained practices with a stroke of the pen. If we don’t understand this history and its continuing impact, such as in respect of the 2008 sub-prime mortgage debacle, we don’t understand this country.

There is no surprise that such critical analysis has been a staple of academia for years. Isn’t that what should be happening at universities? Shouldn’t Professors be looking deeply into their field of study to understand the underlying realities of their specialty? Shouldn’t that be as true in history and law as it is in physics and biology? 

More importantly for this debate, there is no evidence that this theory has permeated elementary and secondary schools. While slavery and its impact is, and should be, taught, school curriculums are highly unlikely to delve into issues of systemic racial impact. One wonders whether the real goal is to eliminate any discussion of this uncomfortable topic.   

The scope of proposed laws banning the teaching of CRT would seem to back up this as the real agenda. For example, Tennessee’s proposed anti-CRT bill would ban any teaching that could lead an individual to “feel discomfort, guilt, anguish or another form of psychological distress solely because of the individual’s race or sex.” In addition to this vague proscription, it restricts teaching that leads to “division between, or resentment of, a race, sex, religion, creed, nonviolent political affiliation, social class or class of people.” Those who decried PC culture as raising a generation of hyper-sensitive snowflakes are now worried about their children’s “discomfort” and “psychological distress”. Give me a break. 

Of course, this debate is not about fields of research, but about controlling narrative, and continuing a never-ending manufactured culture war. The irony is that efforts to pass laws that ban the teaching of CRT reinforce the need for critical thinking in all areas of study. We need an electorate that can analyze what is being proposed, why it is being proposed and judge the ramifications of its passage into law. That can’t be done without critical thinking, whether it’s to analyze idiotic proposals like anti-CRT legislation, or crucial ones like the rebuilding of our infrastructure. Heaven knows we can’t rely on our politicians, or our TV pundits, to provide real analysis. 

Even though the European sojourn in the Americas is a small part of world history overall (500 years within 6000 years of recorded history), it is one of the richest and most unique aspects of the human story. It has incredible highs (the Declaration of Impendence; the Lewis and Clarke expedition; the Civil rights movement) and incredible lows (the slave trade; the Trail of Tears; Japanese-American internment). It is an incredible story of mankind’s quest for human, religious and economic rights. It teaches endless lessons about the nobility of that quest, and its pitfalls. To the extent that we try and pick and choose within that history what makes us feel good about ourselves, and white-wash anything that makes us uncomfortable, we denigrate those who, with all their flaws, espoused the ideals that make this country what it is. And that is the real crime.              

Is it us?

I was not going to write about Ben Simmons. No way. No how. It just wasn’t worth wasting my time on a whiney, underachieving, pig-headed athlete. Then Ben decided to show up to play, kind of, and resume his place on the team, kind of. As confused as I am as to where this stands, I just couldn’t pass it up. 

For those of you who are not Philadelphia sports fans (like my kids), Ben Simmons is the “superstar” point guard for the Philadelphia Seventy-Sixers. At 6’10”, he is one of the most gifted athletes you would ever want to see. When he is on his game, he moves with a grace of a Persian cat. He is also a hardnosed defender in an era when defense is overlooked. 

Ben, however, has his issues. He refuses to shoot from outside, which allows teams let him alone to guard others. He also has a tendency to get tentative and disappear in the midst of a game. This all came to a head in last year’s playoff loss to the Atlanta Hawks when Ben not only failed to assert himself when the Sixers needed him most, but he also became a target for the Hawks to foul because he couldn’t hit the broadside of a barn from the foul line. It was a disaster. 

We all hoped that Ben would take this failure to heart and acknowledge that he needed to work on certain aspects of his game, and commit to coming back with a vengeance this year. Instead, he went into an immediate pout, stomped his foot, declared that he never wanted to play for the Sixers again and demanded a trade. It was if the Sixer management and fans had been sitting on the sidelines blowing as hard as they could to send his shots off-line. After all, the problem couldn’t be with him!! 

This is twice within the last year that Philadelphia has suffered through star athletes stinking up the joint and then acting as if it was someone else’s fault. Carson Wentz was historically bad as quarterback of the Eagles last year, to the point where he had to be benched, if only for his own safety. Yet, when it was all over, he refused to acknowledge how horrible he had played, pointed fingers at everyone else, and demanded to be traded. Sound familiar?  

There have been suggestions that the responsibility lies with the much-maligned Philadelphia fans. That we are too tough on those who play here, as if they just need love and tenderness to achieve (the little dears).  Well, if that’s what they need, they are right. They are in the wrong place. Philadelphia demands that its athletes take responsibility for their play and seek to improve. I would have it no other way.   

