Our Children Are Counting On Us

"Half the world hates

What half the world does every day
Half the world waits
While half gets on with it anyway..."

––Rush, Half the World 

The hopeful yet trite saying that most people are good must still be somewhat true, otherwise half of us would always be hating the other half. 

[Pause] 

Maybe that's not fair, to think that half of America, or half the world, hates the other half. That's an over-simplified view of the human experience, even in the realities of today. However, the history of humankind has shown us again and again how easily others are marginalized and trampled underfoot, usually by those in power and the way the wind blows. Plus, our biological human history has been a continuous struggle between the want of experiencing immediate and irrational gratification and self-preservation, and the painful emotional dissonance of rational evolution. 

In other words, we're mostly feeling beings who sometimes think, no matter the amazing human accomplishments throughout history. I certainly raise my hand in full admittance here. 

As a species, we have evolved rationally, ethically, and spiritually, and every generation tests this progress by demanding evidence and pointing out how fallible we are. My wife Amy and I are experiencing that right now with both our teen daughters. Two questioning kids on their own paths to independence and their own identities who grapple with the human-condition realities of today. 

Our oldest Beatrice currently has an honors World History course that we help quiz her on and we always get the tough ethical questions of why. They're studying World War II now, the Holocaust, and development of the atomic bombs the U.S. dropped on Japan to attempt to end the war. Why were over six million Jewish people exterminated? Why did we kill over 200,000 people with the atomic bombs?

And the list of questions goes on and on. Just like I remember doing when I was a teenager. All the hard questions, all the time, and never feeling satisfied with the answers I received. "Most people are good, and sometimes we do bad things, and God forgives us all." 

In my lifetime since, I've always wanted to believe that we've evolved ethically and spiritually, but over time, especially today, I don't think I've ever seen so many poor male and female role models in government leadership, business leadership, and everyday personal leadership who fully embrace, justify, and normalize misogyny, harassment, sexual assault, racism, xenophobia, homophobia, corruption, grift, hate, and violence. 

And I go back many decades now. These detrimental ideals are embraced, then denied, and then forgiven. But they never go away. The fragmented and biased media coverage hasn't helped. The constant misinformation hasn't helped (artificial intelligence and automation has fueled this, too). Finding God hasn't helped either and has perpetuated more hate than love. And the questions from our children pile up. 

Author James Baldwin wrote, "I imagine one of the reasons people cling to their hates so stubbornly is because they sense, once hate is gone, they will be forced to deal with pain." That's why I recommend more study of inclusive empathy, understanding, and love, to be empathic allies, but that would mean folks would have to deal with their pain, the pain of why we hate and what we have to give up and give in to do that, and again, human biology fights that tooth and nail. 

Amy and I agree we've been judgmental about others and about current events we've discussed in front of our children, about how we see the world and the poor role models around us (and the good ones too), but it's never done out of malice. Anger and frustration sometimes, but never malice. This is why we've worked on as adults and parents is finding joy in the success of others, of those overcoming obstacles and improving their lives and mental health, and more, and how we can help or support their success. In other words, what it's like to have empathy and understanding where others are at, and why they are where they're at. Something our teens remind us of every single day with their adult commentaries. 

Blessings to all those poor role models out there in the world today. I hope some of them can turn it around, for the sake of all our children and grandchildren, and especially for the sake of their own children and grandchildren. 

Because think about what all the children and grandchildren see and hear and what it does to them, how it taints their perception of others and the world. We can choose to love and understand, or we can choose to hate and minimize. Of course it's not a simple dichotomy; human experience is definitely more complex than we acknowledge and the gradations of good and bad are gray at best sometimes. Again, we're mostly feeling beings who sometimes think, so let's "get on with it anyway" and think more about how we're feeling, why we're feeling, and what to do about it that's inclusive for everyone. 

Amy and I believe we can be better, and we can do better. All our children and grandchildren are counting on us. 

To Be Empathic Allies

“Truly amazing, what people can get used to, as long as there are a few compensations.”

―Margaret Atwood, The Handmaid’s Tale

“We must accept finite disappointment but never lose infinite hope." 

―Martin Luther King, Jr

My wife Amy and I have always loved "end of the world" stories. When we first met, we discovered we had both read Lucifer's Hammer, a 1977 novel about a comet breaking apart and striking earth and the survival story afterwards, and still talk about it to this day. Then there was The Stand by Stephen King and The Road by Cormac McCarthy, and television shows like The Walking Dead (based on graphic novels), Station Eleven (based on a novel), The Last of Us (based on a video game), and The Handmaid's Tale (based on Margaret Atwood's novel, and now a little too close to home). Plus, many more novels, movies, and TV shows in between. 

Ultimately for us both it was less about the why of the end, no matter how horrible the aftermath, and more about the how of human perseverance and survival laced with empathy and love. As long as there was a thread of hope and love in the story with empathic protagonists, then it reaffirmed our own hopefulness and love for humankind. Of course, that was just as true for us in everyday nonfiction stories, too. 

Including reelecting a convicted authoritarian president (and a congress majority) who only leads with misogyny, racism, anger, and fear, reaffirmed again and again by constant misinformation and lies for the past decade. Over half the U.S. who supported him may disagree with that, and/or overlook it, and/or not care.

The world may or may not end with a cataclysmic bang because of this; maybe it'll only end in a whimper and we'll survive this real-life dystopian future that's coming. In the meantime, it's still soul-crushing to believe that so many of us are driven by that much grievance, anger, and fear. Because ultimately it was never about the price of eggs. That was simply an unfortunate by-product of supply-and-demand economics that most of us don't even understand or care to. 

