IN SEARCH OF TRUE SPORTSMANSHIP

At the tender age of seven, I learned to swim at a boys’ club in Hollywood. I competed for years on the club’s swim team, and also for my high school. With my Red Cross WSI certification, I worked a couple of summers as a lifeguard and swimming instructor. After watching the Olympic team trials in 1976 (just across town in Long Beach) I thought, I can do that. John Naber, a resident of Los Angeles like myself, became my new hero.

I went into serious training soon afterward, with my sights set on the 1980 Games in Moscow. I spent about six hours in the pool, almost every day. My workout included running, bicycling (on my shiny new Schwinn Varsity ten-speed!), and weightlifting. This effort lasted just over two years. And then I quit. Just couldn’t keep up the pace, with so many other important things battling for my adolescent time and attention.

WHAT’S WRONG WITH DACA

Quick question: What is it that makes the USA distinct from a banana republic dictatorship? Simple: We have the rule of law. We have a process for how we enact new laws, and everyone has to play by the rules.

On at least 19 occasions (depending on how you count), President Obama insisted that he didn’t have the authority to rewrite immigration law without an act of Congress. In spite of this deeply held conviction, his administration enacted the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals policy in 2012. Under this program, hundreds of thousands of illegal aliens were shielded from deportation if they arrived in the country as children. 

STOP CALLING ME A RACIST

I was born on Sunset Boulevard. My mother was Mexican, and my dad was black. My friends, neighbors, and schoolmates hailed from every corner of the world, every color of the rainbow. 

My parents’ best friends were the Marshalls, the Itos, the Mendelsons, and the Dobrovics. (That is, a black couple, a Japanese couple, a Jewish couple, and a Russian couple.) Their children were among my best friends, almost from birth. 

I still believe that we kids were a colorblind generation. Of course we were keenly aware of the racial tensions in our city, as the wounds of the Watts riots were yet fresh. But in East Hollywood we lived in a melting pot, an island of civility.

LET'S OPEN UP THE COUNTRY

I have a confession to make.

Last weekend, I packed a lunch and headed out to a scenic spot down by the lake. This, despite the governor’s order for most of us to stay home. After all, there’s a nasty virus going around. Right?

But I wasn’t having it. I had run out of household chores (yes, the place is now impeccably clean), and I needed to get out. It’s springtime in Southern California, and the poppies are in full bloom. Who can resist?

As it turned out, some of my favorite locations were off-limits: gates closed, barricades up, all manner of signs that bade me “go away.” But as luck would have it, I found a picnic table in an obscure space away from the main road. And (hopefully) far from the prying eyes of the state enforcers. For about 30 minutes I shared this quiet corner with birds, squirrels, and several thousand trees. (Oh, and a few scattered beer bottles.)

DO WE REALLY WANT A LIVING WAGE?

A story of three average residents on Elm Street in Suburbia, USA:

Meet Joe. He graduated from high school just three months ago. While he ponders his future, he will continue to live rent-free with his parents. But he’s tired of riding the bus to get around town, so he wants to earn money to buy a car.

Next door is Jeffrey, a single father with four children. They each need clothes, food, and after-school daycare. Their mother is doing hard time upstate. If Jeffrey misses even one more house payment, he could lose everything.

WHAT DO BABIES AND BEEF BROTH HAVE IN COMMON?

I will never forget the first time I heard the word abortion. It was in the fall of 1974, part of the sex-ed curriculum in my 7th grade health class. Mrs. Stevens explained that this was a backstop to failed contraception, if you weren’t prepared for the burden of raising a child.

And then she went on to describe the mechanics of the process in greater detail than I cared to know. Just the thought of such a thing made me sick. Literally, physically, viscerally. I didn’t quite vomit on my desk, but it came close. At the age of twelve, I had no political leanings. It wasn’t about my religion or my ethics (yet). Just a grotesque visual in my mind’s eye.

I wasn’t much of a deep thinker at the time, but…was this an act of murder? Or just a routine medical procedure? Surely the grownups must know what they’re doing, and the government hadn’t seen fit to forbid it by law. My juvenile brain was still developing; surely, someday, I would understand.

DON'T DO THAT!

In an era when most comedians told long, elaborate jokes that crawled to the punchline, Henny Youngman was different. He was known as the king of one-liners. (Take my wife…please!) Some were just funny for funny’s sake, but others carried a more profound meaning (even if unintended). For example:

A man went to his doctor and said, “Hey Doc, it hurts when I do this (insert awkward gesture here)!” Doc says, “don’t do that!” (Insert rimshot and hysterical cheers here.)

Indeed.

Surely some diseases are genetic (diabetes), while others are environmental (tainted water). For this reason, we might not get diagnosed until it’s too late to do anything about it. It’s not your fault. And yet, other ailments are caused by our own voluntary choices.

MANUFACTURED OUTRAGE FATIGUE

In this week’s issue of TIME magazine, there’s a thought-provoking article When Bad Men Make Great Art. It recounts the many Hollywood sex scandals of recent years, particularly that of Bryan Singer, director of Bohemian Rhapsody. The article got me thinking.

Between the two of us, my sister and I probably own the complete works of Michael Jackson. Whether on vinyl, or cassette tape, or CD, or MP3 or video, I believe that we could reassemble his entire career: Every note, every lyric, every dance step. We were the ultimate fans.

In time, of course, he died a horrible death. Under a cloud of suspicion for the vilest of crimes against children. OUTRAGE! But wait: What did we ever know about his personal character, such that this should come as such a surprise? Years earlier, he slipped behind a curtain as a recluse, leading a decadent lifestyle of ultimate self-indulgence.

FORGET ABOUT FIXING THE WORLD. YOU CAN'T!

In the headline of today’s Los Angeles Times: ARE HOMELESS HERE TO STAY? Of course, that’s a big duh. The answer is an unequivocal yes! Jesus told us so: “You will always have the poor among you.” Indeed, in big cities like my own Los Angeles, it’s hard to miss.

But that’s not the only intractable problem in our modern American society.

In the summer of 2014, Michael Brown robbed a convenience store and assaulted the store’s owner. In a subsequent struggle with a police officer, he was shot dead. His city of Ferguson, MO erupted in violence for several days.

A few months later, Attorney General Eric Holder delivered a speech at an event in Atlanta. In it, he lamented the demise of young Mr. Brown. “In the coming days, I will announce updated Justice Department guidance regarding profiling by federal law enforcement…to help end racial profiling, once and for all.”

LET'S HEAR THE TRUTH (NO MATTER WHO TELLS IT!)

I need to rant today.
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One of my clients has written a fascinating memoir about her experiences as a missionary in the war-torn Middle East. Great story, great writing, interesting perspectives.
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As I shop this story around to publishers, the responses are mixed. Some comment that the author’s platform (name recognition) is weak. Others worry that the subject matter isn’t timely (even as the wars continue!). Almost everyone agrees that the writing is strong and the author’s style is engaging.
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Yet, there’s one response that I didn’t expect: Today, an editor expressed concern that the story is told in the voice of a white conservative American Christian. VERY politically incorrect these days. Yup, white American Christians already control most of the world, and they’re looking to take over the rest. (Witness the many American military engagements around the globe, as evidence.)