For those that do play hard, Philadelphia fans are some of the most supportive in the country. If players show grit and determination, we cheer them on. We can be incredibly forgiving and uplifting where we see an athlete admit their failures, and then bear down to succeed next time. That’s why many athletes who played in this town will tell you that there is no better place to play (ask Mike Schmidt).  

This is really about the modern, pampered athlete. It is not enough to be paid gobs of money. Some players also seem to think that they deserve to be endlessly feted no matter what they do. All of them will tell you how much they love the fans, that is until the fans look to hold them accountable for their foibles. Then the fans are all cretins (which admittedly may are).   

This aspect of modern sport is only going to get worse. Kids are being scouted younger and younger (the University of Florida just gave a verbal scholarship offer to a 14-year-old quarterback). I wonder whether the new round of “stars” will develop the grit needed to withstand the pressures of fan attention. That grit comes from being challenged at every step of the way. If we skip that step there will be consequences.   

I do want to be careful. The pampered description above does not fit most professional sports figures. The Ben Simmons of the world, with their obvious unworldly talent, are the minority. Most athletes work incredibly hard to get where they are, and are so darn competitive, that they take setbacks to heart. We just see the finished product and so concentrate on the innate talent. We ignore what it takes for most to nurture that talent. 

I also understand the desire of anyone to be somewhere they are wanted and appreciated. We all want that. But you can’t cut corners to get there, especially if you’re in the public eye. You have to earn it, and keep earning it. That’s true generally, but maybe more so in Philly. Again, I would have it no other way. 

It will be interesting to see how the fans react if Ben reappears in a Sixers uniform. Initially there will be no doubt be a chorus of boos (and Philly fans can boo like no one else). In fact, if you’re sitting in the lower level for the first game, you might want to wear a hard hat. But if Ben takes that booing as a challenge and asserts himself the way we know he can, those boos will quickly change to cheers. 

That being said, I have seen nothing to suggest that Ben has it in him to accept that challenge. I think he will keep his head down, avoid the media, and continue to push to be traded out of Philly as fast as possible. If that’s the case, happy trails Ben.        

I think that I shall never see…

Things change, and that change is inevitable. We know it, and yet we form relationships with what is around us that is bound to make that change painful. That is, of course, most obvious with the family and friends. But it’s not limited to people. We form relationships with other objects, whether we want to or not, and often those relationships have a strength that is not so obvious, but is no less real. 

This was brought home to me over the summer when we had a mini tornado whip through our neighborhood and take out three of the trees in our front yard. (Yes, a mini tornado. And it wasn’t the only one in this area). I knew that I was attached to those trees. I knew that they formed an important part of the property that I have called home for the last 25 years. I just was not aware of how emotionally invested I was in those trees until they were no longer there. 

When we first moved into this house the lot looked a lot different than it does now. I scoured through hundreds of old pictures to see if I could find one that showed our house back then, but no luck. Even though we have picture after picture of times and places that I cannot recall, we don’t have any of the haven we always came back to at the end of the day. Some things you just take for granted. 

Without a picture, you are just going to have to satisfy yourself with the artist’s rendering below. As you can see, there were four giant oak trees shielding our house from the street, as well as a good size tree on the side and a scraggly little tree near the house. There was also a hedge leading from the sidewalk to the front door. 

The hedge was the first to go, and no great loss. Then we took down the tree on the side of the house because it was clearly rotted out. I don’t remember why we took down the first of the four oaks in front of the house, but the second went after we heard a very loud crack in the middle of winter and found the tree basically split in two, but still standing. We had no doubt what the next crack we heard would mean. 

Still, that left us with a nice symmetry (See artist’s rendering number 2). The two remaining oaks bracketed the lawn, providing ample shade and maintaining the feel we had when we bought the place. There was definitely a sense of loss with the other trees, but the feeling of home was intact. 

Then the tornado hit. Even though our neighbors heard the tree go, we did not. Will and I were home, but we were looking out back at the golf ball size hail (which broke a window). We didn’t hear the cry of “timber”, or feel the ground shake. (If a tree falls in your front yard and you didn’t hear it, does it make a sound? YES, IT DOES!!!!). Then we looked out front and saw the damage.

The result was three trees gone, and a very different looking landscape to our property. The import of this began to hit me when the storm passed and the neighborhood emerged to survey the damage. I was in a bit of shock, and hadn’t really taken in what had happened when I saw a little girl, probably in 4th or 5th grade, embracing the fallen tree and crying. You see, the corner where this tree stood is a bus stop for elementary school children, and the tree was the center of the kids play while they waited for the bus. 

It wasn’t just that tree either. I heard one of the kids who had gathered wail, “Oh no, not the climbing tree too.” That was the tree that stood next to the oak. It was just perfect for scrambling up. Strong, low branches. A nice medium height so you could go up pretty far without feeling too afraid. My heart contracted when I heard that because that was what my kids called that tree too, and I didn’t know that neighborhood kids saw it the same way.  