We're all fallible, feeling beings who sometimes think, not the other way around. It's always been easier to have scapegoats, others to blame for our misgivings and misfortunes, but history has shown again and again how this all ends. That's what worries me the most. Not the end of America or World War III, but the more immediate danger of a newly empowered harassment and violence escalation against women, the LGBTQ+ community, people of color, immigrants, neurodivergent people, people of different religions, and empathic allies like my wife, our children, and me (and many of you). The targets on our backs have never been bigger. And it's not just coming -- it's already here. 

Thankfully a dear friend reminded me that we do need to continue to fight the good fight on the ground in the communities where we live. To be empathic allies who lead with love, hope, and understanding and help ensure basic human rights and safety equity for all. And that's exactly what we're going to do. Blessings to us all. 

Empathic Knowledge Is Empowering For All

I had been telling my wife Amy a story about my day, when our oldest child called me a racist.

"So, there was a man standing there, an Asian man, and then..."

I don't even remember the exact context of what I said, but the story wasn't really about the Asian man. It was simply an identifier of those around me in my story as I told my story. I mean, he wasn't White, or Black, or Hispanic. He was Asian. 

"You're a racist, Dad," our oldest Beatrice said to me.

"No, Beatrice. I'm not. You're not using that word correctly. I'm just describing the race of the person he was," I said.

"Still a racist," she said.

"Nope."

This has happened more than once. Sometimes when I say something innocuous about Amy, or I tease her about something, and Beatrice is in the room, I hear her say: "You're being sexist, Dad."

"I don't think you know what that word means, Beatrice," I answer.

But maybe her and her younger sister actually do. I used to challenge my own parents all the time when I felt they said something inappropriate, offensive, sexist, and/or racist. We want our own children to challenge us while being compassionate about all people regardless of who they are. Not get in our face and call us a racist challenge us, but ask us questions about why we think what we think challenge us. 

And no matter how self-aware and antiracist I think I am (antiracist meaning actively working to dismantle racism), it doesn't mean we're not without fault. It's hard not to have racist and sexist ideas growing up in a world that devalues and degrades others because of skin color, gender, religious beliefs, sexual preference, and the list goes on and on, so that one group can be in power and reap what they want. So, I'm sure that there's some truth to Beatrice calling me out when I don't think I'm saying anything wrong. Subtle racism and sexism are still racism and sexism.

What I don't understand is how when we elevate those who have historically been underrepresented and suppressed, those in power feel like it's at their expense. That they're the ones now being discriminated against. Equality is hard to accept when the benefits of inequality for those in power have been embedded systemically for such a long time. Which is why we want our children to learn all sides of our history in school and to speak up and challenge others who don't want to acknowledge the realities of racism and sexism.

Again, we have our own racist and sexist beliefs no matter our background and it's important that we recognize that and work to upend them. We recently took our family to see Dr. Ibram X. Kendi and Nic Stone speak about their new collaborative book titled How to Be a (Young) Antiracist based on Dr. Kendi's previous work How to Be an Antiracist. Both of them acknowledged their own racist beliefs growing up and how they worked to dismantle them and now help others to do the same. It was exciting to hear that copies of their book were distributed to schools throughout our county.

Amy and I especially liked when Dr. Kendi talked about how we’re not taught how to be compassionate. How we’re taught to hate and judge other people. Compassion and empathy are things we should learn as young people, including the relationship between being compassionate and making social change.

That's definitely something we've done with our own children, to teach them compassion and empathy and to be the social change we all want to see. We want them to learn that from us and in school. And when all 1,300+ attendees at the event were asked to give a big round of applause to all the educators and students in the room, the rousing standing ovation was awe-inspiring. Knowledge may be power, for good and for bad, but empathic knowledge is empowering for all. 

The Why of History

"Why do we keep treating black people this way?" 

That was a question our oldest daughter Beatrice asked after hearing on the news yet another police shooting of another unarmed black person. 

"I know, Bea," I said. "We have a long history of racism in this country that too often results in violence." 

"It's just sad," she said. "We shouldn't treat people that way."

"I know. And we can do better." 

After that exchange, I heard my dad's voice from the past in my head. He was a police officer when I was a teenager in the 1980's.

"Well, son, there are good cops, and there are bad cops, just like there are good bakers and bad bakers. Unfortunately there are always some who don't play by the rules and hurt others. But for us, yes, there are mostly good cops."

"But Dad, bad bakers don't kill other good bakers, or or other people."

"You are correct, son. You are correct. They do not. Not usually."

My dad and I did talk about systemic racism back then, although the conversation always came back to individuals who discriminated against others, not the fact that it was baked into our societal institutions. As our own daughters have gotten older and their awareness of the world around them has increased, and because they overhear their Mom and Dad talking about current events, they ask about them, especially Beatrice. That can lead to brief exchanges about our history and what really happened in our country since before its independence was declared. 

Like about something I didn't even know, something my wife Amy and I weren't taught in school. We didn't learn that the year before the ship Mayflower brought the Pilgrims to Plymouth Rock, two other ships -- the White Lion and the Treasurer -- brought slaves to Jamestown in 1619. Although scholars called them indentured servants, they were technically slaves. Thus began the tragic history of institutionalized slavery in early America. Slaves who lived in constant fear of their lives -- many of whom who were maimed, raped and killed to keep white power in power. Even after the Civil War and the Emancipation Proclamation and the Thirteenth Amendment in 1865, nearly 5,000 people were lynched between 1882 and 1968 in the United States, and almost 3,500 were black people. And in 2020, three white men stalked and killed a black jogger. And a white officer killed a black man by leaning on his neck for 9 minutes. And the list goes on and on back then through now. 

Bad apples? Or an ongoing struggle with power and our racist past and present? And it isn't just about discriminating against black people -- add in all people of color into out complex historical equation. I understand wanting to embrace our constitutional ideals that we're all created equal and we all have these inclusive inalienable rights (rights we did not collectively have until the late 20th century). That each of us can be whatever we want in this country, regardless of race, gender, sexual preference, political persuasion and/or religion, which is what many of us tell our children.

However, there are those who are pretty vocal these days about how they don't like each other because of race, gender, sexual preference, political persuasion and/or religion. Thankfully many more of us want to lead with eyes of love, empathy, understanding and accountability, and we also want our children to do that same. That includes understanding our history. All of it. In an age-appropriate context, but all of it just the same. Because how else are we going to know better and do better? 

It's really been on my mind ever since we camped in the Zion area, where we went to Pipe Spring National Monument. The monument is managed by both the National Park Service and the Kaibab Band of Paiute Indians. This is the only water source between the Virgin River and the Colorado River, and its history is a familiar and sad one in America. One where white settlers displaced the indigenous Paiute Indians so they could own the water, and then they brought in their cattle and destroyed the expansive grasslands the Indians had lived symbiotically with for generations. Women and girls from the local tribes were also sold into the slave trade by Spanish settlers. This happened again and again to the indigenous people in America. That combined with slavery and systemic racism and what happened to people of color over the past 400 years in this country are realities we want our children to understand -- and to not stand for them happening again. 

We're a white family. But we do not feel discriminated against. We don't feel like people of color or political leaders want to take our freedoms away (well, some political leaders, yes). We don't feel the civil rights that were fought so vehemently for undermine our rights or our constitution, not when our constitution was supposed to embody the very rights of every citizen in our country in the first place. In fact, our daughters' gender will be held against them much more than our own skin color. 

Last week was Juneteenth, and next week is July 4, so why can't we talk about our history openly and honestly? I am no scholar of Critical Race Theory, but I do believe in studying and understanding history and how it affects the realities of where we're at today as a society. That includes our children learning history as well. All of history, not just the parts that make America look good in the minds of certain groups. While we may not be responsible today for slavery and the systemic racism that came to be, we are all responsible for understanding the why of history to help prevent racism's persistence tomorrow.

This Holiest of Days

And on the holiest of Christian days, I'm still full of unreconcilable rage. This being the day that celebrates Jesus rising from the dead to bring salvation to the world, which I grew up believing in. As my wife Amy and I hiked together Easter morning with our dog Jenny in the lead, I found joy in their company and nature. 

We had just returned from a wonderful family camping vacation near Joshua Tree National Park. Amy and I were also in the middle of our latest meditations on getting unstuck. It was then on our hike when I shared some of what had been weighing heavily on my heart -- and the fact that all I could think about was George Floyd, Eugene Goodman and my dad.

And me. 

We're all fathers. Fathers with daughters. Fathers who, no matter the mistakes we've made in life, or the obstacles we've overcome, want nothing more than the best for our daughters (and sons), for them to be safe and well. But that's where most of the similarities end. Eugene Goodman is a police officer. My dad was a police officer. I am the son of a police officer. George Floyd was killed by a police officer. Eugene Goodman is black. George Floyd was black. I am white. My dad was white. 

When I was a sophomore in high school, my mom and dad were leaving my high school's varsity football game (I played junior varsity) and witnessed a teenager harassing one of the school administrators. Later they would find out he was high on PCP, but in that moment, my dad tried to deescalate the situation. The teenager had a knife, cut my dad's arm and then stuck it deep into my dad's upper thigh. 

Anyone in law enforcement or with family in law enforcement knows that when an officer is in distress, every available officer gets there to help. Which is what happened when my dad was stabbed. They arrested the teenager and my dad eventually recovered. 

That teenager was Latino. And while I wouldn't call my dad an anti-racist -- he certainly wasn't without prejudice -- he did check in on the kid who stabbed him. That same teenager was in and out of prison until his early 20's, and the last time he went into prison, he was stabbed and killed by another inmate. According to my mom, prior to young man's death, my dad tried to get him drug rehabilitation help and more. I never knew that back then, not until years later, just like I didn't know really how much my dad led with empathy as a police officer. How the bad guys and girls, as well as the good guys and girls, really liked my dad. Respected him as a police officer. A 32-year veteran of the force who told me he only had to pull his gun one time during his tenure, and he never fired it while on duty. 

My dad and mom both passed away in 2012. Growing up, I was the most liberal in our family compared to my sister and three step-sisters. Only just slightly left-center back then, but still the most liberal. As a retired police officer, I'm not exactly sure how my dad would've responded to the unnecessary deaths of unarmed young black men and women by police officers in the past few years. How he would've responded to the social protests and #BlackLivesMatter and the violence that erupted across cities in 2020 after George Floyd was killed. 

I do remember talking with him about the beating of Rodney King and the riots that followed. He was quite vocal about the destruction the riots caused, the people and good officers put in harm's way, and he thankfully agreed that the excessive force used against Rodney King was egregious. And he wasn't surprised when the officers were acquitted either. I don't remember whether or not he agreed with that verdict, or whether he empathized with the why of the riots. I hope it was the latter.

However, one thing I will never forget, is the Capitol Insurrection on January 6, 2021. I will never forget the why and the lie of it. How my heart breaks every time I think about how the hate-power surged and the continuing lack of accountability since (even with the hundreds arrested). I will never forget those who participated in it and those who supported it onsite and from afar. The white hate and the Confederate flags and the racial slurs and the noose and the police officer being beaten with a flagpole flying the America flag. Our violent American history again retching itself upon us. The perpetual safety problem for so many. 