Now the left side of my yard is wide open. The sun steams unchecked toward my house in the morning, which is OK, I guess. But it feels so empty. So unfinished. As if there was a puzzle piece or two missing and lost forever. I do a double take every time I step out the front door.  

I am also struck by the sense of impermanence. The shading of these huge trees was a big part of what made this “home”, and home is something you think will always be there to return to, no matter what. I know that’s really not the case, and I have left homes before. (Try going back to the house you grew up in. It seems alien). But I think that desire for a base in there in all of us. 

Last of the Big 4

There is also that sense of loss that comes with the disappearance of something you know so well. How many times have I leaned against that tree? How many times have I wound around its roots while cutting the grass? How many times have I stood in its shade talking to neighbors on a hot day? It was so much more a part of me than I ever realized. 

We are looking to get a new tree to fill that corner. It is just too bare as it is. Below are some suggestions made by a landscaper. Any thoughts? There are certainly some I like, but no matter what we choose, it will not be the same. That feeling of a haven has left the building.       

Coming out of the Closet

The following is a post by guest blogger, Gregg Swentor. Go to it Gregg!!!

First off, let me thank Tom for the opportunity to have this space to finally come clean. I have had a few things I have wanted to get out but never had the space. All I had to do was ask.

OK, let’s start with the marginalization I have felt since high school. The year was 1972. My girlfriend and I were returning from a coach’s house where we just had a great dinner and conversation with he and his wife. We were rumbling along a back country dirt road in rural Vermont in my 1969 Jeep Wagoneer. Beauty, eh?

We came around a soft bend in the road and off in the distance we saw a ‘streetlight’ up on the distant hill. Y’all know the scenario; a long sloping downhill, then a long sloping back up to the distant top of the next ridge. “Oh my! I can’t believe it. They installed a streetlight out here?!? “, I laughingly said to her.

For a few seconds the light just hung there and then . . . . went DOWN the hill in front of us, then came right UP at us. It came up at us at eye level. It then zoomed right over our heads; enough for both of us to instinctively duck. Helicopter? Jet? Ball lightening? Sorry. No sound. No woosh of air. No crack of electricity. There was no way we could not have heard or felt something as it just barely missed the hood of my car. This object traveled 1/3 of a mile in the blink of an eye. We both looked at each other. She asked if we just saw what we just saw. There is no way it was earthly. This was not the last of our strange experience that night but it will suffice for this post.

This sighting has shaken my intellect. Never did I feel comfortable telling most folk of this experience. Even though we both had become intellectual, successful people, there had been times when I called her, or she called me, just to confirm our far-out memories of that night. I suppose, at times, we both felt we had dreamt it all.

It wasn’t until years later (2020) when I was able to see the object again. This time from the camera of a US Navy F-18. They called it an “unidentified aerial phenomena”. Yeah, me too! Been der, done dat.

“My gosh!! Look at that thing! It’s going against a 120kt headwind.”

Look, it’s time to come clean. Damn it!
N=R fpnelifcL (Drake), Damn it!


HA!! We’re not alone out here on our little blue marble in the Milky Way. We’re an F’n Disneyland.

“Come on folk, lets travel to the planet we touched thousands of years ago. It’ll be fun!”

So, back to me. Isn’t that what this is always about? I had an event which blew this dudes mind. I have a hole in me that needs to feel expressed but feels I’ll be ridiculed to no end!
I want to feel normal again. Help me Agent Jay. Hit with me with your Neuralyzer!

So, why do I not just put myself out there? Maybe I should make my lil drawing of the UFO & fish and make it into a bumper sticker? What’s holding me back?

The answer, of course, is fear. I was afraid to put myself out there. I got intimidated by the posers outside of me; my job, the company I kept, my social status, my own friends and family. I endured THEIR conspiracies, their lies, their ignorance, their self-righteous opinions blown over the loudspeaker. But me, and mine? A wussy. Pleeaase don’t laugh/see/talk to me about my deep dark shit.

Maybe it’s just the maturing of my inner self to be strong, or it could just be an ole man ‘git off my lawn’ moment. Nevertheless, it’s time to put myself out there. It’s time to quit hiding because of my fears of what others think of me. My complicity has taken a toll on me. But no more!

I recently saw a poll where those who believe Pres. Biden stole the election has increased in the last month. INCREASED!! How can that happen? I know why. I was silent. I was afraid. I let the bullhorns do the talking. No, not even talking…LYING! And yet, I sat quiet and grumbled to myself. I sat waiting for someone else to clean up this mess. I was afraid of the confrontation. I wanted us all to ‘get along’. I doubted my own worth. Hmm.

But no more !!

I’m coming out…

I saw one.

OK, you can scoff now