I will also never forget one black police officer -- Eugene Goodman -- who faced 400 years of angry white supremacy and power patriarchy to protect those who worked in the Capitol. I really want to believe my dad would've stood with Officer Goodman and the other officers protecting the Capitol.

Which brings me full circle back to this Easter and my unreconcilable rage since January 6. We've been listening to the audio book Four Hundred Souls: A Community History of African America 1619-2019, and the painful truth of our violent racist history that's been kept from us since the founding of this country continues to fuel my rage. A rage that seeps into our family conversational ether. A rage our daughters struggle to understand why, after all the love and empathy and Kidpower my wife and I practice at home, I despise those who've perpetuated racist hate for generations, however subtle or blatant. Why I hold onto holding those accountable who have denied and continue to deny women and people of color the same inalienable rights that white men have guaranteed themselves for hundreds of years. 

When I think about the Jesus in my childhood heart, He was anti-racist. He led with eyes of love and empathy regardless of who you were. He worked hard to end inequities for all people; everlasting love is possible through Him. My God, Jesus was literally a person of color, but that same salvation ideal He brought to the world has been withheld from so many generations of women and all people of color by my own white legacy. That is what I cannot reconcile -- for our daughters, our communities, our nation. 

Even hearing Martin Luther King Jr.'s well-versed words, "Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that," cannot console me today, this holiest of days. And yet I know my rage cannot be sustained; my rage cannot make a difference; my rage will not quell the darkness. 

So, please don't send your nice thoughts or prayers. Just know that we are all simultaneously part of the problem and the solution in America. I implore you to be part of the solution. 

What's Essential And Necessary

I couldn't believe my eyes. I sat there, completely stunned, in utter disbelief, watching the U.S. Capitol being attacked. There they were, tens of thousands of angry Americans, mostly white men, marched to the Capitol, rioted and broke inside waving American flags, Trump flags, Confederate flags and some carrying signs that read, FUCK YOUR FEELINGS -- GOD, GUNS & TRUMP -- STOP THE STEAL.

Fuck my feelings? Brothers and sisters, I'm nothing but feelings. I always try to be as balanced as possible with my writing, to avoid politics whenever possible and stay focused on parenting and personal safety, but I've been angry for days, unable to express how I feel about what's happened. 

Until now. While many have equated it to witnessing the 9/11 attacks, and how we're always going to remember, where we were and what we were doing, that wasn't exactly the right comparison for me.

No, for me, it was more like if angry strangers broke into my house and ransacked it, defiled it and threatened the safety of my family. All because they believed I stole something from them, even though I didn't, and even though there was plenty of verifiable evidence to back that up. For me, it was like an extreme violation of my house -- our nation's house. 

Except in this analogy they weren't really angry strangers -- they were more like friends, family and neighbors. 

My own anger seethed because, in the hours I watched off and on what was happening in Washington D.C. -- where five people died including one police officer -- I kept thinking about how my wife and I were going to explain to our two daughters about this latest divisiveness. Of how our own President and other government leaders have perpetuated lies and conspiracy theories for not just months but for years to further their own destructive power, instead of helping to heal our nation. All of which finally led to this rioting and this insurrection. 

Because sadly, so many people have believed these lies, some being our friends and family. I kept thinking of how we were going to keep our family safe if this hateful violence grew, just like it had in other cities with all the unrest due to the social and racial injustice and inequity of 2020, which we're still reeling from. I also kept thinking about how we're all still in the middle of a pandemic with thousands of people dying every day, while millions of Americans struggle to find work and to feed their families. 

That night at dinner, while Congress reconvened inside the Capitol, we talked to our girls about what had happened. We did our best to keep it balanced and stick to the facts as we knew them. I used another analogy for them: imagine you're in your classroom and the teacher and half the students in class say you stole something from the teacher that was not really stolen. You know you didn't do it, but they get angrier and angrier because they want to believe you did, and so they attack you. 

Not the best explanation, but both girls seemingly nodded in understanding of what we were talking about. Either way, the girls know where we stand ideologically and politically. They just didn't understand how people could do that, though, just like when we talked with them about the rioting violence last year. 

The difference being this -- angry black people with no entitlement who initially peacefully protested about systemic racism and the history of violence against them (verified) that unfortunately turned violent, which we found unacceptable -- versus angry white people with entitlement who initially protested not-so peacefully about widespread voter fraud (fabricated) who were then encouraged to be violent, which we find unacceptable. 

But after days of feeling this way, my own anger turned into heartache and tears. Why do so many people, including people we know, believe these destructive lies and conspiracy theories, with little if any factual basis? 

Last summer I remember there was someone I knew who shared a social media meme filled with conspiracy theories and lies so outlandish, that I couldn't verify any of them anywhere. I then asked if she really believed all these things she posted. She said she did. 

And now we're here today, with not only the thousands who rioted at the Capitol, but also with the millions who have been all in on some level of these lies. All political commentary aside, these past few days I've worked hard to strip away as much of the emotional stain of this tragedy as possible. I truly want to understand why people believe in these dangerous untruths. How are we going to communicate otherwise?

That's not to say I don't have my own biases and beliefs that may prompt similar "why" questions from others. We all do. And we justify them with confirmation bias in the light of whatever we read or witness, regardless of contrary facts. But I still do my best to verify what I see and hear with multiple credible sources.

As I was writing this piece, I read an American Psychological Association (APA) article titled Why We Believe Alternate Facts. It helped me clarify what I've really been wanting to ask. And not just due to recent events of the past few days, but for a lifetime of questions I've had. 

The question to ask isn't "why do people believe what they believe?" -- it's to ask "why do they want to believe what they believe?" Ah, yes. That's it. Why do they want to believe.

It always comes full circle for me, back to patriarchy, of men systematically marginalizing women and people of color to dominate and rule. I've written about the power of patriarchy more than once, and how I still struggle at times with feeling emasculated. I've known many white men (and women) over the years, who have struggled with the fact that other women and people of color have fought for their own equality, who continue to fight, which in turn makes the white men feel marginalized. Instead of becoming part of the new equality solution over the decades and doing something to better themselves, their families and their communities, they would rather rage at the changes and those they've dominated over for a very long time. White racist leaders are especially guilty of this and stoke the fires of hate readily.

For example, this lie: due to widespread voter fraud by the Democrats, liberals, black people, brown people, women, etc., their take-no-shit no-apology President, who celebrated their male-dominant white entitlement over and over again, was taken from them. 

That's why they want to believe the election lies. Why they think they're being patriots, like what one journalist overheard a woman at the Capitol riot who said to a small group, "This is not America. They’re shooting at us. They’re supposed to shoot BLM, but they’re shooting the patriots."

Someone I'm reading more of these days is Jackson Katz, Ph.D. who's known internationally for his  scholarship and activism on issues of gender, race and violence. He was interviewed in the aftermath of the insurrection and said:

I was obviously outraged and concerned as an American citizen, but I also experienced Wednesday’s events through the lens of media spectacle: a throng of aggrieved white men, and some women in supporting roles, engaged in a pathetic display of performative patriotism and masculine bravado while the whole world was watching.

In many ways it was a perfect distillation of the essence of Trumpism: heavy on grievance, symbolism and perceived victimhood, and light on any realistic strategy for doing anything to solve our society’s myriad and complex problems in the 21st century—including the problems of millions of frustrated and alienated white men.

It's also what the sociologist Michael Kimmel has called aggrieved entitlement:

Men get stuck in a permanent dysfunction called “aggrieved entitlement,” in which they “refuse to even be dragged kicking and screaming into that inevitable future” of greater gender and racial equality. 

Again, my anger turns to sadness; this patriarchal behavior will continue. And I will continue to rage at my own white male-dominant upbringing because of it. But I also want to help be part of the solution, to help other men unravel from generations of hateful knots we all choke on. 

Even with those of us unraveling, it will most likely be decades before we can fully undo "aggrieved entitlement" and evolve socially, culturally and spiritually. My heart aches for America, for all its communities and families from all backgrounds. My heart aches for those men (and women) who want to believe destructive lies, and for those of us who don't. 

My wife Amy shared her 2021 intentions recently that included her continued love for family without judgement and to continue on her empathic spiritual journey. I agree with her, and include both family and friends in those intentions, even though these days sustaining strained relationships with eyes of love isn't easy. However, it is what's essential and necessary for all our futures, especially our children's, and why I'll keep evolving in inclusive light and love, while helping other men (and women) do the same. 

All These Things Can Lead to Grace

We had watched Serpico together, the real-life story of a NYPD office who went undercover to expose corruption in the police force from 1960 to 1972. Our family always watched police dramas together, nonfiction and fiction alike. My sister and I were in high school, and at that time, our father was a police detective responsible for forgery and fraud, and our mother was the police dispatch supervisor. 

After watching Serpico, I remember asking my dad if there were any bad cops in our hometown police department. He paused, then gave me this answer:

"Well, son, there are good cops, and there are bad cops, just like there are good bakers and bad bakers. Unfortunately there are always some who don't play by the rules and hurt others. But for us, yes, there are mostly good cops."

I responded, "But bad bakers don't kill other good bakers, or other people."

My dad smiled and nodded. "You are correct, son. You are correct. They do not. Not usually."

They never do. They just go out of business, I thought.

Our dad wasn't without his own biases, or our entire family for that matter, but time and again while he was alive and after he passed away, and after 32 years on the force, good guys and bad guys alike couldn't help but like him. He taught us a lot empathy, inclusion and forgiveness, even when it wasn't intentional. Our mom did the same. They both loved their families and God. 

And then in the summer of 2012 he was gone, and four months later she was gone. It's hard to imagine them here today, in the middle of pandemic with all the health issues they used to have, of what we'd have to do to care for them. 

But I do want them both here today -- I know my sister does as well. I want my dad to be here and to tell me why there are still bad cops doing the wrong things in our communities. Why they hate so much and keep using such excessive force killing black and brown men and women. Why supposedly good cops stand by and do nothing. Why so many of them are never arrested or prosecuted. Why so many police reforms are never sustained. Why the normalcy of racism in this country continues.

The recent killing of George Floyd by a white police officer who kneeled on his neck until he stopped breathing, has incited protests and violence across the U.S. This because George Floyd, an unarmed African American had supposedly tried to use a counterfeit bill at a convenience store. George Floyd, one more name in a sea of names that, when I think about, I couldn't name, other than Ahmaud Arbery. He was another unarmed black man who was jogging and then chased by two white men and gunned down because they said they were trying to make a citizen's arrest, when there is no such thing. 

Thankfully there are those who help us remember, like the daughter of an old friend from high school who created a poster with all the names. 

I want my dad (and mom) here today to help answer the why questions, because I struggle to answer them for my own daughters. My wife and I have be teaching our girls about slavery and how people of color have been treated poorly throughout American history since they were little. 

Both girls listened and ask legitimate questions like "why would people do that" over and over, questions that aren't hard for us to discuss, but hard for us to answer being a white family who have not experienced systemic discrimination like non-whites have in this country for hundreds of years. Which is why, at the end of the day, my dad probably wouldn't be able to answer them either, no matter how hard he tried. White supremacy is the legacy of the modern day police force and it needs a bigger condemnation than "good cops and bad cops," and more serious reforms than have fizzled out to date. Don't get me wrong, I love my dad, I just wish we would've gone deeper on this subject together. 

The other day I told my daughters about George Floyd and what's been happening in our country. They didn't know because we don't watch the news with them. 

"I don't understand why skin color matters!" said Beatrice, after I finished.

"I know," I said. 

"They just need to get over it!" said Bryce.

"Who?"

"White people." 

Wow, Bryce. Sadly, that's the argument made by too many whites today, that they have nothing to do with racism, that black and brown people have more rights than they do, that they need to get over it, especially if all they're going to do is burn everything down. This continues to be the dividing sentiment of the day. 

Thankfully my wife works for Kidpower and I'm so glad that Kidpower community reminded me of their commitment to safety and justice for all: 

At Kidpower, we believe that everyone has the right to safety, respect, peace, and justice. We are heartbroken about the suffering and tragedy caused by racist attacks and discrimination against people of color in our communities, at our borders, and around the world. We will continue to speak out and take action to protect and empower all people. 

Yes, continue to speak out and take action to protect and empower all people. Always.

But then I also keep thinking about the Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. quote someone posted on my Facebook wall that ended: 

Riot is the language of the unheard.

I am privileged. I am biased. I am white. I am male.

I empathize. I sympathize. I fight the good fight. 

Everyone has the right to safety, respect, peace, and justice. 

I hope that Minneapolis police officer is prosecuted and locked up for the rest of his life, and that the officers who were with him are arrested as well. 

I'm tired of the commentary that includes, "Well, I don't like what happened to that black man, but I don't agree with violent protests."

I don't agree with them either; our family has been a part of many peaceful protests. Those committing the current violence in our communities and looting and destroying businesses should also be held accountable. So many business were already on the brink of bankruptcy because of COVID-19. And one of my employees and his wife and family live not more than a mile from the violence in Minneapolis. 

My sister was also a police officer for many years, and we both still have friends and family who are in law enforcement, good people who's lives are now in danger.  

But, imagine being subjected to 400+ years of institutionalized systemic racism and violence. Of being afraid of walking down the street and being harassed by the police because you're a black or brown male. 

Then imagine bringing a bazooka or an assault rifle into a sandwich shop or a state's capital building. Of law enforcement not doing a thing about it because you can, and because you're white. 

I want to be part of positive change. I don't want my city burned down.

I empathize. I sympathize. I fight the good fight. 

And I miss my mom and dad. I miss talking with them about life and current events that affect us all, even if we didn't always agree on them. Our girls didn't get a chance to know them like I wanted them too, since they were so young when my parents passed away. 

What we did agree on was the fact that positive change starts with our children and grandchildren. That we should teach them compassion, empathy, forgiveness, inclusion and understanding. All these things can lead to grace, a new normalcy desperately needed today. 

Some Place to Feel Safe

"Dorothy? Dorothy? Where are you? It's me, Auntie Em! We're trying to find you! Where are you?"

–Auntie Em, The Wizard of Oz

Year after year it scared me. Year after year it made me feel so completely alone and scared. I knew it wasn't real and I knew the story overall it had a happy ending, and yet, every time I watched it seemed to mirror what I was feeling at the time.

First, the tornado: even as I grew into my teenage years, The Wizard of Oz movie tornado was such an ominous presence of dark, destructive power. I never lived in an area with real tornados, so this was the closest thing I had ever seen, with the exception of a strong dust devil once in awhile. So the part where Dorothy tries desperately to open the storm cellar door and enable to do it with Toto held tightly under her arm always freaked me out. Then she tries to find shelter in the house, which we all know gets swept up into the tornado. It gave me such a feeling of helplessness, and black and white film beginning added to the grim reality that there was nowhere for Dorothy (and me) to go.

Second, the race against time when Dorothy is trapped by the witch: after the creepy flying monkeys capture her and take her to the Wicked Witch of the West's castle, Dorothy is so scared and alone and she imagines Auntie Em is calling to her from inside the witches crystal ball. But then the witch appears mocking Auntie Em and Dorothy, and the sands of time are running out in the hourglass...

When I watch it today, it still gives me chills. And I still cry at the end when she clicks her ruby slippers together and says, "There's no place like home..."

Because there really is no place like home. Decades later my wife and I are grateful every day that we have our own lovely little family. One where love, empathy, honesty, support, safety and stability are the pillars we surround ourselves with. At a time when cultural, political and hateful -ism twisters abound, and things we find repellant and absurd are flying around overhead and snatching away what were once grounded sensibilities and morals, we're thankful that our daughters are still young enough not to ask too many questions about current events.

Because soon they will, and then we'll have to start explaining things like why a conservative radio personality and long-time racist and misogynist received a Presidential Medal of Freedom, which is usually given to men and women who have made an especially meritorious contribution to the security or national interests of the United States, world peace, cultural or other significant public or private endeavors.

And what's even more conflicting for us is that there are millions who felt he was quite appropriate and deserving. By contrast, my wife was just watching the moment when Dr. Maya Angelou -- an American poet, singer, memoirist, and civil rights activist -- received the same Medal of Freedom in 2010. Maybe there were millions of people who felt that wasn't appropriate either. What a world we live in today.

Then a family member reminded me to focus on what matters the most -- family and friends and the good things that do happen in our lives and good deeds we do for others in our lives. And then Deepak Chopra reminded me in his latest podcasts how to be a karma yogi and only say something when it’s useful, kind or helpful. And then Matthew 5:43-48 reminded me that “You have heard that it was said, ‘Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be children of your Father in heaven. He causes His sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous. If you love those who love you, what reward will you get? Are not even the tax collectors doing that? And if you greet only your own people, what are you doing more than others?” 

Yet, like the old scene out of And Justice for All, when Al Pacino's character lights up the courtroom and rants "You're all out of order!" -- I feel like some are quite "all out of order," and it's scary and frustrating, like a tornado heading for me and my family and there's no where to go.

But there's always somewhere to go. Some way to feel good and to do good. Some place to feel safe.

Years ago I remember telling the girls about the movie version of The Wizard of Oz. They sat riveted while I told them about Dorothy, Toto, Scarecrow, Tin Man, Lion, the Wicked Witch and the flying monkeys. The flying monkeys and the Wicked Witch freaked them out a bit, and at the time, were not quite ready to watch the movie classic just yet, or read any of the fabulous L. Frank Baum Oz books from which it is based on. But hearing pieces of the story transformed them into their own animated storytelling mode, when they used to play with cut-out felt people, objects and shapes on a felt board to create their own Oz-like fables of brave princesses battling dragons then drinking refreshing rainbows.

"Why is Oz only two letters?" Bea asked way back then.

"Because it's that simple, Bea," I answered, not aware then of how wrong I was.

She smiled and then both Bea and Bryce continued their storytelling with the felt boards. I watched them both, Bryce gesturing even more so with her hand and arms while she spoke, while Bea laughed and played along, adding her own commentary.

Years later, Beatrice is again doing musical theater after school and this time they're doing The Wizard of Oz (Bryce is taking a break from this one). Bea wanted to be Glenda the Good Witch, or the Wicked Witch of the West, and instead she's going to be Auntie Em. And she's very happy with that part (plus, she gets another smaller part in the middle, too).

These days I feel like we're the ones trapped in the witch's castle, the adults in the room that feel helpless and scared, and in the crystal ball both Beatrice and Bryce are calling out "Mom? Dad? Where are you? It's us, your kids! We're trying to find you! Where are you? You're going to be okay; we're going to be okay."

There's no place like home. There's no place like home. There's no place like home. 

Someday soon we'll do our best to answer the questions we struggle to answer ourselves. Someday soon we'll know if we've empowered them to fend off and even take on the evil -isms that rip through communities far and wide, leaving nothing but angry heartache and hate in their wake. And no matter what, that they'll love their enemies and always be useful, helpful and kind. Because there's always somewhere to go. Some way to feel good and to do good. Some place to feel safe.

The Sharp N

"F-you, I'm America's son
This is where I come from..."

–Gary Clark Jr., This Land


She said she knew what the N-word was. We recoiled a bit, not quite visibility, but we definitely sat up straight inside ourselves. I don't remember there being any precursor context, or it ever coming up before, just the fact that one day our oldest Beatrice said she heard it and knew what it was.

As the girls have gotten older, obviously the realities of the world, and the power of words, both good and bad, have made their way into their consciousness. And, as each year of their lives progress, my wife Amy and I talk with them about what they're seen and heard around them.

Except that, in this case, it wasn't the same N-word we were thinking of.

"Where did you hear it?" we asked.

"Some kids at school said it," Bea said.

We hesitated, and then asked. "What did they say?"

"The N-word."

"What is that?"

She hesitated. "N-ucker."

Nucker? What? Oh wait, right. Rhymes with...

"Beatrice, thank you for telling us. But that's not what the N-word is. You're thinking of the F-word, which is also a really bad and demeaning word."

That's when, for the first time, we started talking about the current state of racism, what the real N-word is and means, and what it was and why it was. We have be teaching them about slavery and how black and brown people alike have been treated poorly throughout American history since they were little. Both girls listened and ask legitimate questions like "why would people do that" over and over, questions that aren't hard for us to discuss, but hard for us to answer being a white family who have not experienced systemic discrimination like non-whites have in this country and elsewhere.

We have read I am Abraham Lincoln, I am Harriet Tubman and I am Rosa Parks, all children's books tackling the subjects of slavery, racism and civil rights. We also read a book about Martin Luther King Jr.'s life. We also have a children's book about the American Presidents through President Obama, and his story is one of their favorites.

Then the girls got interested in a Netflix show called Family Reunions this year, a family comedy about a black family living in Atlanta. There was one show in particular that dealt with systemic racism and again prompted a dialogue with our girls.

Then it was recommended I read So You Want to Talk About Race by Ijeoma Oluo. It opened my eyes more than ever before about what it's like being black in a white supremacist patriarchal society. So many big and little biases that we perpetuate over and over again that leave their marks like repetitive cuts that never heal. I highly recommend you all read it.

Then we went to Washington DC and Amy took them to the Smithsonian National Museum of African American History & Culture to continue their education. After that, we went to Mount Vernon and learned more about the beginning of this country and the slaves that worked for George Washington and his family. What affected me the most emotionally was the unmarked graveyard where the dead slaves were buried. No mark of humanity. Nothing. Just like visiting the Holocaust Museum with our girls, it was all very moving and made us think of who we've been and who we still are.

Hundreds of years of slavery, oppression and death. According to the Tuskegee Institute, 4,743 people were lynched between 1882 and 1968 in the United States, including 3,446 African Americans and 1,297 whites. More than 73 percent of lynchings in the post-Civil War period occurred in the Southern states.

And our children ask why. Why would people do this to each other? Why would they hate so much? Why would people this they are any different or better than any other person. Not to mention the history of Latinos in this country, Asian people, Middle Eastern people, Indian people, and of course the indigenous people of North America.

I can appreciate so much better now when a friend of mine, a black father of two who shares posts activities with his kids, just like I do. Like his latest of them bringing home a Christmas tree, and saying and none of us got arrested today, that it was a good day. He's not joking either. That's not something I ever say.

And then just this morning I shared with Beatrice that our city had its first African American mayor. She thought that was great, especially in a city where less than 2% of the population is black, which she doesn't realize, and I'd bet most community members don't realize. And he had been one of the two first black city councilmembers elected to city council.

That's where the story goes south. Because the other black city councilmember was one of the two councilmembers (the other is white) this year in my city (Santa Cruz) who had substantiated claims of disrespectful workplace conduct, harassment and bullying by five female city staffers including the outgoing city mayor. Claims that the black councilmember said were false and their fault, because they were white and he was black, and it was their racist beliefs that drove their claims. This was something I was smack dab in the middle of being the chair of the City Commission for the Prevention Against Women (CPVAW) earlier this year and our pushing for a public reprimand of the two men, which never happened.

Now, when I had a conversation about this with someone recently I know well, another woman, a white woman, a women who herself has experience traumatic workplace bullying and sexual harassment, her immediate reaction was: "There it is, someone playing the race card again. I'm so sick of that."

I was quite conflicted about this, because my point was in context to what I knew had transpired above -- these men, one black and one white, had multiple complaints against by five women. To me, it had nothing to do with black or white. It had to do with patriarchy and abuse of power in the workplace.

"Well," I said to her, "systemic racism is still pretty prevalent today. This was a specific context of him turning his behavior back around on the women as a defense mechanism."

"Well, maybe," she said.

No epiphanies from this conversation other than the latent prejudices we all carry with us. Social change is hard, and as equality incrementally increases for those who had it suppressed for so long, those in power for so long begin to feel oppressed, and claim reverse discrimination, which is absurd.

Even I got caught up in it, though, because although I stand by everything we did, the backlash of the councilmember supporters and the polarization and politicization of it all overwhelmed me, and I felt compelled to resign from the commission. And then after all that, the same black councilmember came after me online with untrue derogatory comments.

So what does all this mean? Someday I'll want to tell my girls the story and reconcile my past for their future as women, and what could happen in the workplace by the hands of other men, regardless of race or ethnicity. But there is still the complexity of systemic sexism and racism that intertwines in this ongoing narrative known as America, as well as the rest of the world. The more we understand our own shortcomings and biases, the more we can be a positive agents of change.

Like the hard C (the C-word) of sexism and violence against women I wrote about over two years ago, the N-word is the sharp N, and it's cut is as deep and mortal as it's been throughout our history. And history wields a multi-edged sword, where only the larger awareness of race, class and gender intersectionality can help us better understand and acknowledge our differences, and maybe, just maybe, stop the bleeding.

This Idea, America

We live in America, land of the free and home of the brave, where all men (and finally women) are created equal. That was the idea, at least. 

Here in America today, we just want our girls to be safe and sound, armed with safety and self-defense skills we hope they'll never need. 

In America, we just want them to embody peace and love for all peoples and races, not anger and hate, and to denounce bullying, harassment and assault wherever and however it appears.

We just want them to grow up pushing for their own equality, to break through the patriarchal walls that have been so entrenched around us for thousands of years, but not at the expense of other marginalized groups, or even other men, along the way. 

We just want them to be citizen activists of goodness and fairness, to help those who otherwise wouldn't have an opportunity to better themselves, or a voice to ask for one. 

But we also just want them to be kids for now.

Because soon they won't be, and all these adult American considerations will eventually crowd out much of their childhood sensibilities. 

God, I'm such a buzz-kill sometimes.

These are the things I think about, a lot, and I thought of all these things (again) this past week, especially after spending a weekend with lifelong friends and talking about toxic masculinity. It was the weekend of the women's march, and Martin Luther King Jr. Day. In the past we'd all marched together locally for these events, but this time I was with my friends, and then I worked on Martin Luther King Jr. Day while my wife took our two girls to the local march.

Like we'd done in the previous year, the girls made their own signs. Bryce's said "Peace" and Beatrice's said "You Dream Big."

We're an American family that, for the most part, have been thankful that we've provided a loving, supportive environment, as well as financial stability, for our children. Yet, we haven't had to look over our shoulders our whole lives like many people of color have had to do in America. We haven't experienced prejudice or racism like too many have in this country. A country of immigrants actually, by choice and by force, most of us at any rate.

We've talked to our girls about these topics, and they do have some understanding of what it means to discriminate against others because they're different. We're also the very people who can help make a difference, who's children can pass on a legacy of empathy and positive activism for all. 

This idea of America is in danger, however. Blatant racism has again raised its hateful multi-headed hydra (although it's always been there). Women are standing tall, while unfortunately their rights are being rolled back decades when it comes to domestic violence and assault. White patriarchy is holding on with all its ugly might. And yet, my heart bleeds with endless hope.

We just want our girls to be kids for now. And safe. And to embody peace and love and dreaming big.

But this idea of America is in peril. This idea is impermanent. 

This idea is so complicated. This idea is still celebrated.

This idea is a deliberate dream.

This idea is hated. This idea sets us free.

We the people, do ordain.

This idea, America.